An Anon's Journey: Remnant Act 1

V2E4: Conspiracy Theories

LONG CHAPTER (8.7K+ WORDS)

Ask anyone who has a sense of optics, and they will tell you that parking an entire squadron of fighter crafts next to a school is pretty over the top. Ask Anon, and he'll tell you that it is completely unnecessary, if still pretty fucking baller.

He called Hope looked from Ozpin's office at the squad of much smaller but still imposing advanced Atlan bullhead V-TOLs descending unto the landing bay. He shook his head disapprovingly.

"Someone's flexing." He commented.

"I've been saying so for years now." Glynda shook her head as well.

The gears turned over the glass ceiling, the gentle tick-tocking serving as background noise. Ozpin was busy typing on his desktop computer.

"Well, running an academy and a military makes him a busy man." The wizard argued, not looking up from his screen. "Although I will agree that they are quite the eyesores."

As he spoke, three more flyers came in. Ozpin smacked his tongue at more angular, unappealing, utilitarian aircrafts uglifying his landing zone.

Glynda, meanwhile, looked like a damn zombie. Anon gently rubbed her shoulders, she let out a pleasant sigh of momentary relief.

"How bad?"

"I've been overworking, I'm currently running on five hours of sleep because I've been grading papers late last night."

Anon groaned in understanding, himself having worked unreasonable overtime during his time as an office worker. Glynda stretched out her back with a pained breath.

"Been hunched over your desk for how long without standing?" Anon asked, eying her hunching back

"Too long."

Anon blanked before walking over to Ozpin's desk. Ozpin looked up curiously at Anon, who waved for him to move. Ozpin raised an eyebrow but complied, morbidly curious as to what the seer had in mind.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

James Ironwood was a man of many trades. He was a son, an avid student, a warrior, a teacher, a huntsman. But above all, he was a headmaster and a general. And despite the many difference in their approach, he couldn't help but admire Ozpin's Academy. Although he personally preferred his own Academy's utilitarian aesthetic compared to the immortal wizard's, he himself had to admit that he liked the warm and welcoming feel of Beacon to Atlas's coldness.

"It has been quite a long time since I last came to visit." The general mused to himself. "And yet, not much has changed, still the same marble floors, the same wooden frames."

He hummed to himself.

"This place could use some automatic doors though. But I guess analogue has its charm."

He stopped his musings there, he wasn't there to renovate (Or in his mind, modernize) his old friend's school. No, unfortunately, he was here to discuss worrying news that dripped down the grapevine.

"Qrow is an unreliable drunk at the best of times, but when he does his job; he rarely disappoints," He muttered. "I hope to the Twins that this once, he'll be wrong."

...

The Atlan general stood in front of an elevator door, waiting for the Beacon headmaster to give him permission to enter his office.

"He's really taking his time." Ironwood tapped his thigh impatiently.

At last, the elevator doors opened themselves wide. Ironwood stepped inside and selected the floor he wanted to go to.