Destiny of A Few

Chapter 9: The Shadows of Our Past

"Come on... move it!" A man in a black suit pushed another man in an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs across the hallway of the Vale Police Department. The man in orange was of middle age with a scraggly beard and medium height.

"What's the meaning of this?!" The prisoner exclaimed in frustration and though he was tired of being pushed around, he kept his stature. The stature of a man who had done countless of wrongs but cared not for the suffering he caused.

"You're being transferred, bub. Means you're no longer our problem."

As they arrived at the front desk, another officer with shades and a bald spot spoke up. "Okay, the faunus slaver known as Graves... multiple accounts of murder."

"Yeah yeah..." Graves let out a groan. "You don't need to repeat my life story for me."

"Alright." The officer at the desk pulled open a drawer and searched for the file of the man known as "Graves" and handed it to the policeman behind the prisoner. "You're good to go."

An unsuspecting black van with no windows, sat outside the precinct with the words 'Vale Police Department'. The guard to his right opened the door, there were four more guards waiting inside. The policeman shoved Graves inside the vehicle. His body hit the metal floor with a thud as he squint his eyes to adjust to the dark interior. Two benches sat on each side of the car while the front was separated by a wall with a sliding grille.

"Sit tight." An officer pushed him down onto the bench. He had a standard issue SWAT rifle hanging around his neck.

Two taps on the door then they were off. The transport vehicle exited Vale via a highway. After a few miles Graves decided he could get a little cocky.

"So, where are we headed?" The prisoner asked with an optimistic grin.

"None of your business. Shut it." The guard to his right said.

Graves decided to lean back and close his eyes; it was going to be a long trip anyway. Still, to be captured due to some teenage brat... that was the worst thing about this situation. About an hour had passed before they left the city district and were out on roads that circled open mountains.

Graves awoke to hitting his head on the bench. The vehicle had hit a bump in the road. Groggily opening his eyes, he felt the vehicle shake once more. However, this time, it sounded like someone had landed on top of the van.

"What the hell was...?"

"Aaaargh!!" A scream was heard coming from the front. The guard in front of Graves opened the sliding window to find that both the driver and the policeman in the front were gone. Which meant that no one was driving.

The van swerved off the side of the mountain, rolling along the steep slope. Graves immediately grabbed the officer to his left and used his body to shield himself. The crashed vehicle finally stopped as it hit the tree horizontally.

The slaver felt blood trickle down his head. Thankfully, the guard had taken most of the damage leaving the rest up to Graves' own aura. The fall also seemed to have killed the man. He reached into the policeman's pocket and retrieved the keys to his handcuffs.

After freeing himself of his cuffs, Graves kicked the back doors with ease and found himself in the middle of a dense forest. Four men in what looked like black versions of Atlas standard soldier armor stood in front of him. Their visors gleamed red. In the middle stood a figure in a black hooded robe.

"You are Graves, correct?" The figure, whose voice sounded female, asked. Her voice was deep and clear even if she wore a mask that covered the lower part of her face.