Mantle was to the south of Atlas City, closer to the coast though well shy of the waters – no one wanted to deal with the kind of creatures that dwelled in the sea unless they had to. It was in the central part of the region called the Hesperid Plateaus, built atop a massive mesa with plunging cliffs. Early Atlas settlements had always been built in the heights like this: harsh temperatures and difficult access harmed the Grimm as well as humans, after all. Mantle had grow as the most powerful and populous of those early settlements in large part because of the large size of the mesa's flat top and the fragility of the stone there. Shallow tunnels had been one of the first structures and the promise of protection had drawn survivors from every failed settlement on the continent. By the time the first king of Mantle crowned himself, half the mesa's top was already occupied and the tunnels were only getting deeper. The wars that unified Solitas as the Kingdom of Mantle after that were long, but surprisingly humane. Unlike Anima and Sanus, Solitas had never been bountiful enough to allow for large populations to settle. The leaders on every side of those wars knew that a single massacre could break an entire region for decades, and so battles and sieges almost always ended in surrender after a clear advantage was gained by one side.
The only stickler had been a loose confederacy of towns in the mountains to the north, and the Valian Alliance had barricaded themselves behind passes too costly to take for over twenty years even after the rest of the continent all fell behind Mantle. It was hunger that ultimately ended them, not force of arms. After some disastrous accident wiped the food stocks of a pair of the times, they surrendered in exchange for aid by Mantle. From then on the kingdom had a footfall in the mountains, and it was only a matter of time until the rest of the Valian Alliance was forced into the fold. And in the wake of that, the kingdom thrived and the city grew. Vale was the largest and most populous of the cities in Remnant when the Great War started, but Mantle was by far the richest. The kinds and queens of Mantle resided in a massive palace, the city itself surrounded by no less than four sets of walls protected by some of the most sophisticated defences in Remnant. The simple fact that some of those walls had kept Dust artillery as permanent defences was telling: cannons weren't unheard of in Remnant, but it was a massive expense to keep them stocked in Dust shells year-round.
That'd been the golden era of Mantle power, in a lot of ways. When the first blood of the Great War was spilled on Sanus, the kingdom had the largest and best-equipped of all armies in Remnant. Considering the population of Vale had been five time the size of Mantle, that was mind-boggling. Even when the Great War began in earnest and the King of Vale began conscripting citizens, Valean numbers failed to tip the balance. History books made much of Mantle's technological advantage, but the truth was somewhat more brutal. There'd been only one nation in Remnant that could afford to have the majority of its infantry wielding Dust rifles and keep those guns stocked with ammunition, and that'd been Mantle. In the early stages of the Great War, it'd been a common tale for Vale soldiers to able to shoot only a handful of volleys before charging enemy positions with swords. Even when Mantle was defeated, enemy casualties were brutal. It was only when Vacuo entered the war on Vale's side and Mistral began collapsing from the inside that Mantle was put on the ropes. Their supply train had to span the entire coasts of the largest continent, and do so under constant Grimm pressure. When the King of Vale put his kingdom's number to work by opening half a dozen simultaneous offensive, the great war machine of Mantle finally began to collapse.
The city had never quite recovered from that, I mused as I watched through the airship window. The founding of Atlas Academy and the city that sprouted around it had just been the final blow to an already ailing power, made official when the kings of Atlas moved their main residence to the Atlas City and changed the very name of the kingdom in an effort to shed off a now-humiliating past. The famous Winter Palace, whose sprawling silhouette I could see even this far out, was the only part of Mantle that didn't look like it was coated in grime. The northern part of the city, near the old seat of Atlesian royalty, was near-empty. Flowing south from it, down the repeating sets of walls, the city revealed itself in tiers. The ring where research facilities had ones stood had been turned into a mess of offices and homes for the city's remaining administrators but the rest was only two things: slums and factories. Cheap pre-made habitats falling apart surrounded tall chimneys from which Dust smoke stained the sky, impurities form the refining process being burned away. I could taste the hopelessness of that place from a mile above in the sky.
"Sir, we'll be landing soon," a man's voice interrupted me.
I twitched, coming back to the here and now. The man in the black suit and tie who'd spoken to me was the head of the private security Mother had insisted I take with me. Under the suit jacket I could see the shape of a revolver holstered, and I wasn't ashamed to admit it made me feel safer to have the dozen professionals along with me. I'd continued to follow the news, and the city was eating itself alive. The White Fang had lost all control over the strikes, incapable of dealing with both mass defections of strikers returning to work and another segment of their people who'd found they liked the taste of rioting.
"Thank you," I replied.
As part of the compromise that got me on this airship, I'd had to agree that I wouldn't spend the night in Mantle and that I'd be surrounded by security at all times. I was 'allowed' to visit the graves of the people my work had killed, and even the Marigold factory that'd gone on strike. The moment that was done, back on the airship I went. The flight from Atlas City had left at six in the morning and it was past noon already, and that's been achieved only because of perfect weather conditions. Civilian-grade airships could only go so fast, even those with cutting edge Dust engines. The descent was smooth, and we landed on a private corporate airstrip. Not even one for cargo, I noted when I saw the logos of other companies on docked ships. This must have been where company officials landed when they came on business. The head of my security detail – Mister Palatin, I was pretty sure his name was – insisted on briefing me one last time before we stepped out. I stood through a reminder that I was not to wander off, approach strangers and at no point disobey any instruction he gave me. I forced myself not to look irritated, since he was only out so keep my hide whole, and followed him down the ramp. The rest of the detail fanned out around us and I breathed in Mantle air for the first time.
"I expected it to be worse," I noted. "I can barely smell the Dust residue."
"There's air scrubbers in this part of the city," Palatin told me.
I grimaced.
"But not the other rings?" I guessed.
He didn't reply, which was answer enough. A handful of cars were awaiting us, black sleek things with drivers already behind the wheel. I was ushered into one of them, the others moving in front and behind. It wasn't a long ride to the outer city, not even an hour. I spent most of it looking out through a shaded window, watching the city grow dirtier every few minutes like this was a goddamn cartoon. Except it wasn't, people lived there. We passed through a street where houses and shops were closed down, more than a few of them wrecked by rioters. It was there I began to notice the graffiti. The mark of the White Fang, a white beast head in a circle, was the what I glimpsed most often. But there were also spray painted calls for overthrowing the Council, and a handful of more worrying red variations on the White Fang symbol. Three red claw marks with a crimson beast head over them. That reeked of a splintering between moderates and radicals, and it bode ill for the city in years to come. The car convoy slowed in front of the funerary facility the victims of the riot had been laid to rest at, or their ashes anyway.
I'd assumed it would be a graveyard, but after being told otherwise it'd made sense that most people on Remnant were incinerated instead. There was already too little room in most cities, a graveyard would be considered a luxury. Only the rich were buried, in Atlas. The rest were cremated and their ashes put in urns if they could afford it, in impersonal government-run facilities where the resting places of the dead were essentially glorified metal drawers. The security left the cars ahead of me and checked the surroundings before I was allowed to leave the car. There was a receptionist at the desk inside, and I glanced around while Palatin spoke with her. The place reminded me of the military facility where I'd met General Ironwood twice, all metal and plastic. A door opened for us to the side and I was guided into a corridor where both walls were filled with small plaques bearing names. There were metal benches at regular intervals, and only two people I could see. My Scroll had the names I'd come to see, and I linked to the local network to be told where the urns were kept. The first was a middle-aged man's, Bargon Persian. Cat Faunus, the Scroll said. No family. Died of a brick in the back of the neck, not the Atlesian Knights.
I stood before the plaque bearing the words 'B. Persian' with his dates of birth and death in silence, waiting for something to be felt. Guilt? That had yet to go away, but watching a bit of metal with a name on it wasn't making it any better or worse. I'd built this up as some kind of pilgrimage in my head, but now that I was here all I felt was… tired. I'd known nothing about this man, or any of the others. Our lives had never intersected. I'd just helped make a cog in the machine that killed him, sure as if someone had pulled a trigger. I went to see all four other dead, but did not linger. There was nothing to be found in this place except my reflection on metal. It'd been an empty gesture on my part from the start, to come in my comfortable airship with a fucking security detail to indulge in a fantasy of amends making any of this better. It was almost embarrassing, I thought, that after I'd argued so harshly to come here I wouldn't even stay an hour. We left the funerary facility without my having spoken a word to anyone. I breathed the foul air of outer city and tightened my jacket around my body.
"To the factory, Mr Marigold?" Palatin asked.
I was debating an answer when I saw movement from the corner of my eye. Three people standing over a fourth. One of them was an older man, and he was screaming about his shop being wrecked. It was a Faunus on the ground, I saw, and they were kicking her down ever time she tried to rise or scrabble away.
"Break that up," I told the Palatin.
"Sir-" he began.
"There's twelve of you," I said. "I'm not going anywhere. Do it, and have someone call emergency services too. She looks like she'd bleeding."
His lips thinned in displeasure, but he didn't argue any further. Four of the private security crossed the street and there was a quick conversation followed by one of the humans drawing back his hand and getting tasered in the stomach. The others backed away hurriedly.
"HEY," someone yelled. "What do you people think you're doing?"
A man was coming out of the funerary facility behind us and I looked back. Horns on his head, though I didn't recognize what kind. He hadn't shaved in a while, and he was moving strangely. Drunk? Hard to tell at a distance. His coat was threadbare, good make but had been worn for too long.
"There's no need to worry," I said as the detail immediately stepped between me and the stranger. "We're already calling the authorities."
"So she can be put in a cell, you prick?" the man hollered, and came closer.
"Sir, step back," Palatin warned him. "We are armed."
"Fuck you, human," the man hissed. "You don't tell me what to do."
"We're not trying to get her imprisoned," I said. "She's bleeding, and I think she needs-"
The man stepped forward again. Palatin took out his taser and aimed. The Faunus' coat moved, and I saw the glint of something metallic in his belt. Not a gun, it was – shit, it was canister.
"DON'T," I screamed, not sure to who, but it was too late.
Electricity flared, blinding light followed and I felt heat lick at my face before it all went dark.
XXX
I woke up in a bed, feeling like my face was on fire. People were talking in soft voices but I couldn't make out the words. I tried to move my arm but found I couldn't, something was restraining it. The pitch of the voices mounted and I felt something go into my arm. Cold. It went dark again.
XXX
I woke again, in a well-lit room. I was floating and my eyes wouldn't stop blinking. I moved my fingers and let out a rasp, my throat feeling parched.
"Doctor, he's awake," a man's voice said.
Oh, I was in a bed. I tried to get up from the pillows but my muscles wouldn't move. There was something pinned into my arm and I saw wires going into my skin.
"Fuck," I croaked out.
"Don't move, Mr Marigold," a soothing voice said. "You're on medication at the moment, but too much stirring will be painful."
The person talking was on my left, but I couldn't see them. Why couldn't I see them? My neck slowly moved and I found a white-haired woman looking at me. I thought of Weiss, for a moment, and almost giggled. Shit, what was I on?
"Where am I?" I asked.
"Here, drink," the doctor said, pressing a cup against my lips.
Water, and it'd never tasted better. I drank in small gulps until she took the cup away.
"You're at the Royal Mantle Hospital, son," she said. "You were in an accident."
Someone snorted.
"That's not what the news are saying," a man said.
"That will be all, nurse," the doctor said in a mild tone.
I frowned.
"There was a man, with a canister," I said.
"Red Dust," the doctor said. "Improperly sealed. It exploded when the current touched it."
I could only see half her face, even at this angle. Why couldn't I… I reached for my face, but she caught my wrist.
"That's not a good idea," she gravely said.
I blinked. Only one eye moved.
"The man was too far," I said, hesitating. "It couldn't have…"
"There was shrapnel," the woman told me. "You were hit by a fragment. Luckily, one of your security was in the way so it was only a limited impact."
"My eye," I murmured. "I can't move it at all."
I felt panic flood my veins, and I struggled against the binding at my side. The doctor cursed under her breath and hurried on the other side of the bed, fiddling with something. Cold again, in my veins. The dark welcomed me like an old friend.
XXX
I woke up twice more and was sent back under to stop a panic attack before I managed not to fall into another. There was a nurse permanently at my side to keep me under observation just in case. No one would tell me much aside from the fact that I was still at Royal Mantle and that it'd been five days since the accident. I'd apparently been in surgery for two days before first waking up, to get the shrapnel out of… I grit my teeth. Out of my eye. My left eye. It'd been shredded, and I was damned lucky it'd glanced off a guard's shoulder before hitting me otherwise it might have gone straight into my brain. There was a patch over my face to prevent me touching the healing wound, but it'd been made clear to me that there was no salvaging the eye. It was gone for good. I spent hours on my back, thinking about that. The handful of moment before the explosion were seared into my mind, and they wouldn't stop playing out over and over. Mother visited once, to tell me I'd be brought to a private facility in Atlas City as soon as I was cleared to be moved. She didn't fuss over me, but she spent an afternoon by my side without taking a single call. That was about as motherly as I could expect her to be, I supposed, but it still left a bitter taste in the mouth.
I wasn't allowed to take calls that might agitate me, but I was told that Weiss tried to reach me several times on my personal number. I asked the staff to inform her I might be moved back to the city soon, and that she'd be able to visit me there. The day that followed, I got my second visit. Not anyone I'd expected, but I hazarded a guess when I heard the people outside my room stammer and give in. General James Ironwood strode into my room with a grim look on his face, and to my surprise he had company. Winter Schnee, in full Atlas Academy uniform, was only a step behind. Her face went blank when she looked at me.
"General, Winter," I said. "I'd stand, but…"
Ironwood didn't even bother to fake a smile, and Winter's face might as well have been made of porcelain.
"May I sit?" he asked.
"Go ahead," I shrugged. "I'm bored out of my mind, the company is welcome."
I'd almost said 'any company', but taking out my mood on one of the most powerful men in Atlas without even knowing why he'd come struck me as a bad idea. I was inclined to think this was a somewhat social call, if Winter was here. And speaking of her… Ah, still looking like a creepy mannequin version of herself. Lovely.
"I'm told you've been kept in the dark about what's happening outside," the general said.
"Apparently agitating me is a bad idea," I said. "Somehow they're not getting that my imagination can provide a decent enough shitstorm to worry about."
"The optics aren't good," Ironwood soberly agreed.
Winter stirred.
"Sir, I'm not sure it's appropriate to-" she began.
"Enough, Winter," he sharply said. "He'll learn the moment they give him back his Scroll regardless."
"Well that's ominous," I commented. "As if warranting a visit from a member of the General Board wasn't already worth a flinch."
General Ironwood began to talk, and flinch I did.