RWBY: Into Shadows

The Grimm hordes ever encroach upon the kingdoms of Remnant, and it falls to academies such as Beacon to train the defenders of the realms.
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 Burnt Orange.

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Posts : 88
Join date : 2014-01-05
Age : 24
Location : TARDIS Console Room

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PostSubject: Burnt Orange.   Burnt Orange. Icon_minitimeThu Jan 30, 2014 9:41 am

(Part 1. Present.)
You ever had those moments at night where, you try to move, but you can’t? It feels as though someone’s placed stone-slab weights on your arms and legs, your entire body, even? Yeah, this is one of those moments.

My senses come back to me, slowly, one ticking in after the other. My head feels like I got tossed around by an Ursa. I see nothing, the darkness enveloping my eyes. My hearing slips its way back into my consciousness, but it’s warbled, scrambled and confusing. The sensation in my mouth comes next, and it’s as pleasant as sand paper on skin; tasting of iron, and dry saliva. My legs... I can’t feel my legs… No. No, my legs are still there; I can move my toes, roll my ankles. Nothing’s broken, but… Chains. They've chained me to the floor. My sight finally comes back to me, the darkness dissipating as I crack open my eye lids, only being replaced by blurred, misty vision. A few blinks later, and my sight’s fully restored. Looking around the room, I can tell I’m not where I was when I first arrived. Myself, I’m… I’m shirtless, that much I can see. I was wrong about the floor, I wasn't chain down, it’s was up. I’m chain up to something, not sure at first what, but from the chill down the center of my back, it’s quickly apparent that I’m chained to a metal pole. I give my shoulders a roll in an attempt to move my arms. There’s nothing there. Any sense of security I had drops a few notches as I look around, glancing down both sides of my body. The bastards took my arms.

I snap my head up, and look about the room. From the way the place is built and set up, it looks like they brought me into a warehouse. Pulling my field of vision across the warehouse’s interior, I spot my robotic-prosthetics a few feet away, off to my right. They don’t look damaged, and that’s reassuring, but I’d feel a hell of a lot better if they were attached to me, and not on the floor. Pulling my eyes away from my only tools of combat, I try to make sense of why I’m here. That question’s quickly answered when I happen to glance at the floor. The spot where I stand, chained in place, is covered in black soot. Charred, decaying strips of… something litter the concrete floor, and ever so faintly, the smell of rot and chemical fuel trickle into my nose.

I remember.... I know why I’m here.... Huh, I should've known better. They wouldn't just let me leave.

(An hour earlier. Part 2.)
I called a private meeting with the other members of the Tribe. The main group, in particular; the first seven, the Originals. We exchanged words, short speeches and whatnot. I gave them my side of the story, they gave theirs. The words we exchanged became heated, harsh and loud. I tried, in all my power, to persuade them, to convince them that I needed out. They grew angry, pissed off beyond all belief. They all brought up my first day, the morning I was sworn in. I pledged my allegiance and service to them, and to them, I was running. They called me a coward, I called them fools. I tore my ranking patch off my vest, and threw it on the ground. I wouldn’t leave them on good terms, but leaving was all that mattered. Self-preservation was all that I cared about.

“Hey... Marcus!”

No, keep walking.


The Tribe of the Sun isn't my future; I stay, and I’ll die.

“You look at me when I’m talking to you! You ungrateful little....”

A firm hand takes my shoulder, forcing me around. One of the Originals, Taggard, looks me in the eye. He throws a right hook, the force of it knocking my head to the side. Before I can get my bearings, a swift kick sends me back, bursting through a set of double doors and into a few bar stools on the other side.

They'd NEVER let me leave. Not so easy, anyway.

I quickly get back to my feet, a hand on the bar top to keep me steady. The sound of rough metal shifting meets my ears, my arms mecha-shifting into their combat forms. Taggard stalks toward me, anger on his face, but also, almost like he was happy. Something was telling me he was going to enjoy this. Two of the Tribe members by the bar, one on each side, go for my arms. I pull a quick juke move, grabbing the one on the left, and swing him around into the guy on the right. They collide, one sprawling on the floor while the other grabs the bar-top for stability. Picking up a nearby bottle of booze, I hold it by the neck, and use it as a makeshift club, swinging it and breaking it over the standing man’s head. Standing guy falls, and I immediately go for the next guy to come at me.

Make that guys. There were more than I thought, two, maybe three dozen in the rec-room outside of the conference room. Before I can come up with a coherent plan, they’re upon me. I find myself rapidly blocking incoming strikes; punches, kicks, and I’m pretty damn sure someone had a baseball bat. As much as I don’t want to harm them, men who I thought were like brothers to me are now trying their hardest to kill me, or at the very least beat me into submission. Stepping back, I move a hand near my shoulder, palm open in order to stop an incoming bat. Whipping around, I give an elbow to said bat-wielders face, knocking him back into one of his buddies. Next one up throws a punch, swinging wildly. I block him with my right forearm, before hammering his face with right and left jabs. God, I love having metal arms! A third guy comes up on me, aiming to kick. I block low with both arms, then bring them back up in time to stop a punch at my face. My counter comes fast and hard, slamming him with a right-left combo, before laying him out with a hard, right upper-cut.

The fight spreads throughout the rec-room of the MC’s barracks, with me at the center, blocking and counter attacking my way through the horde of men that used to treat me like one of their own. It’s amazing what a few moments can do, huh? Before long, I’m outside, a ring of them around me; cheering, hollering, and whooping. Shouting at the top of their lungs, trying to confuse me, get me off balance, disorientate me with the noise. Someone comes at me with a bat, again; I’m quick to disarm him, and knock him around with a few hard blows to the head. Swinging around, I’m fast enough to back-hand a shorter, fat guy into the ring of Tribe’s men formed around me. At the sound of footsteps fast approaching, I duck low, avoiding a right swinging fist. I return the favor by coming back around, punching my most recent attacker twice in the stomach, and knocking him out with a jumping, right superman-punch to the face.

The fight goes on like this for a few more minutes; attacking, defending, countering and brawling my way out of one sticky situation after another. But I can only keep this up for so long, and before I know it, I’m getting overwhelmed. Hits are getting through my defense, my face quickly accumulating welts and bruises. I fight as hard as humanly possible, knocking out as many as I can; busting jaws, breaking arms and ribs. Just when I think I can make a break for the main gate out of the compound, a hard, steel bat makes contact with my back; why is there always a bat?

Pain flares, and I cry out as I fall to my knees. The same bat comes back again, seemingly flying out of nowhere, striking me in the face.

Everything goes Black.

(Part 3. Present.)
A door on the far left side of the warehouse opens up. A line of men enter the spacious building, single file, stepping up to where I’m chained. From my point of view, it looks like they've all assembled to watch something, waiting to enjoy the messed up, twisted as all hell expulsion ceremony that’s about to take place. Entering the warehouse last is Taggard, his second-in-command tailing him like a little dog after its abusive master. He makes his way through the line of men, Taggard’s second taking his place in the line. Stepping up to me, the elder man gives me a once over, his aged face showing little to no emotion. He looks over at my mechanized arms, and from what I can see, he gives a bit of a sneer, before looking me in the eyes.

“..... Well? You waitin' for somethin'? Waitin' for me to beg you not to do this, huh? Like some little, mongrel dog?" I let out a short, almost amused huff, but in doing so, cause some slight pain to flare up in my mid-section. More pain flares as I take a deep breath, and say; "Well you're outta luck, Old Man. Get on with it... Give the brothers what they came to see; get it over with, you old, twisted piece of trash!” In the heat of the moment, I ball up some liquid in my mouth, and spit in Taggard's eye.

Taggard flinches, his eye shutting closed when the spit hits his upper eyelid. Casually and slowly, he wipes the glob off of his face, and of all things, he begins laughing. Slow at first, then gradually ascending into a louder, amused tone. Before I can say anything, Taggard throws a hard right cross, busting my jaw and dislocating the joint, even popping out a few teeth. My eyesight goes fuzzy, a thin line of blood oozing out of my mouth.

“You wanted out, kid? You're out. But not before giving back what we’ve given you.”

Taggard slaps my limp face a few times, lightly, like one would a well-known associate. He walks over to the line of men, and takes something from them. When he comes back, he shows it to me. It’s my vest, jet-black leather, with the MC’s logo on the back. But that’s all there is. He’s stripped me of my ranking, my allegiance, and the area of the city that I belong to.

“You can keep the Vest. You have no rank, and you belong to no charter. You’re no longer allied with us.” Taggard tosses my Vest over to my un-attached robotic arms, the leather piece of clothing landing with a soft whump. Walking over to a few of the members lined up, Taggard whispers a few words to them. They give curt nods, and both head off to some other part of the warehouse.

“Now, with the vest de-patched, you’re no longer associated with us.” Taggard walks up to me, then around me, stopping behind the pole I’m chained to. I hear a rustling of metal on metal, and I feel my chains loosen. They fall around me, hitting the floor with a ragged jingle. On impulse, I try to take a step away, but I forget about the chains around my ankles. There’s a tug, and I immediately fall to my face, unable to slow the decent since my arms are ten feet away. The impact makes me grunt, and there’s a small flash of pain in my chest.

“For attempting to leave the Tribe during a time of conflict, I label you a coward, and a traitor.” Taggard makes a move, kicking me hard in the side. I can feel my ribs crack, maybe even a few break. Taggard always liked to wear steel toed boots.

“You’re all idiots! Fools, the crap-lot of you! Torchwick can’t be stopped! He’ll kill all of you; take this turf for himself. He’ll be running this city in a year’s time!” The words leave my mouth, anger fueling them forward. I was trying to knock some sense into them, trying to get them to understand; things where changing, everything was changing, and you can’t fight change. Another hard kick from Taggard knocks the wind from me, silencing me for the moment.

From my position on the floor, my eye sight is severely hampered. The most I can do is glance from left to right, and even then, the most I can see are the boots and lower pant leggings of the other men around me. This was the part they were waiting for, the sick bunch of them. From my left, I can hear the sound of heavy boots fast approaching, they stop about a foot from me, and I can hear the sound of commotion as they make an exchange. The two men sent on the retrieval job came back, and from what I could tell, they’d gotten what was needed.

“Last, but not least, your oath.” Taggard says, motioning for a few men to come closer. Four of them approach, and take positions, holding me down. “When you joined, you took a verbal oath, and a physical one. I released you from the verbal oath when I punched you in the face, sorry if you lost any teeth.” I can hear Taggard take a few steps closer, followed by the unmistakable sound of a cork popping. Suddenly, the cold splatter of liquid hits my back. The smell, oh, the smell. Booze, liquor, hard alcohol. Whatever it was, Taggard was dousing me in it.

“As for your, physical oath. You are also released.” Taggard drinks the rest of the bottle, I can hear it. He throws the bottle off into some unseen corner, and I can hear it shatter on impact with the floor. There’s a squeaking noise, and the sound of rushing air reaches my ears. What hits my nose, however, is something else entirely. Chemical gas, and a lot of it. A scraping noise echoes out into the silent warehouse, and after a few seconds, the sound of rushing gas is replaced by the blaze, heat and rasp of fire.

“With this torch, I brand you.... A pariah. No MC will accept you, no organization will work with you, or allow you to work with them. The scar you’ll carry, from here on out, will be your reminder of what you've done. You've chosen your path; now, you must walk it.”

Without a second thought, Taggard crouches down, and touches the torch to my skin. In an instant the alcohol on my skin is set ablaze, and the heat from the torch begins searing, burning, melting…. Cooking me alive. The physical oath Taggard spoke of was my tattoo. When I joined, I got a tattoo of the MC’s logo on my back. As the law of our brotherhood goes, you must return all you take, even your tattoo. As Taggard worked on burning the inked skin off my back, I couldn't help but think of all the reasons why I was here right now. I joined because I believed we were protecting the people of this city, like the police, but without all the inhibitions. But as the years went by, and the leadership changed; everything we did, every action we took, we ended up hurting the people of Vale more than helping them. We changed for the worse, and I wanted out. I got my wish.

The heat from the torch, and my skin, already starting to bubble from the flames, began to take its toll on me. My mental state fractured, the pain, physically and mentally, was like someone taking a leaf-rake, covered in razor blades and doused in acid, and running it across my back over, and over again, eating away at my flesh. Taggard would leave the torch on one spot for too long, once in a while, and increase the pain delivered. After what seemed like hours of him doing this, I snapped. I began to writhe in pain, and struggle, the men holding me keeping me down. I had clenched my teeth to the point that something had chipped, I can taste the blood in my mouth. Enough was enough, I can’t take it; the pain... The agony felt like hell itself. I opened up my mouth, slowly, letting out a howl of pure, unadulterated pain and anger. The wider my mouth got, the louder the pained yelling was, to the point my throat ran dry, and a copper taste invaded my mouth. I couldn't see any of the men watching, I could only assume they were either stone-faced, or enjoying the show. It would all be over soon.... I prayed that it would.

If having an actual future meant walking through fire, then so be it.

I began to lose consciousness after a while, my vision fading in and out a couple times. Slowly, my senses began to leave me, one at a time, once again. The last thing I hear is the sound of the torch being shut off, the last thing I smell is the flesh of my back, burnt to all hell. I nearly throw up at the scent.

"Take him to Vale General Hospital.... They'll know what to do with him there." Taggard says, his voice fading along with the rest of the world around me. Just like that, everything goes black again. I'd find myself in the hospital a few days later, stuck in intensive care, my entire body wrapped up, and my mechanical arms re-attached to my shoulders. There was no way in hell the memories of that night would ever fade, and I have the scar to prove it.

My O.C's
Marcus "Mark" òr-Mheas - Cyborg
Salvador De Salvia - Soldier
Raxidius "Raxus" Onychinus - Pirate
Rohan òr-Mheas - Mad Man

In Brightest Day, In Blackest Night....
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