13A/N: Took a bit to find it, but there you go. This is unedited from the original.
The World of Remnant is arguably a very dangerous place, even during times of relative peace. From the common purse-snatcher-pickpocket-er to the widespread terrorist organizations like the White Fang, humanity has always been under constant threat. But the biggest threat that man will ever face is undoubtedly the Grimm. Since ancient times these monsters of the darkness have been preying on the lives of both human and faunus alike, taking pleasure in the slaughter. Entire civilizations have risen and fallen, some taken out by war, others by the Grimm.
It was in man's best interests to adapt, and adapt they did. Dust, a powerful mineral that has yet to be fully understood, has been around for millennia, acting as the foundation for man's success, as well as their defense against the 'unholy' creatures of Grimm. Huntsmen and huntresses, powerful warriors that utilized aura and dust, have been the age-old protectors of mankind, guardians providing the light that pierced through the trenches of the darkness, shielding man from whatever may befall it.
Eventually after eons of evolution, after countless wars and meaningless struggles, four Kingdoms had set themselves in stone, coming together in peace and harmony to face the Grimm together as one; The Kingdoms of Atlas, Mistral, Vale, and Vacuo. To this day, they fight alongside one another with the huntsmen and huntresses as their frontline, constantly holding back the mindless tides of the Grimm, so that man may continue to prosper.
Of course, this is only the official story. See, what people don't know is that the Grimm threat isn't just a mindless swarm that attacks whenever they so pleased. The Grimm actually have a Queen, a manipulator behind the scenes that is hell-bent on the total destruction of both humans and faunus. It would also seem, as one Qrow Branwen could attest, that the protection of the Maidens is key to defeating the Queen.
However, after more or less baby-sitting the Fall Maiden, Amber, so that she doesn't accidentally reshape the landscape or get herself killed with her powers, it quickly became apparent that no, Amber does not want to live the rest of her life confined to Beacon Academy, and that yes, she would love to travel the world, despite the dangers that may pose. So, it was determined that Amber would get to travel once every few weeks to a month or something like that. And, of course, it was Qrow's job to watch over her for at least half of her travels.
Now, it was almost time for Amber's next adventure and as such, Qrow was making his way back to Vale from Mistral—he had gone to the Kingdom of Mistral recently to check up on any increasing Grimm activity...as well as grab a bottle of his favorite booze. He had to restock somehow, right?
After all this is over, he'll probably end up going back to Signal until Ozpin deems otherwise. It would have been great to not get sidetracked on his way back to Vale, but as luck would have it, or at least, his luck would have it, something had to pull him off the rails anyways.
Flying above the northeastern forests of the Sanus continent in his avian form, Qrow had been minding his own business when suddenly, he heard gunshots. Loud gunshots, at that. Normally he wouldn't have gotten involved, but he was a professional huntsman, so it was more-or-less his obligation to at least take a look. Who knows, maybe he'd end up saving a hot chick, and perhaps he'd get someone to spend a night with. The gods know he needs it.
The avian huntsman found himself being led to one of the uncharted rivers, mostly uncharted because people didn't come out this far into the wilderness due to the threat of Grimm. It was far beyond the reaches of the Kingdom of Vale, which was why Qrow was immediately suspicious upon arriving. He landed on a tree branch high above the action and gazed down tediously. His boredom turned into interest with what he saw.
There was a figure, likely a man judging from their shape, who stood in the center of a small clearing. His physique was pretty large—he was somewhat beefy, and pretty tall, maybe even a slight bit taller than Qrow himself. He wore the strangest clothes Qrow had ever seen—and he's seen some weird outfits.
It wasn't weird in the sense that it was boisterous or eye-catching, but weird in that it was so specialized. He wore a grayish-white jacket of some sort with pockets on the forearms and upper-arms, and on each shoulder was a flag that Qrow didn't recognize. His pants were camouflaged, made to fit in with the forest perfectly, and strangely, he wore a knee-pad but only on his right leg. The figure also had a vest that was mostly empty, as if most of the equipment had already been used. His whole outfit was covered in dirt with multiple stains from other substances on it, as well as one or two tears here and there, but was otherwise very well-kept.
What was very eye-catching was the weapon in the man's hands, a rifle of some sort that Qrow had never seen before. It was colored a sleek black and was very complex looking—the hand-guard was slightly shorter than the barrel and had multiple rails on it. Attached to said rails were a bunch of complex gadgets he couldn't quite make out.
The figure turned to his right and fired a single round. The resulting gunshot was fucking loud. Louder than any type of gun Qrow had ever heard before. If that wasn't surprising, what he saw, was. The projectile that was fired moved at an indescribable speed, seen as nothing more than a brief streak of light across Qrow's vision—it was so fucking fast in fact, that Qrow was unsure if he'd even seen it. What the hell...?
Was this some sort of new Atlas weapon prototype or some shit like that? If so, then Jimmy had lot of explaining to do. Although, it wouldn't make sense for Atlas to be way out here, and Jimmy wasn't one to break uniformity with his men, even in tests like this one—if it was a test. Just what the hell was going on here?
With as narrow eyes an avian creature could have, Qrow squinted at the figure distrustfully. An instant after the first shot was fired, another one left the barrel, the same streak of light as before—although this time Qrow was able to see it a bit more clearly. Perhaps he was just unprepared the first time.
Those two shots sent a Beowolf careening into the mud, where it subsequently fell into the river, likely never to be seen again. With speed only obtainable by a trained veteran of sorts, the figure turned back to the left and fired two more shots, then left again with two more shots. Another two Beowolves hit the dirt, sliding to an unceremonious stop where they began to fade away.
The figure seemed to make a decision, letting his rifle rest at his side, and unsheathing a serrated combat knife. With expertise only a professional combatant would have, the figure ducked under a leaping Beowolf and used its own momentum to smash it into the ground with one hand, before plunging the knife deep into its throat, ripping upwards with the serrated edge and ending its life. At the angle he was watching from, Qrow finally caught a glimpse of the man's face, or rather, what covered it.
The man wore a balaclava—something rarely seen nowadays—that had the bottom half of a skull embroidered on it, leading up to the eyes. From this alone, Qrow deduced that the guy might be a tough nut to crack, probably hard to get along with, not unlike that Schnee girl. A pair of red-tinted sunglasses concealed everything that the mask didn't, so it was hard to get a read on this guy. Over his ears was a dapper-looking headset, Qrow must admit. Overall? Two-hundred percent increase in suspicion.
The man's clear skill in combat didn't help—his form in both ranged weaponry and close combat were perfect, and his moves were executed flawlessly with no wasted energy, meant to take down enemies as quickly and efficiently as possible—no flashy gimmicks and such. However, the man moved at a much slower speed than any seasoned huntsman or huntress could achieve. Interesting.
Hmm...Skully. Yeah, that'll do for now. From here on out, the figure with the mask shall be dubbed Skully. It wasn't the most creative of nicknames, but it'd get the job done.
Another gunshot was heard, but not from Skully. Qrow turned his attention to the thunderous sound and saw another figure, similar in dress though worse for wear. The biggest differences between the two was the headgear. This one had a complicated looking helmet as well as goggles covering his eyes and a mask covering his mouth and nose, but unlike Skully, this one's eyes were visible. Two golden orbs shifted around, pained and slightly worried. Atop the man's helmet, two insectoid antennae stuck out proudly. From the man's mask, a pair of mandibles stuck out like a sore thumb. Most notable was the man's missing limb.
The...cockroach faunus? The faunus sat on the ground with his back against a tree, his right arm wielding another strange firearm, and his left arm missing completely. Where his left arm should have been there was a blood soaked cloth, and if it wasn't already clear enough, the man was in pain.
So that's what's happening.
Even so, the faunus did his best to assist Skully, firing at any approaching Beowolves, aiming to incapacitate. He took out the legs of three Beowolves before his pistol clicked empty, and with practiced ease, the man reloaded with one hand.
As he did, Skully laid waste on the incapacitated Beowolves. He came upon the first, which swung at his head fruitlessly. As he slid past the blow, ending up behind the beast, Skully rammed his combat knife into its neck and pulled out his own sidearm. He fired two rounds at the second Beowolf, which attempted to take him out while he was dealing with the first, and as it fell, he ripped his knife out of the first's neck, decapitating it. Finally, he turned to the last, gripping his knife by the blade. With no hesitation, he threw the knife expertly, and it spun in the air like a lawnmower blade, embedding itself in the Beowolf's skull.
In pain and confusion, the creature swiped at the air, hammering its fists into the ground. Right as its fists hit the floor, Skully approached, sending a kick at its elbow joint. Qrow almost cringed when the joint bent inwards, mangling the limb horribly. With nothing to support it, the Beowolf fell face first into the ground. Skully sent a kick at its neck, then another for good measure. The sound of breaking bones was prevalent in the execution.
It seemed like everything was over, at least, until they heard the ear-rending roar in the distance.
An Alpha Beowolf, Qrow realized. Skully pulled his knife out of the disintegrating carcass's head just as the massive creature broke through the treeline, along with three more Beowolves. For the first time, Skully spoke.
"Roach, we've got a big one! Take out its buddies, and leave it to me!" he barked. His voice was surprisingly smooth, yet battle-hardened, serious, and heavily accented (London Cockney). Qrow had heard loosely similar accents, but they were barely there. Skully's was much heavier, and a bit harsh.
No sooner after Skully finished speaking, the faunus unloaded on the regular Beowolves while Skully turned to the larger Alpha.
What are you thinking, Skully? Qrow pondered. The man was good, great even. His moves were better than a lot of huntsmen and huntresses, more efficient as well, but he was much too slow compared to them. How would he deal with this?
Qrow watched curiously as Skully pointed his pistol at the Alpha's head. What was he thinking!? That peashooter won't do jack shit to an Alpha! Wait...Was he going to...?
The pistol discharged, and barely a moment later, the Alpha roared as its left eye burst like a balloon. It glared at its assailant with its remaining eye, full of hate, only to have that eye burst as well. Completely blind, enraged, and in pain, the Grimm roared again, as all Grimm were wont to do. In retaliation to its animalistic utterance, Skully lobbed a spherical object down its gaping gullet. Qrow could only assume that it was a—
BOOM!
Yep, it was a grenade. While the outside of a Grimm was typically durable, even in the toughest of conditions, the same couldn't be said for the inside. For this Alpha, roaring had been its last and greatest mistake. The top half of the alpha ruptured in a ball of flames, blazing viscera raining around the forest, some landing in the river, shrapnel shooting in all directions. The bottom half persisted, and rather creepily, took two steps forward before toppling over, presumably dead.
Well...that just happened. Skully was a lot more resourceful than Qrow first thought. His aim was undoubtedly unmatched, even better than a few huntsmen and huntresses Qrow knew.
Not too soon after that, and the lesser Beowolves fell with the Alpha, the faunus, Roach apparently, having done his job. It was over.
As soon as the last Beowolf kicked the bucket, Skully hurried over to his companion, hoisting him up.
"C'mon mate, we're getting out of here," he said reassuringly.
It would have been insensitive to leave them there, but then again, Qrow didn't have a clue about what their goals were. The avian huntsman wasn't the most trusting of people either. Roach was heavily injured, though, and Qrow detested killing people, let alone leaving them to die. Even so, Qrow stood on the bridge between leaving and helping them out. It was what he saw next that solidified his decision.
Scrutinizing Skully one final time, he caught a glimpse of something he hadn't seen before. Behind the red-tinted sunglasses, he swore that he saw the faintest glow of silver. It could have been his imagination, but the longer he stared, the more prevalent that color—silver, became. This...This changes things. Perhaps...
With his decision made, Qrow swooped down from his branch. Should the need arise, he had no doubt that he'd be able to take them down. Time to make an entrance.
For four days they'd been moving north. For four days, their survival and stealth skills had been put to the test. Ghost had supported Roach the whole time, refusing to let the man exert himself too much. He'd scavenged and hunted for food, from berries to wild animals, all of which he'd prepared accordingly, using his knowledge and intuition to sort out the edibles from the poisonous. He'd set up camp, took watch for the nights, and made makeshift bandages out of spare cloth.
Through all this, Ghost had discovered a few things about his new body along the way. Being a literal skeleton, he had no need to eat at all. He didn't need to sleep either, which definitely helped when he had to take watch for the night.
Roach on the other hand, needed all of these things. Ghost didn't mind providing—he wasn't gonna let the only bastard that he could trust and care about kick the bucket. Not after they'd already died once.
They spent most of the days trekking through the seemingly endless forest, taking care to sneak around those things, whatever they were. There were a ton of different species, all hell-bent on killing Roach specifically. See, that was another thing. Those things only went after Roach, never batting an eye at Ghost unless he attacked them, and they had no idea why. It certainly made his job a lot harder when everything in the forest sought to rip his only companion to shreds.
Worse still, Roach's condition wasn't getting any better. He wasn't getting any worse but neither was he improving. He was always in constant pain, and no matter what Ghost did, he couldn't help him. The only thing they could do was push on.
Since the initial encounter with those wolf-creatures, the duo hasn't alerted any more of them until now. They'd been making their way up the river when a shadow flew overhead. It was the first time they'd encountered one of those weird birds. The thing swooped down and launched razor sharp feathers at them, all of which missed Roach but tore Ghost's clothing in a few places. They didn't question it and shot it down rather easily—it wasn't that large compared to what they'd seen so far.
Unfortunately, those gunshots had alerted the entire fucking forest. So, they had to stand their ground, what with Roach being too injured to move quickly. They settled down in a nice little spot where Roach could sit by a tree and provide fire support. Then, it began.
Immediately noticeable were the large wolf-like creatures that tore through the treeline, the same ones that the duo had first encountered except for one big difference.
These dogs are pussycats compared to the other ones.
These wolves were nowhere near as large as the ones they'd encountered, though still much larger than any human had the right to be. Each one went down in only two or three shots to the chest—a godsend compared to the ones they'd faced earlier.
For about half-an-hour they defended that position, killing dark wolves, bears, and boars alike, each one taking variable amounts of ammunition and tactics depending on how large they were and where their armor was. The duo burned through ammunition much too fast for their liking, and it quickly became apparent that they'd need to conserve it somehow. Case in point, Ghost resorted to using his combat knife and his skills in martial arts. A lot of people don't know that he's a licensed master in various martial arts, including knife arts.
With these skills, Roach would expend only one round to briefly immobilize the creatures, allowing Ghost to dispatch them quickly. They worked like this for a while, Ghost only ever utilizing his rifle when the bastards grew too numerous. Eventually, the big one showed up, bigger than any other they'd seen so far, and similar to the very first one they'd encountered. Ghost had a plan to deal with it easily.
From what he'd seen so far, all of these creatures had a terrible tendency to roar whenever in pain. So, he took out its eyes with two well-placed shots from his Glock, prompting it to open its large mouth. It had no idea what Ghost was going to do since it was effectively blind, and one M67 Frag Grenade later, it was nothing but a pile of mush on the ground. After that, the battle was thankfully over. Unfortunately, that was the last grenade Ghost had, so dealing with another one would be a pain in the arse. He just hoped they wouldn't run into any more.
The lieutenant helped his mute companion up, and they hobbled a few meters before Roach caught his attention, nodding towards their front.
"What is it mate?" Ghost asked, looking forward. "Ah, hell."
A figure swooped down from above, landing before them from across the clearing. It was a man by the looks of it—he had graying black, spiky hair, dull red eyes and slight stubble along the jawline. The handle of what could be assumed was a weapon was sticking out over his shoulder. Ghost was immediately suspicious.
With his right hand, he pointed his Glock at the man, supporting Roach with the his left. The man slowly, nonchalantly began walking over, clapping.
"Nice job taking out that Alpha," he praised.
Ghost glared. "Identify yourself!"
The man paused, holding up his hands in a placating manner. "Whoa, watch where you point that thing, Skully. You could get somebody hurt." His voice was deep and raspy. It reminded Ghost of Shepherd's voice.
"Identify yourself, or things are gonna get messy," Ghost growled lowly.
"Who, me?" the man pointed to himself, "I'm just a guy who happened to be passing by. The better question is what're you two doing out here?"
Ghost's teeth clicked together. He heard Roach's mandibles clicking together next to him as well. "Just passing by? Yeah right, I could ask you the same thing, mate."
"Mate, huh?" the man raised a brow. He studied the duo for a moment. "Nice get-up. Where'd you get it?"
The lieutenant scrutinized the man's clothing. Along with a red, tattered cloak, he wore a gray dress shirt with a long tail, black dress pants and black dress shoes. He also had a cape.
After a brief moment of silence, Ghost replied. "Mum's basement."
The man looked perplexed for the briefest of moments before he realized. "Oh, ha ha very funny. Mock the cape, why don't you?"
Ghost was running out of patience. "Mate, I'll give you one more chance to identify yourself before I pull this here trigger. You ain't gonna like what happens next."
The man rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine. The name's Qrow Branwen, professional huntsman at your service." He did a mock bow.
Qrow Branwen? What a fucking joke. Huntsman? No way this bloke is Australian.
"...What do you want, mate?"
"Well, I couldn't help but notice you two boys making a ruckus out here. Thought I'd stop by, see if things are going swell. Speaking of which, what are you two doing out here?"
If he could have bitten his lip, Ghost would have. "...We're lost."
"Lost? I think I can see that," the man, 'Qrow', eyed them, pausing. He took a step closer. "Two guys wearing strange outfits, with strange weapons, in a strange forest hundreds of miles away from the Kingdom. Normally, I'd be obligated to help you out...But I feel I should be asking something more along the lines of 'Who do you work for?'"
Ghost breathed, aggravated. "Mate, its been a rough four days, so if you could just point us in the right direction and bugger off," he motioned with his Glock, "I'd appreciate it."
"Hmm," Qrow thrummed. "Yeah you should probably find some medical attention for your pal." He gestured to Roach, who was now staring back at the ground. "Say, if you follow me, I can get you to the nearest settlement, and maybe you can get some help for your friend there. I've got my own agenda, so if you don't come along then...well, that's on you."
Ghost hesitated. It could be a trap for all he knew. But what are the odds of them finding civilization if they traveled alone? He and Roach had been traveling for four days already, and there hasn't been a hint of any human activity whatsoever. This guy was the first.
After the debacle with Shepherd, though, he wasn't sure what was real anymore, or who could be trusted.
"Clock's ticking, Skully," the man reiterated.
Ghost glanced at his companion, Roach. The man was still in pain. It would be best to get him to safety. Ghost made his decision.
"Fine then. Take us there."
Qrow smirked. "I knew you'd see it my way." He started walking off. "C'mon, the nearest village is to the west."
With a bit of hesitance, Ghost followed, supporting Roach the whole way. They walked for about an hour in awkward silence, save for the occasional clicking of Roach's mandibles. By the time anyone said anything, the sun was beginning to set. Crickets started their routine of chirping, birds sang their nightly songs, and the wind raked through the leaves of the trees, providing a pleasant breeze for those on the ground.
"So, what were you two really doing out there?" Qrow asked inquisitively, breaking the silence.
"...We were lost."
"Right," the 'huntsman' drawled. He took a swig from his hip flask. "Packing that much firepower? I'm sure you were. You have a name?"
"If we're gonna be playing twenty-one questions, then you better be able to answer mine as well, mate," Ghost admonished.
"Alright then. Answer mine first, and I'll answer yours," Qrow gave him a sideways glance. "What do I call you?"
"...Call me Ghost. This is Roach," he nodded to the sergeant.
"Uh-huh, Ghost and Roach? You sure those aren't code names, Skully? I doubt a mother would be sadistic enough to name their child after a pest."
"Skully? We goin' by nicknames now, Qrow?"
"Is that your question?"
Ghost rolled his sockets. "Depends, you want me to refer to you as cock-head?"
"...Fair enough." He took another swig from his hip flask.
Ghost attempted to lick his lips. He really needed to stop doing that. "Where are we?"
"Don't even know what continent, Skully?"
"Just answer the question, mate."
Qrow sighed. "You, my friend, are on the continent of Sanus. A few hundred miles east of Vale."
"Vale?"
"It's my turn, Skully," Qrow stopped him. Ghost huffed. "So, how'd you boys get attacked in the first place?"
"It ain't exactly easy to haul your injured mate through the forest when every bloody monster in there wants to kill you, lad," Ghost retorted. Roach clicked his mandibles twice. Ghost agreed. "My point."
"...He didn't say anything."
"Nothing you need to worry about, mate." Ghost glanced warily at Qrow's attire once more, eyeing the massive sword-like weapon on his back. "So, what do you do for a living?"
A moment of hesitance. "I told you, I'm a huntsman, Skully. I kill Grimm for a living...And teach kids how to kill Grimm."
Grimm...is that what those creatures were? Ghost would assume that that was common knowledge for now—the man said he taught kids how to kill them...Wait, he's teaching kids to—
"What's with the outfit?"
"Come again?"
"Why the masks? And the vests? You look like you just fought a war," Qrow mused.
"...That ain't entirely inaccurate. And the mask? Well, that one's personal, mate. In Roach's case...well, you can ask him yourself. The vests? How else do you expect a lad to carry their ammunition?" Ghost grunted as he stepped over a log, helping Roach over it.
They walked for another minute or so, trading questions when they finally came upon a road. To most, it was nothing but a cheap dirt road. To Ghost and Roach, however, it was the gates to Heaven.
"Heh, we're almost there, Roach! Just hold on a bit longer, yeah?" His companion nodded in agreement, and honestly, a little excitement, his eyes shifting around a bunch. Qrow stared ahead, his expression blank. He promptly took a swig from his hip flask.
He wiped his mouth, turning towards the two operators. "So, Skully, couldn't help but notice that neither you nor your friend have your aura unlocked. Care to explain?"
Ghost stared at the man as if he'd grown a second head. "...Aura?"
"Y'know, the stuff that literally every living being on Remnant possesses? How the hell did you boys even survive that long without it?" He gestured with his arms out, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
The lieutenant remained silent. By now it was obvious to the operators that they were on another world. They'd seen the creatures, seen the shattered moon at night, and if that didn't make it obvious enough, then the way Qrow dressed did.
Ghost figured that aura was one of the fundamental terms everybody knew about, just like the Grimm, but lacking any knowledge on the matter, he didn't know how to reply.
"...Never had a need for it," he said simply.
Qrow scoffed. "Never needed it? I'm sure your friend here would disagree. Isn't that right, Roach? How's your arm feeling? Oh wait," he said sarcastically. "And while we're on that topic, where'd you learn to fight like that without aura? I've never seen a martial style like that. You could rival huntsmen with that. And your aim? Never seen someone shoot out the eye of an Alpha, let alone twice in a row. What about your guns? What the hell kind of Dust munitions are you packing?" His voice got more heated as he spoke. The man stepped away from the operators. "Normally, I'm not one to pry, but I've got to ask. Who. Are. You?"
Ghost shot the man a wary look. "...You ain't gonna let this slide, are you?"
Qrow didn't reply, merely glaring expectantly.
"Fine then. As of now? We're..." Ghost paused. He was gonna say 'nobody', but he had a feeling that that would only piss Qrow off. Perhaps he could use...Yeah, that would definitely work. It shouldn't exist here, but it'll be solid enough ground to satisfy the huntsman. "...Bravo 6. What's it to you?"
The huntsman crossed his arms. "Bravo 6? So you're one of those military boys, huh? Call sign: Bravo 6? That it?"
The Phonetic Alphabet exists here? Shit.
"Alright then. Explain this: that flag on your shoulder. What army do you fight for, Skully?"
This bloke's stepping into territory he doesn't want to be in.
"...You're asking a lot of questions, aren't you, Qrow?" he started slowly. "Right, I don't remember you giving us a reason why you were in that there forest," he nodded over.
Qrow only gave him a condescending look. "Well, I don't think you're in a position to be the one asking questions, Ghost."
They held each others gazes in what seemed like an eternal staring contest to determine who's will would falter first. Tension began to build up between them as they became more heated, their expressions slowly becoming more hostile, in Ghost's case, his sockets burning brighter. But before anyone could act on anything, their contest was suddenly broken.
Roach let out an insect-like screech, writhing in agony, his body spasming and his eyes the size of dinner plates. Ghost made to assist, but the man was totally unresponsive.
"Roach? ROACH!?" The lieutenant turned to Qrow, his fists clenched, and the flames in his eyes blazing brightly. The huntsman took a step back, shocked. "Where's the village!?" He didn't respond. "WHERE IS IT!?"
The huntsman snapped out of his stupor. "To the west, another mile or so."
As quickly as he could, Ghost hoisted the agonized sergeant over his shoulder. "Let's go, LET'S GO!" he roared. He ran off in the direction of the setting sun as quickly as he could.
Qrow could only stare in astonishment for a moment before following behind. So Skully did have silver eyes. But was he a Silver-Eyed Warrior? That remains to be seen.
By the time they got to sanctuary, the world had been flooded in darkness. Upon arrival, Ghost didn't much care for the sights that the village presented. His priority was getting Roach to a doctor. As such, he ran past all the confused and fearful souls that surrounded him, watching him warily. Once he got to what he assumed was the town center, he turned to the nearest person: a woman in a farmer's outfit, presumably heading home for the night.
"Is there a doctor in this village, lass?" he demanded, perhaps a bit too harshly. The woman seemed surprised for a moment before her expression shifted into one of disdain. Yep, definitely a bit too harsh.
"Oi, that's a mighty bit rude, mister!"
He didn't have time for this.
"IS THERE A DOCTOR OR NOT!?" he all but roared. The woman squeaked, jumping in fright. In the face of his burning glare, she faltered, pointing fearfully at one of the few buildings that had its lights on.
"T-There's one down over yonder! N-Now b-buzz off! Asshole!" the woman cried, running off almost in tears. Townspeople were exiting their homes now to see what the commotion was about.
Ghost merely shouted in her direction, "Much appreciated luv!" then hurried to the building, Roach croaking on his back the whole way. He would have kicked the door open, but at the last moment, a man opened the door, freezing up when he saw Ghost's balaclava.
"Move aside, mate! Emergency coming through!" he warned. The man stepped aside, allowing Ghost to barrel through the door. As soon as he did, a middle-aged man in an old, well-worn white coat stepped out of a door at the far side of the room. He caught sight of Ghost and Roach, doing a double take.
"Excuse me, what is happening here?"
Ghost stepped up to him. "You the doctor?"
The man put his hands on his hips. "Yes, I am. The one and only in this quaint little town."
"Good, I need your help. The mate on my back, he's got his arm lopped off four days ago. Now he's got the jimmies, but I can't identify the problem. Can you help him?"
The doctor's eyes widened. He coughed in his fist. "I'll see what I can do."
No less than five minutes later, and Roach was on an operating table, his vest, jacket and undershirt having been taken off, but his helmet, mask, and goggles still on. The doctor stood next to him, several age-old devices in his hands that seemed to barely operating correctly. Ghost stood nearby, his arms crossed in anticipation. To Ghost's right, Qrow stood awkwardly, hip flask in hand.
After a minute of awkward silence, the huntsman leaned over to Ghost. "Did you have to freak out like that?" he whispered.
Ghost didn't look away from Roach's operation, though his attention was now on Qrow. "What're you on about?" he replied.
The huntsman scratched the back of his head. "You kinda scared the entire village shitless. And you made a woman cry. Things that I had to deal with."
"...I've spent four days dealing with this malarkey, lad. Forgive me if I'm a bit of a wanker for the next few hours."
"Wanker? What's that supposed to mean."
Ghost threw the man a cursory glance. "Y'know what? Don't worry about it."
"Alright, whatever you say, Skully."
The huntsman took another swig from his hip flask before gazing down at it thoughtfully. After working the cogs in his mind for a minute, he held it out to Ghost.
The operator looked at it curiously. He followed the arm that offered it, finding Qrow looking at him with both eyebrows raised. Ghost waved him off, prompting the huntsman to shrug and take another sip.
They stood in awkward silence for a few more minutes before the doctor finally stepped away from the table, grumbling under his breath. Ghost immediately unfurled his crossed arms, watching the doctor eagerly.
"What's the word doc?"
The doctor slowly, painfully slowly looked away from Roach and towards Ghost, taking a deep, almost emotional breath.
"...Doc?"
"There's...There's nothing wrong with him."
...
"Are you mental, mate? You saw the way he was spasming earlier, and you mean to tell me that nothing's wrong?" Ghost scoffed. "Don't fuck with—" He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "Sorry doc, didn't mean for it to come out that way," he more-or-less apologized, dragging a hand down his balaclava. "It's been a stressful few days, but we're—"
Roach's body jumped on the table, spasming again. His left shoulder twitched erratically, and everyone collectively took a step back. Then the spasming stopped, and he was still again.
Qrow whistled softly. "Yep. There's definitely something wrong with him—"
The socket at Roach's left shoulder burst outwards, fluid covering the walls. In an instant, a large appendage formed, shriveled from over-hydration. The appendage was a mirror image of Roach's right arm. In other words, it was his left arm.
"What the bloody hell...?"
The three spectators gaped at the faunus on the table. Said faunus shook his head drowsily, his full consciousness returning. Roach lifted his left arm, the familiar sensation putting him in a state of shock. He waved it around, clenching and unclenching his fist.
Ghost was the first to recover, stepping up to the table. "You alright, mate?"
The sergeant replied with a thumbs-up, his mandibles clicking together softly.
"Well now, isn't that something," Qrow drawled. "So, he can regenerate?" He was ignored.
"...Fascinating." The doctor started walking around the table, a hand on his chin and an expression of intrigue on his face. "A natural, biological adaptation that allows extreme regeneration, at the cost of temporary malnutrition." He poked at one of Roach's biceps, which was noticeably thinner. "The medicines that could be produced...The advances in medical technology that this could make! I must record this!"
Ghost followed the doctor with a wary gaze as the man nearly slammed into the exit, running off to somewhere or other. "...I reckon that takes care of that." He turned his attention back to Roach. "Malnutrition, huh? What say we grab a bite to eat? Its getting pretty late, yeah?"
Roach merely shrugged.
"Man, you really weren't kidding when you said you were lost, were you?"
The odd trio consisting of one huntsman and two obscure operators had made their way to the nearest pub, which was mostly empty, save for the one bartender and a faunus girl, both of whom kept throwing wary glances at them, likely because of their attire, weapons, and demeanor. Ghost sat on a high-stool at the front bar, Qrow on his left with a bottle of what was this world's equivalent of Guinness, and Roach on his right with a nameless beer and a well-made sandwich.
Ghost and Qrow had been conversing again, Roach only listening intently as he tore through his meal. The bartender kept throwing Roach and the faunus girl a disgusted look, but was too afraid to say anything on account of the group's kickass appearance.
"I thought we already established this a while back, Qrow," Ghost quipped. He sighed, squeezing at the empty air on the counter-top. "There's a lot of things I can't tell you, mate, I'm sure you understand. But...I've gotta say that I do appreciate you."
The avian huntsman stopped mid-sip. "Where's this coming from?"
"If you hadn't been there, we would've been trekking north until we reached the ocean."
Qrow nodded at that. "Yeah, you would've been lost alright."
Ghost clicked his teeth. "Cheeky bastard," he muttered. "You know if you didn't identify yourself, I would've shot you, yeah?"
"It probably wouldn't have done much." The huntsman nodded at the man behind the counter as he downed the rest of his bottle. "Bartender, hit me with another one." He looked back at Ghost, an inquisitive expression on his face. "You don't drink?"
"If I could, I would. But since I can't, I shan't."
The lieutenant honestly missed his ability to taste. He also lamented the fact that he had to hide the rest of his body indefinitely, lest people freak out and he get sent off to one of those experimental facilities. Apparently, people like Roach, the animal people, were a norm on this world—Ghost saw a few men and women with various animal traits walking around town. Until he finds out that skeleton people are a norm too, he ain't showing any skin—er, bone.
The counter went silent for a minute, until Ghost caught the huntsman throwing glances at him. "You need something, wanker?"
"...I just gotta say, you've got a weird way of speaking, Skully." He licked his lips—something Ghost was slightly envious of. "Where are you from?"
"We playing twenty-one questions again, mate?" Ghost said, his sockets burning brighter slightly.
"Why not. Maybe this time we actually get somewhere with it."
"Right then. I won't be able to answer some of your questions, though, I hope you understand that."
Qrow shrugged. "Figured. Should I assume that 'Where are you from?' is one of those questions?"
"Yep." The reply was immediate.
"Alright," Qrow continued, tapping his fingers on the counter. "Bravo 6? How did that work out for you?"
Ghost sat in silence for a moment, pondering what to tell him. "...I was a lieutenant. I didn't go to Officer School mind you. Started at the bottom, worked my way up the hierarchy from private, to sergeant, and so on." He gave a short laugh. "Essentially, I'm not high enough rank to command an army, but I am high enough to yell at the lads who piss me off." He paused. "Those blokes that sit behind their office chairs don't have a bloody clue what it's like to fight, yet they're the ones giving us all the orders up above...Trusting them was a mistake..."
Qrow studied the officer before him. He couldn't get a read on this guy, but he did notice how the man's silver eyes seemed to glow brighter when he was under stress or reminiscing. "What happened?"
"Let's just say," he jerked a thumb at Roach, "he and I are all out of friends."
The avian huntsman was able to understand the cryptic message immediately. "...I'm guessing that's why you and him were out in the forest?"
"You could put it that way, yeah," Ghost replied. "Right then, my turn. What were you doing when found us, eh? You seem to know your way around this continent, so I doubt you would've been taking a stroll through the forest like a warm summer's day. The...Grimm were bloody everywhere."
"You know that not being able to answer some questions cuts both ways, right?"
"Bugger-all, just do your best, mate."
Qrow frowned. The lieutenant was being much more subdued than he was back in the forest. "I was making my way back from Mistral to Vale. I've got someone to baby-sit. I just happened to hear some gunfire along the way and stopped by. I am a huntsman, you know. It's my job to investigate stuff like that." The bartender placed another bottle in front of him, and he nodded his thanks to the man. "My turn. Since you're obviously a...soldier, Let me ask you this: why do you fight, Ghost?"
"You want the short answer? Or the long answer?"
"Short answer."
"Queen and Country."
"Long answer it is."
"Right then." Qrow noticed a sudden shift in his demeanor. It was hardly noticeable to most, but in his years as a huntsman, he was able to catch it. "I've been all around the world, mate. And I've seen all different kinds of characters. From what I've learned, there's only three types of people: The Neutral, which are the civilians that live their lives in ignorance, no idea what its like in the world outside of the city. Then, there's the...Morally Challenged. Those are the greedy, the sadistic, and the power-mad. They're also the selfless bastards that counteract the rotten ones. But don't misunderstand, neither of them are evil. The power-mad don't seek power cause they're evil, they look for it because they have an agenda. The men who kill those blokes ain't evil either—they kill because its their job, and even if it may just be an excuse for them to kill someone, at least they're doing it for the greater good."
The lieutenant took a deep breath, even as Qrow leaned in to better understand what he was saying. "And finally, there's True Evil. Now, true evil isn't something you can quantify or declare. It's a feeling you get, something that you'll instinctively know. Go find someone truly evil, talk to them, and you'll feel it, and you'll know it, and from then on, you'll know what I'm talking about. The truly evil—you can't put a face to them because they could be anyone. True evil does not fear. They don't care if you've got a fucking army behind your back, they'll wreck your shit anyways. But, if I had to put a face to real evil, then it'd be this: those that cause real pain and misery on anyone and anything regardless of what it is, just because they can."
The whole bar was silent after that, every single soul in the room staring at the lieutenant in awe or deep contemplation. Even the rowdy group of four men who'd just entered and sat down near the faunus could only ponder his words of experience.
Qrow swallowed, thinking back to a few conversations he'd had with Ozpin about morals. Even for him, this was deep. What was it that got Ghost to have this view on the world? And...wait.
"Why put the 'selfless bastards' with the Morally Challenged?"
Ghost snorted. "That's the thing mate. The reason why I fight, is so that the Neutral can sleep well at night. We protect them from things they don't even know they need protecting from. And the end goal? To create a world where the True Evil and the Morally Challenged don't exist. The ideal world has no soldiers, no 'selfless bastards' looking to protect the innocent, because in that world, the innocent don't need protecting. They'll be safe, ignorant, and happy."
The lieutenant sighed. "Of course, that's just a pipe dream. That's why soldiers are there, to preserve the lie of Good and Evil, cause a perfect world will never be a thing. It's why muppets like Roach and I fight. If you want the short version of why I lump the 'selfless bastards' with the Mortally Challenged then...An old captain of mine once said, 'We get dirty, so the world stays clean. That's the mission.' You wanna know why I wear this mask?" he pointed at his face, the lights in his eyes burning brighter by the second. "I'll spare you the details, but I can tell you that it was this philosophy that got me here. In my line of work, you lose a piece of yourself, mate. Some more than others. Me? I lost things that I'll never get back. But that's a story for another time."
The avian huntsman snapped out of his stupor, just now realizing that yes, he was still holding a conversation with Ghost, and that no, he was not listening to the speech of an old, wise man. Surprisingly, at least to Qrow, Ghost's morals seemed to line up almost perfectly with his own. Although he didn't fully trust Ghost yet, he felt a bridge of understanding build itself between himself and the lieutenant, a sense of camaraderie in a way.
He would be perfect for the fight against the Queen. Maybe, just maybe, if they truly come to trust one another in the future...
"Damn...I'll need another drink for that."
"Anyways, its my turn, Qrow."
"Ah, yeah. About that."
Ghost ignored him. "What's it like being a huntsman, eh?"
Qrow smacked his lips once, the tangy taste of the beer burning down the back of his throat. Might as well recall a few stories. After-all, Ghost pretty much gave him his life's story, right? "Ever heard of Signal Academy?"
Late at night, when the whole village was fast asleep, one man stood before the largest structure in town. Ghost snuck his way into the library, hunting for information.
If he and Roach were gonna be staying in this world, then they'd at least need to secure common knowledge.
He walked past all of the irrelevant sections, stopping in front of one labeled, 'History'.
It was gonna be a long night.
A/N: Took a bit to find it, but there you go. This is unedited from the original.