Atlas had always been a fortress.
Not just in structure, but in principle. A bastion of order standing against the chaos of the world. A city above the clouds meant to be untouchable and unyielding.
That was what Atlas was meant to be. What it had always needed to be.
But now, James Ironwood could feel the cracks forming beneath his feet.
He sat at his desk, surrounded by reports, each one another piece of an ever-worsening puzzle.
The aftermath of the attack had settled over the world like a dust storm. It drew them into a choking haze of uncertainty, suspicion, and fear.
Why would the White Fang throw themselves into the meat grinder, and sacrifice whatever barely existent goodwill they might have had? That was the million lien question for everyone.
But not for Ironwood, at least not for long.
The tension in Remnant was rising by the day, every kingdom shifting, every power scrambling to adjust to the sudden, violent shift in balance.
The seeds for another War were being set.
And in the middle of it all...
A Black Queen.
That damned symbol had appeared on Atlas' military systems the night of the attack. Ironwood recognized it for what it was: A taunt, a declaration, a confirmation of what he had feared for years.
The Queen of Grimm had finally made her move.
A failed move, but a move nonetheless.
And if not for Jacques Schnee (Ironwood's fingers curled slightly against the report), things could have gone very differently, and very badly.
Another shift. Another unexpected variable in an already precarious equation.
Jacques. Jacques. The businessman, the politician, the infuriatingly self-serving thorn in Ironwood's side, and a lifeline to dealing with the snake den that was the Noblilty scene at the same time for years.
The past few months had changed Ironwood's perception of the man.
As it did for the rest of the planet.
However, his contributions were undeniable, and his capabilities were unquestioned. Thus, whether he was a divine messenger or a demon incarnate, James was not the type to forsake a valuable ally for something as fickle as morals and ethics.
He was a soldier. And should Jacques truly prove himself to be a devil...
Ironwood saw no fault in using Evil to thwart a Greater Evil.
'My personal pride has no place with the world at stake,' The silent humming of his Mettle reminded him.
Jacques could wait for now. The matter had already been discussed with Ozpin, and the gears had begun to turn. For now, he would trust Beacon's headmaster's plan when it came to the Schnee patriarch.
And so, he had deemed it prudent to focus on something far more important.
At last, they had a concrete trail leading to the black queen. But as with all good fortunes, it had come with its share of complications.
The Scorpion—Tyrian, if his delirious mumblings were to be believed was proving to be difficult. Not because he refused to speak. The madman never stopped speaking, grunting out whatever delusions struck him, even as his body continued to fall apart.
The issue was the verity of his ramblings.
Ironwood had seen fanatics before. He had interrogated zealots, broken revolutionaries, men and women who had once sworn their undying allegiance to a cause and then crumbled when faced with the cold, inescapable truth of their failure. He'd look no further than Varek Balder.
Tyrian was not one of them.
There was no crumbling here. No realization, no doubt, nothing but blind and unwavering devotion. In broken gasps from a burned throat, he would rant and rave even with his last breath, a corpse still proclaiming its faith.
And therein lay the problem.
He was on borrowed time, but they had little way of determining whether his words were the deranged gospel of a dying lunatic or actual intelligence.
As long as his Aura remained, their artificial truth detectors were useless; his Semblance made sure of that. Relying on old models and Aura dampeners was similarly unviable; without his meager Aura, his already failing body would collapse before they could extract anything useful.
Asking Jacques to use his summon to heal Tyrian was also out of the question. He'd rather avoid increasing Atlas's debt when sparing the Scorpion's life once would surely lead to Jacques demanding something in return. No, that was a last resort; one he'd only consider if every other option failed.
Thus, once more, Ironwood swallowed his pride and did what was necessary.
Needs must when the devil drives.
It was ironic, coming from a man like him. And at the risk of sounding like a technophobe, James had always believed that humans were far more reliable.
Even the rogue, childish, and misguided, such as Robyn Hill.
But Desperate times call for desperate measures.
So, using the authority granted under martial law, Ironwood had finally turned into a tyrant.
Or rather, the illusion of one. A masterful display of political tact in his opinion.
A carefully staged arrest, meant to fuel the growing belief that he was blinded by paranoia and rage while a comfortable lodging was prepared for Robyn Hill and her team. To lull the wary into thinking he had lost himself, that his actions were desperate, reactionary. Let them whisper behind closed doors, let them shake their heads and mutter that the General had gone mad.
The guilty always scrambled to hide their tracks when they thought the noose was tightening. The unsavory would let their guards down and go full throttle forsaking all caution. And the disloyal? They couldn't help but reveal their true color, and their fangs, when they thought they had nothing left to lose.
Soon, they will hang.
It wasn't the first fake-out he issued. He'd used it once before, and under the command of Specialist Schnee, who knew him like the back of her hand.
He trusted his cool-headed subordinate to understand and read between the lines as she had always done.
Trying times were upon them, and he needed Mantle's support for a united Atlas.
This was his olive branch.
A knock in a steady and familiar rhythm had a small smile appear on his face. 'Just in time.'
"Come in, Specialist."
Winter stood at attention, crisp, composed, the very image of a perfect soldier. And yet—yet—there was a subtle shift in her stance, a hint of something that any ordinary observer might miss.
She was pleased with herself.
Ironwood's smile barely lingered as he gestured for her to proceed. "Report."
Winter stepped forward with precision, but there was no mistaking the self-satisfaction radiating from her.
She presented a tablet, and her tone was measured. "Robyn Hill has been successfully detained, sir."
He nodded.
Ironwood skimmed the report, and then stopped.
Then reread it.
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Department of Tactical Assessments and Intelligence Procurement
Medical Report – Detainee Robyn Hill
Patient Name: Robyn Hill
Detainee ID: 4672-MT
Date of Incident: [Redacted]
Attending Physician: Dr. Lillian Hawthorne
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INJURIES SUSTAINED:
Primary Injury: Concussion (moderate to severe). Sustained from rapid and forceful introduction to the nearest hard surface (listed under 'Interrogation Room, Floor'). Initial scans confirm no fractures, though the patient repeatedly claimed, "I hope my skull is cracked because if it isn't, I'm breaking it against these bars myself."
Secondary Injuries: Severe periorbital contusion (left eye). Substantial swelling. The patient requested a mirror, then promptly accused attending staff of "exaggerating the damage to make her look weak."
Laceration (right cheekbone). · Minor laceration (right cheekbone). Superficial. Likely from collision with uniform insignia or reinforced boot.
Sprained wrist (right). Sprained wrist (right). Possible defensive injury; unclear whether from resisting arrest or from failed attempt to punch Specialist Schnee.
Generalized soreness, particularly in the upper body. Directly correlated to repeated high-speed impacts with the floor, a table, and potentially Specialist Schnee's forearm.
PATIENT STATE UPON ARRIVAL:
Conscious, irate, and fully committed to being everyone's problem.Attempted to remove IV upon realization that it was issued under military care. When restrained, responded, "Fuck you."
Verbally combative: Referred to Specialist Schnee as a "jackbooted, Atlesian-washed bitch," General Ironwood as "Atlas' human-less ball-less bastard dedicated war machine," and attending medical staff as "Ironwood's personal clean-up crew."
Physically combative: Attempted to stand multiple times despite clear medical advisement against doing so. Fell each time. Blamed Specialist Schnee each time.At one point attempted to remove neck brace by slamming her head against the wall, screaming, "I'd rather die a free woman than be treated like some wounded animal in a cage!" (Patient was then forcibly sedated for safety reasons.)
-----------------------------------------
MEDICAL RECOMMENDATIONS:
72-hour observation for worsening concussion symptoms. Initial request for 24-hour monitoring was denied after the patient loudly threatened to "show them what a real concussion looks like" if they tried to keep her here.
Cold compresses for facial swelling. Patient refused, stating, "I want the world to see what they did."No strenuous activity for 48 hours. Patient responded, "I don't take orders from Ironwood's tin soldiers."Hydration and rest. Patient rejected water, insisting it was "probably drugged."
ADDITIONAL NOTES:
Patient repeatedly demanded to speak to General Ironwood. When informed that such a request was not within medical purview, responded, "Then bring him here so I can personally tell him what he can do with his damn Martial Law."
Attempted bribery of medical staff for access to comms. Bribe consisted of, quote, "the satisfaction of knowing you're on the right side of history." Offer was declined.
Threatened legal action against the entire Atlesian military, citing "unjust detainment and excessive force." When reminded of martial law, responded, "I'll sue anyway, just to be a pain in your ass."Declared that she was "going to make Winter Schnee regret every decision that led her to this moment." Followed up with, "If she thinks this is over, she doesn't know a damn thing about me."
Currently restrained for medical safety after multiple escape attempts. Sedation may be necessary if patient continues to refuse treatment.
Signed,
Dr. Lillian Hawthorne
Atlas Medical Division
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James looked at Winter.
Then, back at the report.
Then at her again.
Winter was silent for a moment. Then, with the crisp confidence of a soldier who had carried out her orders to absolute perfection:
"Mission accomplished, sir."
Ironwood leaned back.
And very calmly, very professionally, did not put his head through his desk.
However, moments later, some operatives would report hearing a suspiciously loud thud from behind the General's closed door.
A thud that just so happened to coincide with Jacques Schnee's latest social media post.
Upon witnessing such bizarre behavior from her superior officer, Specialist Schnee was baffled for all of two seconds until she really looked at it. Then she heard the unsaid, saw the hidden message, and, with the kind of clarity only a Schnee could possess, realized exactly what the good General was trying to convey.
And honestly? She wasn't sure whether to be impressed or deeply concerned.
Nevertheless, she saluted and swiftly left the room to do as instructed.
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—oshin of Xincheng denounced the Confederacy's actions as 'reckless opportunism masquerading as governance,' while Governor Takeda of Shiranui outright condemned the trade embargo as an 'act of economic strangulation under false pretenses.'
Sienna sat motionless, claws digging into the armrest of her throne.
Both leaders, alongside the Coalition of Northern Territories, have reaffirmed their stance that Menagerie's sovereignty is not a matter of Confederate jurisdiction." The small holographic projector in the middle of the throne room hummed as the broadcast continued. " Despite pressure from the northern city-states, additional fleets have been deployed to reinforce critical trade routes and the Embargo in place. The Confederate Assembly have reaffirmed its stance that Menagerie's claim to independence is void, citing its harboring of known terrorist factions—"
Sienna barely heard the rest. The cold blue light filled over the room against the banners of the White Fang hanging from the walls. It flickered slightly on the faces and guns of the guards lined up around her throne as the transmission shifted to a panel of suited analysts debating the so-called legitimacy of Menagerie's rule as if her people's existence was just a theoretical concept to be discussed over wine.
She inhaled through her nose.
The scent of incense had always helped calm her, ground her. But that luxury was gone now, much too precious a commodity to waste with the embargo choking their resources.
So for now, all that reached her nose was the thick smell of burning oil and the salt of the sea. Thicker still was the smell of fear and dread from her people from the weight of failure.
Her fingers continued their drumming against the worn wood of the armrest, as the feed, too, continued to drum about the metaphorical guillotine over the Faunus kind's heads.
"Menagerie does not exist," one of the humans on the feed declared. "Not in the eyes of international law. It is a rogue state, a relic of wartime concessions. With the White Fang's continued presence there, it is not unreasonable to consider military intervention to retake what is rightfully ours!"
The sound of the human on the screen slamming his fist was lost in the sound of the metal and wood crumbling under her own.
And Sienna needed to feel that anger simmer beneath her skin.
Everything had gone to shit.
"It grows more and more disadvantageous…" a presence spoke. One of the Albain twins—Fennec lingered at her side as expected. Less expected was the absence of his brother. She didn't need to look to know the expression on his face was one of quiet disdain."...the fallout of our latest operation."
A damn understatement!
They were a bloody laughingstock.
Varek....
Stupid. Moronic. Incompetent. Too full of himself Varek.
That fool had failed.
And of course, he had. His chances of success had been laughable from the start. She had given him barely enough support to keep up the illusion of control, a token force—just enough that he might see reason and back down.
Atlas was not to be challenged head-on.
You can't attack the tiger in its den when its fangs surround your neck!
And yet, somehow, as much as it galled her Varek had found someone to arm him. Enough weapons, enough resources to convince him that he had a fighting chance.
She had no clue about who this someone was, or at least nothing more than vague whispers and rumors. A being with enough power and influence who happened to be just as stupid, just as desperate, or perhaps…
But no.
She shook her head lightly. What mattered was that the fucking Gorilla had wasted it all.
Atlas cell had been wiped out in the attack. None of their objectives had been achieved. No hostages taken. No real blow was dealt to Atlas.
Instead, the damned Jacques Schnee was now a hero. The footage of him effortlessly dismantling her brethren was spreading like wildfire, a far more devastating blow than any piece of propaganda from Atlas.
Any momentum White Fang had gained was quickly dissipating as their remaining forces in Solitas were being hunted down.
The tariffs were already in place. Trade routes were cut off. Mistral left them to starve, and with Atlas looking for an excuse to intervene, Vale and Vacuo weren't going to do a damn thing about it beyond empty reassurances and lip service.
Menagerie was bleeding.
She needed to reel things before someone did something stupid.
She exhaled sharply, claws digging into the remnants of the throne's armrest. "Tell me everything," Sienna muttered, eyes still fixed on the flickering projection.
Fennec didn't respond immediately. He never did. The subtle twitch of his ears told her everything she needed to know. It didn't matter. He wasn't the one leading this damn mess.
"They're calling it the Beast Hunt of Solitas. Seeing that Devil's prowess, and how he mocked our deity…" Her pupils turned into slits, remembering that farce.
Fennec let the silence hang for a moment, weighing his words. Then, with the same cold detachment, he continued.
"Many in Menagerie are turning on the White Fang."
Sienna closed her eyes.
"They watched the footage, Sienna. The whole world did. They saw our warriors cut down like animals—slaughtered, humiliated, toying with them before finishing the job. And by him of all people." His lips curled slightly like the thought of even muttering his name alone was beneath him. "The people are afraid. Furious. Not at Atlas—at you."
Her ears flickered.
The sounds of distant whispers and footsteps approached.
Echoes of panic and dread surrounded the castle.
"There's even talk of expelling White Fang members from the island entirely. Some are calling for your head," Fennec added, almost casually. "They blame you for backing Varek in the first place. Say that if you had reined him in, none of this would've happened."
Embers of rage continued to bubble beneath dark skin at the mere uttering of those words, and at the insignificant voice in her head agreeing.
Weaklings..
'A moment of unease and the Faunus are quick to rush back to their chains. They want to grovel at the feet of humans, and beg for mercy like cattle?!'
Cowards. Weaklings. The moment the tides turned, they wanted to jump ship.
She knew they were desperate, but she also knew that desperation led to stupidity. And if Menagerie turned on them completely…
She inhaled slowly. "And the other branches?"
"Divided," Fennec admitted. "Some still believe in you. But many more are cutting ties, hoping to avoid Atlas' wrath. The younger ones—those who saw the footage—are questioning if the White Fang even deserves to fight for them anymore. 'Why should we follow those who can't even fight back?'" He scoffed, shaking his head. "They didn't see martyrs. They didn't see warriors. They saw prey."
Weakness...the word mocked her.
Her people would suffer for it.
Her enemies would revel in it.
And Sienna Khan had never hated the world more than she did at that moment.
"The Belladonnas..." She spat. It had to be them.
Fennec exhaled, his ear flicking ever so slightly. "Kali Belladonna has kept her distance, but she's not stopping her allies from speaking out. There's a growing push for Menagerie to formally denounce us." He met her gaze evenly. "Some are saying we've damned the island by association. That if Menagerie doesn't cut us off completely, Atlas will have an excuse to act."
Sienna's fangs pressed together.
"What of the others?"
"Corsac has been smoothing things over where he can," Fennec said. "But we're losing ground. Gira Belladonna hasn't spoken publicly yet, but his silence is telling. And the clans that once swore loyalty?" He tilted his head slightly. "Some are even wondering if the White Fang should… change leadership."
So it had come to this. One disaster—one humiliation—and suddenly, her rule was in question.
This wasn't the end. The White Fang had suffered losses before. They had been pushed to the brink, scorned, written off. But every time, they had found a way to survive.
The question was how.
Her gaze flicked back to the flickering projection, the cursed image of Jacques Schnee standing amidst the broken bodies of her so-called warriors. The world saw him as a devil in a suit, a man who had humiliated the White Fang without so much as loosening his tie.
And that image would haunt them far more than any battlefield loss.
She stood up.
Atlas was never to be challenged head-on.
Then it was time to stop playing by Atlas' rules.
Luckily, she already had a raging bull ready to throw everything into disarray.
The sound of approaching footsteps finally reached an end.
The door of the Throne room burst open and came in the greatest threat to the stability and future of Sienna's White Fang.
"Ghira." She said casually. "To what do I owe the visit?"
Ghira stood just beyond the threshold. His golden eyes burned with a certain look. She knew that look. She had seen it before, long ago, when he had still worn the mantle of leadership when he had believed the White Fang could change the world with words alone.
And now, here he was again, thinking he could change it back.
He was wrong back then.
He was wrong now.
"Sienna." He said calmly. But she could hear the anger buried beneath it. "I'm here to take back what you've corrupted."
Sienna exhaled slowly through her nose. "Corrupted?" she echoed, leaning back against her throne. "Tell me, Ghira, what exactly have I corrupted? Was it the White Fang's name? The cause? Or was it just your naive little dream?"
His glare intensified. "You've turned the White Fang into something unrecognizable. We were supposed to be a voice for our people. Now, you've turned us into terrorists."
She almost laughed. "Terrorists?" she repeated mockingly. "I prefer 'warriors.'"
"Whatever you call them, they're being left behind," Ghira replied. He stepped forward, and in an instant, dozens of rifles were leveled at him. He paid them no mind. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be, Sienna."
Sienna's smirk didn't waver. "Harder?" she echoed, voice smooth as silk but sharp as a blade. "Ghira, you walked into my throne room alone, and you think you can dictate terms?"
How disappointing. To think she had wasted time worrying about him, and this was his grand plan?
The soldiers didn't lower their weapons. Neither did Ghira flinch. His shoulders squared, his golden eyes locked onto hers with that same infuriating determination.
Sienna let out a slow sigh. "You can neither talk nor fight your way out of this, Ghira."
His face twisted, and for a moment, an almost pitying look crossed his features.
"Neither can you, Sienna."
A new voice.
She turned sharply, and she found herself staring into an identical face to the man behind her.
Corsac Albain.
"We would rather avoid needless bloodshed, Sienna," he said.
It took her a moment to process what was happening. A long, damning moment. Long enough to feel the tip of a blade settle against her neck. Long enough to see the dozen rifles meant to protect her now turned against her instead.
"You cowardly bastards..." she muttered, side-glancing at Fennec behind her.
He didn't even flinch.
"Menagerie has already made its decision, Sienna Khan," Corsac stated.
So this was their play.
She should've known. She did know deep down; she had always suspected the Albains were too measured, too calculating, too eager to speak of unity while ensuring they were never the ones in the line of fire.
But to think they would go this far. To think they would throw their lot in with him.
Her fingers twitched, claws flexing against the worn wood of her throne. Not like this.
Ghira exhaled. "Stand down, Sienna. No one wants more bloodshed."
"No one but you," she shot back. "You think this will save Menagerie? Selling us out to the highest bidder?"
Corsac's expression remained unreadable. "We are saving Menagerie from you."
Sienna's lip curled. "Then pull the damn blade."
Silence.
She held Corsac's gaze, daring him. Do it. Let's see if you have the spine for it.
But he didn't move. Neither did Fennec.
Ghira frowned. "Enough of this." He looked past her to the gathered White Fang soldiers, their rifles still trained on her. Her own soldiers. "Sienna Khan is no longer fit to lead the White Fang. Menagerie will not follow her into ruin."
Some of them hesitated. Good. That meant there were still warriors among them. But hesitation wasn't loyalty.
She inhaled deeply.
"Do it, then," she said, baring her throat. "Show your loyalty. Let the world see what Menagerie does to its leaders."
Fennec spoke this time. "This isn't an execution, Sienna."
She gave him a withering look. "Then what is it?"
"A transition."
And just like that, the rifles lowered, and the blade withdrew.
But the chains around her were already set.
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Ruby liked heroes.
Not just the ones from fairy tales, though she loved those too—especially when Dad, Yang, or Mom used to tell them to her when she was little. Stories of brave warriors slaying monsters, of knights saving kingdoms, of people with cool weapons standing up against impossible odds and winning. Those were great. But the best part? The part that really stuck with her?
Heroes helped.
It wasn't just about fighting bad guys or looking cool while doing it. It wasn't about fame or power or even being the strongest. Heroes were the people who saw something wrong and decided to fix it.
The ones who put themselves between danger and the people who couldn't fight for themselves.
Heroes made things better.
And Ruby wanted to be one. Always had. Ever since she was little, listening to stories about the Huntsmen who protected Remnant. She wanted to be strong, to be brave, to be someone who made a difference.
She still did.
So, becoming a Huntress—or, well, a Huntress-in-training—was obvious. And she supposed she was doing alright if she managed to get into Beacon a whole two years early.
And she was even the leader of Team RWBY!
She tried to be the best leader, the best teammate, the best sister, and the best at… well, a lot of things. She wasn't sure she was succeeding, but she was trying. And by trying, she was learning.
She learned a lot from her teammates.
Like how Weiss had way too many rules for what counted as 'proper etiquette.' Apparently, eating cookies in bed was barbaric, slouching was unacceptable, and running in hallways was a disgrace to the Schnee name. (Which was weird, because Ruby was pretty sure she wasn't a Schnee.)
Weiss also taught her about discipline and strategy. And maybe Weiss didn't always say things in the nicest way, but Ruby knew she meant well. Most of the time.
Blake taught her that books were a dangerous weapon—not just because they were heavy and hurt when thrown at her head, but because Blake could somehow read a single sentence and then launch into an entire lecture about 'systemic oppression' or 'socioeconomic disparity.' And Ruby? Ruby just wanted to know what happened to the cool sword guy on page five.
But Blake also taught her patience. That not every problem could be solved with speed, and sometimes, you had to slow down and really think about things.
Yang… well, Yang was supposed to be the responsible older sister, but that was a lie. Because Yang was the one who taught her the joys of bad puns, the power of dramatic sunglasses removal, and how to weaponize charm to get extra fries at lunch. These were important life skills.
Yang also taught her how to keep going. That even when things got rough, even when she doubted herself, she wasn't alone. She was also her older sister and took care of Ruby for most of her life, so she got a pass.
The point was that Ruby was learning! Not just from her team, but from her friends and teachers too.
Not always the things she thought she'd be learning, and sometimes, the lessons involved getting scolded, bruised, or mildly traumatized.
But she was learning.
And that was what being a hero was all about, right?
Ruby also learned that sometimes… heroes don't always feel like heroes.
Sometimes, the fights weren't so simple. Not like the ones in the stories. It wasn't always a Grimm with red eyes and sharp claws. It wasn't always something you could cut down with a well-placed swing of Crescent Rose.
Sometimes, the fights were closer.
Messier.
Sometimes, they were with the very people you were supposed to trust.
Like now.
"You're defending them?" Weiss stomped her foot and yelled incredulously. "After everything they've done? After what just happened!?"
Blake's hands curled into fists at her sides. "I'm saying that it's not that simple."
Weiss scoffed. "Not that simple? Those bastards has been terrorizing my family's business for years. They're attacking civilians, hijacking shipments, destroying livelihoods, And now, they're bombing the capital?! on Himmel Koenig?!—do you still want to defend them?"
"What do you want me to say then?"
Blake narrowed her eyes. "Defend what, exactly?" she shot back. "The attack? No, I will not defend that! but I will also not fall in line and pretend that your father used it to make himself look like a hero like he isn't majorly responsible for Faunus suffering across the world."
"Let's...let's just calm down, okay." Ruby tried to pacify the two while she waved her arms helplessly between her two teammates.
She wasn't stupid. She knew Weiss and Blake didn't see eye to eye on a lot of things. That was obvious from day one. But this was different. This wasn't bickering over coffee orders or battle strategies.
This was something bigger.
Even if the same argument had happened several times already, somehow, this time, it seemed more...personal. And she had no idea how to deal with it.
Why did Yang have to disappear at a time like this?!
"Oh, please. My father is not responsible for every bad thing that's ever happened to the Faunus." Weiss rolled her eyes with an exaggeration. "Do you even hear yourself? The White Fang attacked us. They stormed a gala, armed to the teeth, ready to kill civilians—innocent people—and you expect me to sit here and act like my father is the villain? How typical."
"Typical?" Blake echoed, voice low and dangerous. "You think it's typical to hold the Schnee Dust Company responsible for the way it treats Faunus? For the conditions it forces them into?" She took a step forward, her amber eyes blazing. "If so, allow me to burst your bubble, Heiress. Your family profits from the suffering and exploitation of its Faunus slaves, if you can even call them that."
The Schnee heiress took a step forward meeting her glare with an unimpressed look. "Spare me the dramatics. Workers. That's what they are. They're paid for their labor, just like anyone else. the SDC is by no means forcing them to work, they are free to seek employment elsewhere if they're so miserable."
Blake let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Oh, of course. Because they can just walk away, right? Just pack up and find a new job, as if there's some magical company out there waiting to hire Faunus with no education, no resources, and no other options." She took another step forward, her voice dripping with anger. "Do you even hear yourself, Weiss? Do you know what happens to the Faunus who 'walk away'? They starve. They get run out of towns. They die."
Weiss's jaw tightened. "And what, that justifies terrorism?"
Blake's breath hitched. Blake's fingers twitched, itching to reach for Gambol Shroud. Not to fight—but to have something to grip, something to ground her before she did something she'd regret. "Don't twist this! Stop acting as if every Faunus is a terrorist. Because while the world is tooting your father's horn, Atlas is making their lives hell!"
"It's just as you said, if not every Faunus is a terrorist, then they have nothing to be worried about." Weiss looked down at her. "Atlas is merely responding accordingly after its people —my people—were nearly slaughtered."
Wiess pushed even closer until the two of them were standing in each other's faces, noses nearly touching.
"Peace! Peace!" Ruby pushed herself between them and separated them.
Weiss barely budged. Blake didn't either.
Ruby felt like she was trying to hold back a dam with her bare hands. "We're supposed to be a team!" she said, looking between them. "We're supposed to be on the same side!"
Weiss's expression didn't change. "Tell that to her."
Blake let out a bitter laugh. "Me? You're the one defending your father like he's some great savior when he's the reason the White Fang exists in the first place!"
Weiss's jaw clenched. "And I'm supposed to just stand here while you vilify my entire family?"
"If the truth vilifies them, maybe that's not my fault."
Ruby groaned. "Stop it! Both of you!"
Neither of them so much as looked at her.
"So, my little brother's life is fair price? My mother's? My sister's? to pacify those... filthy animals!" Weiss spat the word. "Or are only the poor miserable Faunus allowed to be innocents?"
Blake's jaw tightened. She wanted to scream that she was angry, that she hated what the White Fang had done, that she'd spent years watching their methods get worse and worse. But she couldn't. Not without saying too much.
Instead, she settled for glaring right back. "I care about innocent people, Weiss. That's the difference between you and me. You only care when they look like you."
"And you only care when they don't." Weiss's expression hardened into something colder. " You keep harping about those barbarians. Well news flash! To them, you're just another human, Blake. They wouldn't think two seconds before putting a bullet through that thick head of yours."
Blake flinched. Just for a second. Just enough for Weiss to notice the quivering of her bow.
"I know what they think of me. I've known my whole life. But unlike you, I don't get to ignore the suffering of others just because it's inconvenient."
Blake's lips pressed into a thin line. "I don't make excuses for anyone. I don't excuse the White Fang for what they did. And I won't excuse the SDC for what it's done, either."
"How noble of you," Weiss replied, her voice thick with sarcasm. "Holding yourself above it all. At least you're pure enough to sit in judgment over the rest of us. It's nice to know that if we ever come across the White Fang, I'll know to watch my back."
"Weiss!" Ruby exclaimed.
Blake's eyes narrowed. "Don't twist my words, Weiss. I'm not your enemy."
Weiss scoffed. "Could've fooled me."
Then, without another word, she turned on her heel and left.
Blake watched her go, arms still rigid, jaw still tight.
She told herself she didn't care.
She wasn't sure she believed it.
And Ruby?
Ruby just stood there, feeling like the stories had lied to her.
Because heroes were supposed to fix things.
Not break them.