The Ambition of Wrath (RWBY x SWTOR (Sith Warrior Male Reader))

Ch. 22: Special Assignment

Ripnir pov:

I stand at the gate with Torres as my partner. My sniper rifle is starting to get heavy in my hands. The air isn't as cold as Hoth, but it still makes my nose run and my face numb. Still I stand at attention.

Torres: Oh boy... You never get tired, do you?

Ripnir: Not when on duty. Can't afford to.

Torres: Geez. I'm still convinced you were some kind of super soldier or somethin'.

Ripnir: *exasperated grunt*

It's been a few weeks since I arrived in Atlas. Besides formation, exercise, and spare time, a lot of my time is spent on guard duty. It's not a post I missed from my time in the Imperial Military. It is roughly 3 pm, so I still have a few hours left on duty.

Torres: Why do they have us on guard duty anyway? We're literally on a floating island in a frozen wasteland. It's not like anyone would be foolish enough to get an army through this place.

Ripnir: Have you forgotten about the Grimm? An army invading is unlikely, but if a horde of grimm should try to invade, we would actually be at a disadvantage. They have the several adaptations to this wasteland that we humans sorely lack.

Torres: That... is true, I guess.

Ripnir: Now shut up, or I'll place my boots all over your crisp, white sheets back at the barracks.

Torres looks at me with shock.

Torres: You wouldn't dare!

Before I can counter, I see someone approaching us from my right. The Ace Operative uniform they are wearing sets off several alarms in my head. But instead of panicking, my experience tempers my reaction, and I get Torres' attention and stand at attention. Torres sees what I see and follows suit.

The specialist stops and stands in front of us. She has a dark skin tone with a small patch of blonde hair on the top of her head. Her eyes are a dark pink. A mechanical device that resembles braces or a harness adorn her arms and meets on her back.

Specialist: At ease.

We slack a little, but remain focused. The specialist looks over us both before settling on me.

Specialist: You are Private Ripnir August?

Ripnir: I am, Specialist.

Specialist: Good. I am Harriet Bree, a member of the Ace Operatives. You may refer to me as "Ms. Bree" from here on out. Come with me. General Ironwood wishes to speak with you.

Ripnir: Yes, Ms. Bree.

I nod to Torres, who nods back, and follow Harriet. My exterior expression and posture show complete calm and attention. However, I am utterly panicking on the inside.

The General? What does he want? Has my cover been blown?

I grip my rifle ever so slightly harder.

Harriet: You can shoulder your rifle, you know.

Reluctantly, I do so. It would not be wise to disobey a specialist, even if it was a simple suggestion.

Soon, we arrive at the headquarters. After a few hallways and an elevator to the one of the higher floors, we enter the planning room.

The room has privacy glass overlooking the compound. A holographic table is in the center of a raised platform. Rows of seats face the platform, likely for the top brass to observe the general as he lays out the strategy. The seats are empty, however.

Standing around the table are several people, of which, I recognize only two.

Winter is hunched over the table analyzing whatever is being shown. There are 4 others standing at the sides of the table. Beside Winter is a young bald man with extremely pale skin. He has a large throwing star on his back. Another stands beside him. A caucasian man with brown hair. A... fishing rod hangs from his left hip. Opposite of Winter is a dark skinned male faunus with a blue and white tail. A rifle is on his back. Beside him is a dark skinned woman who is large in stature. A box-shaped device with canisters is on her back.