The first two posts were deleted because of caution in regards to the hacking last year. Also, I was a bit indecisive, but here's to hoping that this sticks.

Under Copyright Laws, Digimon and RWBY respectively belong to the following; Bandai and Rooster Teeth.

Update: Revised and edited 1/12/19

IMPORTANT UPDATE: Due to a recent issue at home, this story is now officially up for adoption. For those interested, please PM me. We can discuss the notes I had reserved for future chapters in private. The other reason is that, well, I seem to be at the limit of my abilities and have reached a bit of a burnout.

"Was it real?"

He dimly peered up at the ceiling, shadowed by the curtains as he laid under the ruffled covers of his bed, body prone and lethargic, vision bleary, which he blinked away as he released a quiet yawn. He willed his body to shift, fixing himself upright to sit on the edge, his thoughts catching up at a late pace. He snagged a glance from his alarm clock and discerned a 6, the rest blackened out. That was before he lazily jerked a hand to slip away the sock that was hanging over it, blinking a few times to catch the full time being a quarter to seven.

He groaned, his brain rebooting, remembering that it was his turn among the eldest of him and his siblings to start breakfast. The journey downstairs was one of struggle, with many an obstacle like a few toys and other junk littering the hallway. Upon arriving at the stove by mistake, he remembered to wash his face to help him fight off some lingering sleep. Once done, he turned the gas on, and went to work.

He was no chef, but belonging to a large family found him filling in to pick up the slack when necessary, or when he felt like making some snacks. For him, it was always the basics; eggs, ham, toast, and maybe some pancakes to spoil Lavender, Lila, and Maisie. His mother sometimes recommended that he could have applied himself to a school, but he declined, with hardly enough money that both Cerise and Coral had to be on scholarships before moving out. He planned to find a trade that was affordable enough to work through, and embark from there.

Once he finished setting up the table, he started on the coffee. His father was on one his months long expeditions, his sisters at their jobs at Atlas, with the only people left that could drink coffee in the house was his mother and him. Both of them liked it strong, but he never added anything else, preferring it bitter. He patiently awaited the others, no doubt stirred by the whiff of a freshly cooked meal.

The first was Kelly, practically having skipped down the stairs and up to her seat, unceremoniously raking a fork through the plate of eggs. He didn't mind; Kelly loved to eat, and where there was food, she was never far behind. Any extra calories were burned away from her shooting hoops.

"Mornin', sunshine," Kelly greeted through a mouthful of food, eyes glued to her plate. A grunt was all he could return in kind.

"You know, you almost sounded like dad just now," she remarked condescendingly. "Usually whenever him and mom haven't had time together for a while."

"Still single, in case you're wondering."

"I know," she shot him a look, a smug grin forming on her lips after downing a bite of toast. "You were up real late in the computer room last night. Now, I don't want you to be too honest, but give a girl some credit that she's now old enough to know what a young man tends to do in his lonesome."

"Finishing my term paper. I'll be graduating this year."

"Finally!" Kelly blurted out in mock rejoicing.

"I'm not out of your hair just yet," the boy warned with a sly grin as he set the pot to boil, "I'll still be here for a few months, give or take, looking to find any trade schools nearby."

Kelly pouted, "Killjoy."

He grunted again, but the grin that remained expressed differently, filling his own plate after taking a seat. The others slowly followed, their mother being the last, always sure to take a bath first thing after having awoken. They had a schedule for the morning and evening rituals, lest the household fall into chaos and giving her the presence of mind to happily bring out the paddle.

The rest of breakfast was quiet, with only Maisie getting a telling to for chatting on her scroll. Being a Monday, his mother was all too happy to push them to the task of getting ready for school. The coffee did its work, but he then had little choice but to wait for Lavender, who he forgot had a big field ceremony for the graduating class above her year.

His luck wasn't all bad, burning rubber on his bike along the trail. He submitted his term paper, his teacher hardly noticing him or any of the students filing in his class. The rest of the day was like any other; bland and ordinary, but he was fine with it.

"Mr. Arc," a voice arrested him as he was behind his classmate exiting the door. His head swiveled, the man shooting him a glare as he remained seated on his chair, holding out leaves of what he could safely presume was his papers. With a blink of slight puzzlement and irritation that he might have to do the damn thing all over again, he shuffled towards the desk.

"Is this your idea of some practical joke?" the man spat, asking, a stray cowlick dangling from his comb-over of black hair, doing little to mitigate the stern glare that he was wearing.

"Huh?"

"This!" the papers were forcefully shoved to the youth's chest, forcing him to keep them spilling out on the floor. "On the bottom of the last page; yes, that right there. Care to explain that to me, Jaune!?"

Checking to see what the problem was, he leafed through his papers, and looked to where his teacher pointed at. Indeed, where there was some space left, a small symbol no bigger than a coin was etched. It was a circle, or, what could be made out as such, with four curved prongs converging to form the shape, enclosing around a smaller one in the middle.

Flummoxed, Jaune rushed to explain himself, more than certain that he did not place it there, "I...Mr. Moore, this-I didn't-"

"Save it, Jaune," Mr. Moore grumbled irritably, "white it out and give me a fresh copy, asap. Got it!?"

"But I-" Jaune started, but deflated under the teacher's brows flattening. "Yes, sir," he relented with a sigh, rounding on his feet to head for the copy room

He wasn't a bad student; average at best, but Mr. Moore was harsh like that. His classmates could attest that they didn't like him much, but he was fair and reasonable when it counted, but was blotted slightly by his temper.

When all was said and done, Jaune left with a miserable sigh, and a little ruffled that they'd probably have to buy a new printer. It was almost a decade old, darn thing standing the test of time of attending to seven kids. Then again, he could just open it up and check if something was amiss. Their parents were always mindful of money - not that they were that worse off. It was little more than having as many children as theirs instilling a habit of frugality.

His father, being a huntsman, had an allowance reserved exclusively for his equipment and supplies, and with prices fluctuating depending on available materials and dust, it was better than not having a roof over their heads. He even held back on asking for a scroll, not seeing much of a use for it. His social life; on and offline, was anorexic. Kids his age that he knew were acquaintances at best, with little; if any, drive of making friends.

And, if he ever felt like playing some games, they had the computer. Cerise bought it with the bonus that she received last year, the rest meant for other expenditures, like Maisie's scroll for her birthday. Their old one was scrapped for being an obsolete model, save for the aforementioned printer.

His mind went back to the symbol. It was too precise to be an error or misprint, lamenting now that he probably had to scan for malware. "Blasted ads," he thought, beleaguered. "You think a guy could watch pirated anime at his leisure. My mistake."

Priority. Download a new browser with a stronger adblock.

Upon arriving back home, he was delayed in doing what was needed by their mother, working at her online job of writing for a lifestyle rag, last he cared to find out. It paid well enough. Well, for a housewife that had little to do at home when the husband and kids were away.

No use dawdling. "Anything wrong with the computer?"

"Hm?" she spared him a look. "No?" She then eyed him suspiciously, "Why?"

Jaune squirmed a little, holding both hands up defensively with a weak chuckle, "Uh, n-nothing! Just-just asking."

Their gazes lingered for another silent moment before the woman shrugged and went back to typing. So, the computer seemed fine. Either his mother ran a virus scan already, or there was never really anything wrong with it. That only left the printer, which was dashed later on when the woman caught him with the screwdriver. Asking if there was something wrong with the PC was one thing, but dismantling the printer was another talk on the necessity of keeping their budget in the green.

"Your father will take a look at it when he gets here," she told him. "Now, take this brush and bucket and clean the bathroom. It's your turn now."

"I thought it was-" Jaune began to contest, but withdrew from the glare that she shot him. "Right. Sure." Head low, he shuffled defeatedly to his punishment.

Jaune managed to finish before dinner, might as well have taken a warm bath to clean up, not bothering to comb his unruly mess of blonde hair, slightly darkened from being damp, when he presented himself at the kitchen.

Dinner was uneventful, with Lavender recalling bits of the ceremony at her school.

"We had a visiting huntsman give a speech," she elaborated. "Used to go there before attending combat school."

"Wow. I didn't know you could do so at that late an age," their mother marveled.

"I heard that his family gave him some private training," her daughter explained. "He was just good enough to get into the grade of his age group. That was the point of him being there, encouraging aspiring trainees to enroll."

The older woman hummed, "Well, your father didn't exactly have the time to train any of you back then."

Some of them rolled their eyes, Jaune included. "He wouldn't have even if he wanted to. You kept saying no."

"And I still do," their matriarch maintained primly. "Why fight Grimm when you could all have good futures raising families of your own and spoiling us with grandchildren?"

Groans and heads meeting the table chimed all at once. "Seriously, mom?" it was Kelly who spoke. "I don't think the table would be able to hold that much!"

"Hold what?" Lila, the youngest, asked naively.

"Our pu-" Kelly tried to answer, before being cut off by their mother.

"So?" June intoned defensively, before biting into a piece of fish from her fork. "Coral's already dating."

"Yeah, Coral," Maisie drawled from her seat. "I doubt she even wants kids. Not after the way you practically doted on the guy when they came to visit. She looked like she wanted a Nevermore to just swoop in fly her to the Grimmlands."

"How else would I have gotten to know the kind of man that was going out with my little girl?"

"Not being creepy would have been a fair start," Lavender sided with her sisters. A thought then occurred to her, "What about you, Jaune?"

Her elder brother, having recovered from their mother's remarks on marriage, was torn out of his meal, arresting his attention, "What?"

"Do you have a girlfriend already?" Lavender went on to ask unabashedly with a devious smile.

Jaune stared at her, before his gaze traveled around the table, harboring curious looks from the others, "Uh...no?"

June seemed to take offense. "And why not!? You'd think my Jauney would have landed himself a nice girl by now."

The blonde blinked as he looked up, boring a hole through his mother, his brain shutting down, and then rebooting for what had to be the second time that day, "I'm full."

"I rest my case," Lavender proclaimed smugly.

"I'm not dating," Jaune reaffirmed loudly, but was ignored, his back facing them as he was halfway to the stairs. He blocked out the rest of the conversation, with him done with the bathroom, they could take care of the dishes.

Bedtime was still a good few hours away, so he saw no reason to not have a good game of playing his favorite MMORPG; V-Pet. He needed a distraction. The game boasted quite a bit of success ever since its debut when he was nine. Back then, however, it was little more than a gamepad title before it was reformatted for a much wider demographic. Promotions went from tours, conventions, to even a short-lived but popular anime.

Sadly, newer, and more innovative games gradually correlated the market, mitigating V-Pet's prominence and shuffling it into the casual realm for the nostalgic and sentimental. There were still players that numbered by the 2000 to 3000s, and the server was running as it always had, with regular patch updates. Every now and then, something new would be added; equipment, stages of evolution, or even new Pets.

Collecting V-Pets wasn't the main objective of the game, but to train and have the ones that you could catch to fight others and grow stronger. All of his own were already at their Adult Stages, but to reach Perfect would require fighting more powerful Pets to load their data. Same went for the recently added Ultimate stage.

Train enough to reach Ultimate, and a player would be able to fight the strongest V-Pet that is said to rest in what could only be called "The Shadow Zone".

None had been able to do so. None, otherwise, it would have been quite the achievement to post online, with many often claiming that the devs deliberately made it impossible, prompting some players to quit altogether, while others would stay to fight amongst each other, socialize, or kill time if they were bored and felt like playing for the hell of it.

There were rumors predicting that the company would shut down in about a year or two, with even the developers hinting that there simply wasn't much to the V-Pet name anymore, and that they were merely keeping it alive until someone would be interested enough to buy the rights.

Jaune wasn't in any hurry, picking one of his Pets that was close to reaching its Perfect form. An hour in, and he achieved evolution. Terrific. And now he was bored again. With a few clicks of the mouse, he was ready to call it quits and watch some videos on BitTube before bed.

He clicked his tongue when the game froze, but the mouse was still moving. "Didn't they fix this on the last patch?"

The blonde keyed in the task manager, but was annoyed when it remained inert after a few more minutes. He tried jerking the mouse, to no avail. Resolving to just shut it down and be done with it, he pressed the power button.

Nothing. The screen was still on. Great. He pressed it again, and again, and a third time without letting go for good measure. "Screw it..." he reached for the adapter and flipped the switch to off. Not a few seconds in that he looked back up and did a double take; it was still on.

Confused, and a little creeped out, he slowly rose from having been hunched down, then carefully backed away. He only spared a glance behind him, wondering if either his mother or anyone of his sisters would come bursting into the room unexpectedly.

It could have been a power surge, but balked after another two minutes had gone by with no changes.

Oh God…

Could this be one of those horror game scenarios where a ghost would come out of the screen? A lady in white with black hair that pooled over her face? A demonic animatronic? A guy in a dog costume?

He swallowed at the possibilities as the screen seemed to get brighter and brighter, before it fanned out all over blindingly, causing him to look away and shield his eyes. Before he knew it, he felt that the room became dim again, and slowly, still taking a few steps back until he was flushed against the door, he dared to peek, and wasn't nearly surprised that the screen was still on, but what was shown on it.

The symbol. The same one that was on his paper that afternoon. It was surrounded in a red flickering mist, but it was unmistakable. Only a few seconds in of staring at it did the spectacle finally fizzle out, the screen blackening off for good. Frozen, it was after another stifling moment that he realized that it was over, but rather than stay and examine the bizarre event that just transpired before him, he did the next best thing.

Panicking and screaming out the door and stumbling to his room. He'll worry about any questions for tomorrow.

The next day…

And just like clockwork, his mother and sisters were on his case, pumping him for why he nearly woke the neighborhood with a start.

Uh…

"I was..." he struggled for something believable to say. Maybe he had hallucinated the whole thing, maybe he went to bed earlier than he thought and dreamed it all up. That was what happened in cases like that, right? You thought you were awake, but turned out to all be a dream. That's right, he rationalized.

It positively couldn't have been some random, paranormal phenomena, right? Right!?

"I...accidentally...clicked on a...porn site?" he winced at the lie, and a terribly incriminating one that could land him into all sorts of trouble considering who he was telling this to (and was doubly thankful that Lila and Lavender were still asleep), but by the Gods, he was sticking to it.

His mother, Kelly, and Maisie all stared blankly at him. Nothing else was said, the silence thick enough to rend with the family sword. His cheeks were heated pink and the level of embarrassment was perhaps worse than the time that he flubbed his line at a school play. So what if he mixed up "dicks" with "sticks"? At least the audience got a good laugh out of it.

June coughed, "Okay…? I'm not...well, I..." she sighed, but it sounded more like a huff, as Jaune was helplessly seated at his table, hands on his knees, "a healthy young man tends to get...curious," she winced in the same vein as her son. "I-I'm not...we're," she motioned a hand to his sisters present, "not judging you Jaune-"

"I am," Kelly piped in.

"Me too," Maisie concurred.

"-hence!" their mother interjected emphatically. "We shouldn't hold Jaune up to something that was bound to happen sooner or later."

I'm going to shoot myself, was the thought that ran through his head at that comment.

"I-I wasn't exactly..." Jaune sighed, scratching at his ear, exasperated. "I never intended to. I was just browsing through the search results and thought-"

"A likely excuse," Kelly tutted.

"I did!" Jaune persisted, more as a defensive reflex than an actual play at lying, flustered.

"It's okay, Jaune," Maisey giggled. "Everybody does it."

"Well," June coughed again, her own cheeks dusted with pink. "Now that that's done with, you guys still have school. So, come on! Double time!" she trailed off with a clap.

On his way to school, he tried to forget both the previous night and the morning after. The latter was pushed aside with little trouble; his sisters were only teasing, but at what really happened in that room with the strange light and symbol was going to require more aberrations. For some reason, the fear that had gripped his frame was slowly giving way to what he recognized at the last minute as recognition...and...longing?

Like...he had seen it before, as he mused quietly in his seat, pretending to listen. He was sure that Mr. Moore must have noticed, but didn't care, this being the final few weeks before graduation. The ensuing days, the ceremony, the celebrations, were like a blur to Jaune, but the symbol still clung to the back of his head like a leech, something familiar tugging at his mind, a distant memory that he wanted to both remember and forget.

His father had witnessed the proceedings from Maisie's scroll, not ready to go home until the week after, but it could be forgiven. Jaune had gotten used to his father's personal absences, the importance and risk of being a huntsman given precedence. They saved the party for when he did arrive. Nicholas Arc wasn't what you'd call an imposing fellow at first glance. Most could even say that his son was the spitting image of him, if older. His record as a huntsman, though, was nothing to scoff at. As their ancestors had been, he was skilled, so much so that a teaching spot at Beacon was readily offered, but he respectfully declined.

Field work paid more, and he needed the money to support his family, only accepting clients that held him to every penny the job was worth. The party itself was small, with only the Arcs in attendance. Cerise and Coral made time for their sibling, giving him his due praise, and little else. Jaune appreciated it, learning to take what he could get.

Later that night, it was only the men; him and his father, out on the porch, sitting on the bench that they had built together. Okay, he was eight, and it was more like him helping pass what tool was needed when called, but, semantics.

"You're 17 now, Jaune. Officially an adult," Nicholas remarked with a hint of pride leaking from his tone, to which Jaune swelled a bit appreciatively. "My boy, you've just taken the first step to moving out in the world. Of course, I don't mean that literally 'cause...well, you're still here." A pause. "Right next to me."

His son stared at him blankly, with him flinching not too soon after at his impotent attempt at levity. Humor was never his strong point. "Well..." he started again with a clearing of the throat, stumbling a little. "How do you feel, Jaune?"

The blonde hesitated, his words coming out shakily, "Uh...l-like I normally do. Nothing...nothing weird, or anything. Why?" He had an easier time talking with his father as a child. As he got older, most of their conversations amounted to the usual parent-child talking points.

"How was school?"

"You done with chores?"

"Trying out any clubs this year, chief?"

"Jaune," Nicholas moistened his lips somberly, tearing the boy away from his brief musing after taking a swig from his half-finished beer can, "you remember when...you were a kid, what you wanted out of anything, which your mother and I wouldn't hear the end of whenever I was around?"

Jaune stilled, staying silent, and this gave the older man incentive. "Your dream, son. To be a huntsman." He let the words sink in.

"Ah," blue eyes that reflected his own flashed, the son silently comprehending. "I-I think so, yeah. Why?"

Nicholas' lips curled into a small smile, "You wanted so desperately for me to train you. Sometimes, you'd barge into our room first thing in the morning, jumping on the bed, like you didn't even care if your mother was going to bite your ear off."

Jaune winced, remembering that too, apologetically. "You'd even sneak off with Crocea Mors to give it a few swings, but it'd always be too heavy and I'd hear you dragging it along the floor." The blonde sank into the bench. "Yep, those were the days." The smile he was giving now was doleful, like he was lamenting something. "So...what changed?"

"Huh?" Jaune blinked.

Another swig. "One day, not long after your tenth birthday, you just...well…" Jaune arched a brow in mild curiosity at his father reaching for the words.

"Stopped," Nicholas finally shrugged.

The blonde's eyes widened a fraction after a few minutes, as if in realization. Had he, really? "I...I guess I got over it."

Nicholas went silent. "You...got over it," he repeated oddly after retrieving his bearings. "That's it?"

"Yeah," Jaune nodded.

"You. Jaune "I'm gonna be the greatest huntsman alive" Arc," Nicholas reminded archly, "got over your dream? Just like that?"

"W-Why are you asking that right now?" Jaune spluttered ambivalently, becoming uncomfortable of old memories being brought up. "That was ages ago, pop."

"It's just...weird," Nicholas went on. "Don't get me wrong. Your mother was glad you moved on, and I was too. Being a huntsman isn't all it's cracked up to be, I can tell you that," he pointed at him with his pinky from the hand that held the beer. "But I say that it's weird because it was just so...sudden. One day, you'd beg me like a man possessed to take you on a trip, teach you some of my moves. The next, the literal next day, it was like you were barely ever interested at all. And you hardly ever brought it up again after that."

"I was... spontaneous as a kid," Jaune provided weakly. "It was getting old, and I was growing up."

"Spontaneity," Nicholas repeated with a snort. "I'm not so sure that that's what really went down. Be honest, level with me here. Why did you give up wanting to be a huntsman?"

Jaune went quiet, not even daring to make contact with his father's gaze as he contemplated deeply, because even he wasn't so determined as to why. It truly was so sudden. He tried to recall, but it was like a stray gust of wind that passed him by on a random day.

Wind...like riding in a tr-he shook his head, a light throbbing sensation overcoming him for some reason. "I'm tired, dad," he rose to his feet, with Nicholas not bothering to bar him, before going still. Begrudgingly, he whirled back to face their patriarch. "Look, it was just some kid's dream. I'd think that there wasn't anything serious behind it. I was like; what, eight? And, after two years, you get kinda bored and move on to the next thing. It happens, dad. Why? You...want me to take it up? At this age?" he snorted with a twinge of disbelief.

"That's not what I meant," Nicholas disclaimed with a shake of his head.

"Then, what?"

Nicholas stared at his son one final time, before belting out a deep sigh, "I just wanted to be sure." Jaune felt like he couldn't fully believe that. "What I meant to say is, whatever kind of path you choose, all I hope for is your happiness. I'm here for you. I'll support you. I always have. I know this because your mother and I made sure to raise you and your sisters to be good kids."

"But," he paused, "it's a hard world out there. Very hard," his head lowered briefly before perking up again. "Ultimately, nobody else but you has a say in where you're gonna end up. Not me, not your mother, not anyone. And I'm telling you this for your own good. Your grandfather did the same, and look how I turned out. I feel like I'm the richest man in the world with this family, and I wouldn't trade it for anything else." His voice shifted, "That's more than what any father could ask for from his children."

Jaune's eyes stung at what his father imparted, rounding back to the door, "Thanks, dad."

"And hey," the man continued more jovially. "I left you a little something in your room before we went out here. I have a feeling that you'll be needing it from now on."

A present? Well, here's to betting that it'll be leagues' above the shirt that Coral gave him that said 'Juicy' in stylized pink letters. Yep, totally not mortifying in any way. He'll just give it to Kelly, and in all likelihood, the girl was the rightful owner for the fact that it could barely fit him. Unless the fabric was stretchable. He torpedoed that thought away when it swerved back to his father's gift. Oh, goody.

The sanctuary of his domicile was welcoming, as he limply allowed his body to impact on the bed, catapulting the white box that was placed comfortably above his pillow to land on his scalp. A muffled groan, and an arm that reached for it, he forced his body to untangle itself from the heap. The box was a clear white, with no wrapping, and only tape to keep the lid fixed in place. Feeling it up, recognition shortly dawned on him, and quickly picked at the tape with a finger.

A Scroll. An honest to goodness Scroll. He would have been ecstatic if he wasn't so tired and a little sick from all of the food and drink that he stuffed himself full of. Well, better late than never, he supposed. With a shrug, he turned it on and waited for it to load. It wasn't one of the more expensive models, but knowing dad, this was only supposed to be for him to call if he ever moved out. Finding a nice trade school wasn't going to be easy, but might as well.

Money was gonna be easier on his folks with only Kelly, Maisie, Lavender and Lila, so, that was a load off his back. After checking out what apps it had, he was right. This was more for necessity than anything else. Meh, whatever. He tweaked with it more, wondering if he could download a few more. Not long after he connected to their wifi, did a popup greet him; probably an update. Reading through the text more thoroughly disclaimed him of that presumption.

Would you like to start again?

YES

NO

"Start again?" Jaune thought curiously. Say what? He tapped a finger outside the box, and it was like the computer all over again. Sigh. He picked NO without another fuss, and half-expected it to not abide. It disappeared.

Good.

Okay.

He fell back and slept like a log.

The next day, however.

Would you like to start again?

YES

NO

His eye twitched. He pressed NO once more. A few minutes later, the box appeared again, but now said something different that annoyed him.

You sure?

YES

NO

He pressed YES next, more than ready to just throw the accursed thing out the window.

Okay. Go to the the computer room.

Hang on!

He looked around his room, wondering if this was all just some elaborate prank arranged by his sisters, or maybe even his entire family. Rather than just throw the device, he let it slide off his fingers and to the floor. Maybe he could have his dad replace what was clearly a defective product. Just as he was about to get ready for the rest of the morning, a ringing sound made him stop just as he was about to take reach for his towel.

He tried turning it off, but it proved useless, with the ringing seeming to get louder after every minute. If he didn't do something quick, his mother and sisters would start with the yells and demands for him to pack his bags. The dialogue box popped open again, this time with a more insistent message.

Go to the computer room if you want the ringing to stop.

There was no way in hell that he was going to go back there if this thing was telling him to. He hadn't ever since that night. As far as he could speculate, whatever had caused it was now trying to lure him back to do who knows what to him. Uh-uh. No sir! His mama didn't raise no fool.

And just as the ghost scroll thing promised, the ringing did indeed cease immediately upon entering the computer room. Damn it, he just knew that he was gonna die. This was to be his last day on Remnant, goodbye cruel world. He tried to get out again, and he gawked when he felt it locked shut, to his ever growing panic and consternation. Fantastic.

"I-I'm warning you, who-wh-whatever you are. I kn-know how to defend myself." Fuck no! He could hardly muster up the gonads to stand up to the bullies at his school. He was done. The screen lit up once again. He managed a small glance under the desk; it wasn't even plugged. Before his mind could catch up to what was happening, he was engulfed entirely by the white radiance of some unknown force.

"What is this place?"

"What's your name?"

"Someone called me."

"You, too?"

"A 'spirit'? You mean, like a ghost?"

"Come on, Jaune! Kick his butt!

"Grab my hand, ' '!"

"Does...that make us friends, ' '?"

"We can do this! There's no way we're gonna lose to these guys!"

"EVOLUTION!"

Jaune awoke with a start, jackknifing up his bed in a cold sweat. Panting out short breaths, he looked down at his hands, and at himself, feeling around if he was alive. His heart was still beating, so much that his ears were reverberating at every interval. Another stifling instant, his mouth dry and his throat taut, he buried his face into his palms. He tried to quell the tension that was racking his form, gasping in his effort to regain some level of calm.

"A...a dream?" Was it? Well, he wasn't stuffed into some kind of suit that would grind him into hamburger, that much was obvious. He slowly slumped back on the bed, the stress now leaving him steadily. "A dream...it...it wasn't real. Oh God, thank God..." He allowed himself to stay prone, figuring that since he no longer had any school, he could slack off until he did his share of chores. Blinking away some sleep, he looked around the room. His room.

Or...what he thought was his room. Hurriedly, he scrambled out of the cot, the panic returning in full force as he took in his surroundings. It was dark, but not enough for him to not make his way around. From the furniture, to the bed, to the windows that showed a blue sky with wisps of clouds floating aimlessly, he knew that he was no longer home. He sniffed, his nose catching the distinct scent of smoke and metal, and hearing the faint sounds of what could only be a factory of some sort blaring in the distance. Come to think of it, he now noted that his body of had a thin film of sweat, indicating that he was somewhere humid.

There was a door with a flap from across the cot. He swallowed, cautious as to who or what could have brought him here, and if they were just outside. Question was; why? Slave labor? Well, from the industrial sounds and scents that began to overwhelm his senses, it was either a factory or refinery. Definitely not a ransom, unless he was simply abducted for the sake of someone's sick kick.

"Calm down, Jaune," he thought apprehensively, skin now clammy from the sweat and panic racking his form. "Th-This could all just be...a misunderstanding. I must have just gotten lost, or something." Unlikely, since he surely did not recall ever leaving or moving out.

Frantically, he searched the room for anything of use; weapons, communication devices - anything. He reached down his pockets and was flabbergasted that his scroll was still with him, and even more when he turned it on. Nothing damaged, and he checked the messaging apps; no reception. Of course. He must have been someplace isolated for there to be no signal, or maybe he needed to get out and go to a spot that did.

First things first, he needed to ready himself in case someone entered. To his ostensibly turning luck, he noted the shape of what looked like a pickax leaning head down next to the cot by its right. He scurried to pick it up and examine, satisfied that it was sturdy enough to defend himself with. Next, he positioned himself by the door, angled so that he wouldn't be seen through the windows. It was the best that he could do, and if his luck got any better, he could avoid conflict entirely. How to escape was another matter that needed further planning.

When minutes passed, and nothing and no one showed for his trouble, he took a peek outside; all of the buildings were shaped more or less the same, with varying differences in height and width. Appearance-wise, they looked comprised of sheet metal bolted around a hull, including the one he was in. Some of the "houses"; if they could be called as such, had chimneys, but instead of smoke, they released a healthy gout of flame.

His gaze lowered, and to his mounting excitement, saw that the streets were empty, but bizarre architecture aside, even the ground was metallic. Knowing better than to go through the door, he shuffled quietly to the window at the back, careful with the pickax that he still wielded. Using a small stool, he peeked out and down below, finding it to be at a height that he could jump. Any more, and he would have been trapped, lest he be desperate enough to make a break for the door anyway.

The pickax first, wincing when it made a clunk when it landed, but timing it to the pace of what he could guess were sounds of metal grinding and pumping. He landed none too gracefully in turn. Next, he made his way through the maze of houses. At the back of his mind, the thought of what he would do if he was caught was boiling, and the noises that he had been hearing since noticing them were growing ever so louder, meaning that he was going in the direction where there were likely people.

It could go either way. They'd see him and help him call his family to pick him up. Or, they could brand him as an intruder, knock him out, tie him up, and leave him in a room until they decided what to do with him. He made an about-face and went the way he came before it could ever come to that. He soon went past the house that he had occupied, or was it the one next to it.

Realigning his thoughts, the only thing that mattered was finding a way out, and as he kept going, less and less of the houses were left in his line of sight, the adrenaline that his body had built up fueling his every step, the attainment of freedom spurring him on. His efforts hadn't been in vain, approaching what could have only been the border. Upon making it far enough, he dropped the pickax like a brick, hands on his knees as he panted like never before.

"J-Just where the heck am I?" he asked to nobody in particular between breaths.

"You're near the Terminal of Flame."

"Yeah?" he gasped for a gulp of life giving air, coughing once. "Well, where's that?"

"In the Digital World, of course. You lost?"

It was then that realization struck him hard, as if someone had picked up the pickax and swung it squarely to his skull. Slowly, his head turned in the direction of the voice, only for his heart to skip a beat to find nothing but thin air. What's more, for as far that his sights could travel, miles and miles of rocky terrain ate away at his morale. "Just where in the hell am I?"

"Down here."

His eyes followed absently, and wasn't entirely sure if he was still dreaming, or ate some of his mother's bad leftover custard that caused him to hallucinate.

The creature was bipedal, with the body creamy white in color save for what he could safely guess was the mouth, which was a dark grey that resembled stubble or a duckbill. The head was oddly shaped like a dollop, with small ears on each side. Three stubs jutted out of each of its hands and feet like claws or fingers. Black, beady eyes looked up at his own, smiling pleasantly. Wrapped around its waist was a pink band of clothing, and sticking out of the side, a worn out green book with unfamiliar shapes and writings etched on the cover.

"So," the creature started again, "you lost, buddy?"

Jaune's jaw was hanging agape from panting, breath taut as he blinked once, then twice, and again, frozen in place at the sight of the newcomer.

"What."

Just a heads up for those that think this will follow canon; it will not. I'm putting it out here in case you're reading this under that presumption. Certain elements from both series will be different. Very different.