A Grey-Haired Boy

Introductory

Their new rooms had been assigned. They were going to be temporarily staying within the confines of Beacon's student dormitories until a new house could be set up for them. So, they took it. A large room right at the corner of Student Dorm Block Four. Diana was sat on a bed as she removed most of her gear and set it aside. Vicky was sat beside her, checking her DMR while Vic himself was processing just what the hell had happened.

Victor, to his credit, remained composed as he fiddled with his thumbs. His backpack, LMG and extra ammo lay by his side, while the others in the room looked at him processing it all. Most of his squad was just glad to be alive again, though most still bore the burn marks of chemical and nerve agents that were deployed against them. Vic had noted scars similar to his own on everyone, his sis included.

He asked, "So, it wasn't a dream..."

"No," Diana replied, looking at him, "Bastards dropped a nerve-chem combo on us. Mustard gas to boil away our skin and some super-Sarin that entered our bloodstream. We were both choking on our own lungs melting in our chest and due to the fact our breathing apparatus literally locked itself, man. It was painful, as I'm sure you know... Well, all of us save for Avram."

"I got the news of you all dying to a gas attack when I respawned here," The AT trooper of the squad, one of Vic's more close recent friends in the RoAF, told them. "Literally, found out the moment everyone celebrated I was alive. Then we all realized that this meant two possibilities."

Vicky joined in, adding, "Either you were left alone out in Ichkeria... Thank fuck you weren't," with a sympathetic look toward her brother. One which he appreciated, honestly. Vicky continued, "Or, you died, but you wound up somewhere different than us. Y'know, you were far forward enough that we couldn't see you when the green fog started rolling forward. Got scared."

"Some of us did get gas masks on in time," Diana quipped, motioning to another soldier from their platoon, who had her mask clipped to her belt. The Sergeant continued, "Sara, Tomas, Ion and Cocean made it, only to apparently get gunned down by the Chechen fucks..." pointing out each of them. 'Cocean' rolled his eyes, the spindly cornstalk-looking soldier jokingly glaring at the woman. She snorted and said, "Relax, Martin."

Vic added, "Glad we're all here," before falling back onto his bed and staring up at the ceiling. This entire mess felt like a fever dream to him. Something that his dying mind was trying to play up so he didn't feel so bad as he was dying. He rubbed his forehead with one hand, then looked to their Sergeant and asked, "So, what did you tell the Headmaster?"

"He wants us as Private Security for Beacon, paid-for by one of his buddies in the Vale Council," Diana replied, leaning, elbows on her knees for support. She looked Vic dead in the eye, "I told him I'd discuss it with the rest of you. It's our best bet to maintain a form of steady income and get food in our bellies after our Meal-Ready-to-Eat Supply runs out aboard the Warhound. Shit, we'll probably need to stow the victor, too, not use it because I don't know if we can even buy fuel here."

"Dust is the main fuel source, right?" Vic asked as he straightened up. She nodded, to which Vic suggested, "Maybe Avram can get it running on whatever passes for combustible Dust around here. Modify the engine, or, shit, check if a liquefied variation doesn't exist somewhere for us to use it..." as he looked around. His comrades all listened in to the chatter. He sighed and told her, "As for going PMC for this place to keep our bellies full...? As long as we're not forced to do anything shady, I'm okay with it."

Diana smiled at that, seemingly knowing that she could count on Vic. In truth, the guy who humped the MG didn't have much to really comment on a place that was offering them cash for a service they could provide. Their good Sergeant Danila was about to ask if anyone else thought different, but the entire platoon almost simultaneously gave thumbs-ups, signaling their approval.