Weiss laid back on the cot, staring at the ceiling of the holding cell. For such a confined, indignant place to be held, the mattress was surprisingly comfortable. Weiss's eyes traced the edges of the ceiling, paying special attention to the gas emitters. She'd been running numbers in her head, trying to calculate how much Aura Winter and her would have if they blew up the cell while still in it. She couldn't figure a way it would be a viable escape plan. Ruby would have gone for it, that much Weiss knew.
"So, what's it like in the rest of the world?" Winter asked.
Winter was laying on the cot on the other side of the cell. She hadn't spoken much since the dinner the night before.
"What do you mean?" Weiss asked.
"I haven't left Atlas in six months," Winter said, "And there's almost no communication in and out. What's going on out there?"
"It's... well, it's tense," Weiss said, "The other Kingdoms are trying to work together. Grimm numbers are estimated to be around 20% of what they were when Salem died. Everybody is trying to take advantage of the leeway. People are concerned about Atlas."
"Concerned? Or afraid?"
"The Kingdom is so isolated now, nobody knows what's going on here. They don't know if Whitley is shutting out the rest of the Kingdoms, or preparing an attack. Everybody wants the expansion of borders to be peaceful, but everybody's afraid of Atlas turning it violent."
"Menagerie?" Winter asked.
"Menagerie is doing well," Weiss said, "It should be, with Blake leading it. Their Huntsman Academy is up and running. There are plans underway for the construction of a CCTS Tower. It's its own Kingdom, now."
"So Blake has been busy," Winter said, "When was the last time RWBY was all together?"
"A few months after Salem," Weiss said.
At this, Winter pulled herself up, and looked over to Weiss.
"That long?" She asked, "That's a shame."
"We're still a team," Weiss said, "Not many teams last as long as we have. We lasted a lot longer than I think most of us expected to."
"Not many teams have the bond you all have," Winter mused, "Not everybody... can trust each other like you."
"Winter..." Weiss said, "What Ironwood did..."
"He did was what he thought was best for the mission," Winter said, "I understand that. I just thought... he'd think it was something else."
"Look, you'll see him again," Weiss said, sitting up, "And when you do, you can let him explain himself, or rip a strip off him. Both, if it's what you feel like."
"What if we don't?" Winter asked, "What if he didn't make it out?"
"He must have."
"How do you know?"
"Because if he didn't, I have no idea how we're going to win this."
The door to the cell room opened. Weiss and Winter looked out through the glass, and saw Whitley step in, accompanied, as always, by several armed guards. Weiss and Winter exchanged a look, then both got to their feet. Whitley walked up to the glass, with a smile.
"Good morning, Weiss," Whitley said, "Good morning, Winter."
"What do you want?" Weiss asked.
"Well, somebody's less than cheerful this morning," Whitley said, "Didn't sleep well?"
Weiss didn't answer.
"How many people did you kill at the resistance safehouse?" Winter demanded.
"Specialist Soleil hasn't reported back yet," Whitley said, "We'll find out the fate of James Ironwood together. That'll be fun. Well, somebody open this door, already."
The guard at the control console hit a button, and the cell door slid open. The guards tensed their grips on their weapons a bit.
"Neither of you are allowed to attack me," Whitley ordered, "Or attempt to escape."
"How often do you need to use that command?" Weiss asked, "It wears off over time, doesn't it?"
"Over time, or distance, yes," Whitley said, "I'm not afraid to tell you that, because I'm hoping that eventually, I will not have to force you to stay at my side. Let's go."
"Where are we going?" Winter asked.
"We're going to the war room," Whitley said, "There's work to be done, leading Atlas, and I want you both to take part."
"You just want to put on a show of wielding power?" Winter asked, "Like a child who's found his father's gun?"
"I want to show you what I do," Whitley said, an edge of irritation in his voice, "I want you to understand how I do my job, so that you're prepared when we- all three of us- share leadership."
"You never did that with me." Winter said.
"Well, it just wouldn't be the same without Weiss here, would it?" Whitley asked.
Whitley lead them out of the cell room, and towards the elevators. They stepped in, Whitley in front, Weiss and Winter behind him, and a row of guards on either side. Whitley hit the highest button on the control panel, pressed his thumb to a scanner, and the elevator started upwards. They rode in uncomfortable silence up to the highest floor. The elevator doors opened to reveal a bustling war room, filled with personnel at consoles, holograms, and telephones. In the center of the room was a large meeting table, with a holo-projector at its center. The projector was producing a large hologram of Remnant above it, with various points labelled on it, including Kingdoms, important locations, troop movements, and the like. One of the personnel, dressed in a high-ranking military uniform, saw Whitley and stepped forward, saluting.
"President-General Schnee, sir," He said, "We're entering final preparation stage, sir. We're ahead of schedule."
"Don't be rude, Foreman," Whitley warned, casually.
The man looked about, confusedly, for just a moment.
"Oh, I-" Foreman stammered, "Ms. Schnee, Ms. Schnee."
He bowed his head a bit while addressing the two sisters. Weiss rolled her eyes.
"That's better," Whitley said, "Tell the nano-production factories to prep for Phase 2. I want them constructing more Harbinger weapons as soon as the test is confirmed successful."
"Yes, sir."
Another man came up to Whitley, holding a clipboard in one hand.
"President-General, Ms. Schnee, Ms. Schnee," He began, "Sir, I wanted to re-address the matter of the test. Step 1 is still extremely risky. What if Step 1 succeeds and Step 2 fails?"
"Step 1 is necessary to demonstrate the destructive power of the weapon," Whitley said, "Step 2 will not fail. If it does, well, it's your job to ensure that it doesn't. Remember that."
Weiss and Winter looked at each other in confusion. Weiss shrugged. Whitley continued to the table, and looked up at the hologram. Yet another military official came to him, expectantly.
"Have we confirmed the signal on the south-east?" Whitley asked.
"Yes, sir," The official said, "It is as we suspected. It's a stealth airship, performing scans of Solitas. Mistralian in origin."
This time Weiss and Winter looked at each other in surprise. Whitley looked back at them.
"The other Kingdoms are starting to pry into our business," He said.
"You put up a bunch of walls, close yourself off from the outside, what did you expect?" Winter asked.
"Sir, so far they'll have only located a few of our outposts," The official said, "They haven't come close to the city."
"Wernher Fields?"
"Secure, sir."
"Can we intercept that airship?" Whitley asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Alright, I want it destroyed."
Weiss, bit her lip, and got an idea. She turned to the official.
"Ignore that order," She told him.
A few of the personnel in the room looked around in surprise. An order from Whitley being disrespected was obviously a rarity. Whitley, Winter, and the official all looked at Weiss in confusion.
"Weiss, you're not actually in charge of anything yet..." Whitley began.
"It's obvious why you want Winter and I on your side," Weiss said to him, "You don't know what you're doing."
A stunned gasp passed through the room. Whitley ran his tongue along his front teeth, then begrudgingly motioned for her to continue.
"You've detected a stealth craft," Weiss said, "Do they know you've detected them?"
Whitley glanced to the official.
"No, ma'am, I mean- no, sir."
"So their stealth technology is ineffective, and you jump at the chance to show them that, by shooting them down?"
"Weiss, we can't allow them to fly all over our continent with impunity," Whitley said.
"Track the signal, and create a predictive model of where it's likely to go," Winter said, "Make sure those places are ready to hide anything you don't want the enemy seeing from aerial view. They'll see your bases and outposts, but will have inaccurate tactical information. If they stumble onto something important, be ready to shoot them down as a last resort."
Whitley considered it for a second. He looked to the official.
"It would be... very advantageous if the enemy continued using an ineffective stealth system, sir." The official said.
"Alright, cancel the interception," Whitley said, "I want a full list of intel that that ship could obtain."
The official nodded and went about his business. Whitley turned to Weiss and Winter with a sly grin.
"I understand what you're trying to do," He said, "You're questioning my orders, trying to undermine me in front of my men. I'm sorry to say it, but I'm not that egotistical. This is exactly why I wanted you here. The Schnees, working together. This is how it always should have been."
"Sir, Specialist Soleil just arrived at the Manor," A technician at one of the consoles reported, "She's requesting permission to land."
"Excellent," Whitley said, "Send her to my office. Weiss, Winter, come along."
Whitley lead them out of the war room, and down the hall. The guards accompanied them.
"I hope you're ready for disappointment, Whitley," Winter said.
"Are you?" Whitley replied.
They entered Whitley's office, formerly the office of his father. The portraits of Jacques and the Schnee family had been removed, replaced with murals and paintings of great Atlesian generals and battles in Atlas's history. Whitley sat down in the opulent chair behind the desk, and motioned for Weiss and Winter to stand beside him.
"You can go," He told the guards, "Wait outside."
The guards obliged and left. The three of them were left alone in the office, in an uncomfortable silence. Weiss looked about, and noticed one painting in particular. It showed an army of Great War-era Atlas soldiers advancing through a desert, with the armies of Vacuo fleeing from them. Many of the Vacuo soldiers depicted, Weiss noticed, were horrendous caricatures of Faunus.
"The Vacuo campaign?" She asked.
Whitley looked up from his desk at her, then followed her gaze to the painting.
"Yes," He said, "I picked that one to remind me what we're fighting for."
"Atlas lost in Vacuo," Winter said.
"Atlas would have won," Whitley said, "We were on track to winning the whole war. Vacuo and what was left of Vale would have been puppet-states, just like Mistral. It was an Aura-user, the much lauded "Warrior King" that ruined it all."
"He fought so that the Kingdoms would be equal," Weiss said.
"And is inexplicably treated as a hero for it," Whitley said, "Atlas could have unified the world with that war. Instead, the king ensured the pre-war tensions would continue, and nothing was resolved. He even gave each Kingdom one of those damned "relics", just so that Atlas's technology- an advantage we earned- wouldn't matter. You put a group of mortal enemies in a room, give each a loaded gun, then walk out. Is the fact that the playing field is level going to keep things peaceful?"
"If people..." Weiss began, "...are willing to work together-"
"So the short answer is no." Whitley said.
There was a knock on the door.
"Come in," Whitley called.
The door opened, and Ciel Soleil stepped in. She looked around, a tad nervously. She clearly wasn't accustomed to being in the office of the President-General. She swallowed, then walked towards the desk, giving Weiss and Winter a glance.
"Sir," She said, saluting.
"Soleil, at ease," Whitley said, "Was the attack a success?"
"Yes, sir," Ciel said, "I will be performing a full debrief immediately."
"Well, give us a sneak peak," Whitley said.
"13 resistance members were arrested," Ciel said, "8 were killed by necessary lethal force, 12 soldiers were killed by the resistance. The remaining resistance evaded capture, but we are working to track them down."
Weiss closed her eyes, and sighed. The resistance had barely any hope of fighting against Schnee's forces to begin with. Now they might not have any hope at all. She could only hope that the civilians they'd been protecting had gotten out.
"And Ironwood?" Whitley asked.
Weiss allowed herself a fleeting moment of hope.
"Dead, sir," Ciel reported, "I executed him myself."
Weiss winced, and looked at Winter. Winter seemed to be having trouble breathing. Her hands began to shake. Ciel noticed Winter's reaction, and looked away. Whitley was grinning with satisfaction. Ciel reached into a pouch on her side, and drew a massive revolver, holding it by the barrel. She placed it on the desk in front of Whitley.
"His weapon, sir," She said.
"Look at that," Whitley said, picking up the weapon with both hands, "Look at the size of this thing. Weiss, look at this. It's ridiculous. Did you kill him with this, by any chance?"
"Uh, no, sir," Ciel said, "I used my standard side-arm."
"Ahh, that's fine," Whitley said, "Would have been what that traitorous asshole deserved, but him being dead is the important thing. Good work."
"Thank you, sir."
"Head to the debrief, then," Whitley said, "Then I want you back out there, looking for the rest of them."
"Yes, sir."
Ciel turned away from the desk and, before walking away, looked at Weiss and Winter. Winter was doing her best to stare down Ciel, fighting back a hint of tears. Weiss was glaring, her fist clenched.
"It is good to see you home, Winter, and Weiss," Ciel said, "I know you had... respect for Ironwood. I do not apologize for killing him, but I sympathize with-"
In a blur, Winter pounced on Ciel. She grabbed her by the throat, swung her around, and slammed her down on Whitley's desk. One of the chairs in front of the desk was knocked askew. The back of Ciel's head hit the edge of the desk with a heavy thud. Whitley jumped back in surprise. Winter snatched at the revolver, but Whitley had pulled it out of her reach. Instead, she snatched a pen off his desk, and put it to Ciel's throat.
"Winter, freeze!" Whitley ordered.
Winter stopped moving immediately. She still had a death grip around Ciel's neck. The hand holding the pen was trembling, as Winter devoted all of her willpower, trying to thrust. Her eyes darted to the side, looking at Weiss. There was a pleading look in her eyes. Weiss could tell what Winter wanted her to do. Whitley hadn't ordered Weiss to stop, and wouldn't be able to before she punched the end of the pen, sending it right through Ciel's neck. Weiss bit her lip, and shook her head.
"Please." Winter whispered, unable to move her jaw.
"Winter, drop the pen," Whitley said, "Let her go."
The hand holding the pen snapped open, and it fell to the floor, bouncing off Ciel's chest. Winter released her hold on Ciel, and Ciel stood up. She put a hand to the back of her head, wincing in pain.
"What was that?!" She shouted, in a panic.
Her eyes darted between Winter and Whitley. She made a quick attempt to regain her composure.
"S-sir," She stammered, "What was that? What just happened?"
"Get out." Whitley said.
Ciel took a moment to look between the three of them. Whitley hadn't used his Semblance in the order. Eventually, Ciel nodded, and hurried from the room. Winter stared after her, in rage. Ciel closed the door behind her, and Whitley put his head in his hands.
"Winter," He growled, "You make things so damn difficult!"
"How dare you you even touch that weapon?!" Winter shot back at him, "It belonged to a better man than you'll ever be!"
"Winter, if you can't be trusted to leave your cell, I'll leave you there," Whitley said, "Thank you, Weiss, for not participating in her little outburst."
Winter glared at Weiss. Weiss gave her a helpless shrug.
"I want her dead," Winter said, turning back to Whitley, "You want us to work together? I want Soleil dead."
"You don't get to demand-" Whitley began, running a hand through his hair in frustration, "...Look, you know what, maybe she will die. Maybe she'll have to, because you just forced me to use my Semblance in front of her. I am trying to control the number of people who know about that little ace in the hole, and you're screwing that up royally."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Winter spat, "You can't let anybody know about the only useful skill you have, because it would ruin your little propaganda campaign against other people who are better than you. You pathetic little snake."
"I'm not having this conversation with you," Whitley said, "I don't need to. Not anymore. And I'm not going down a list of every little thing I have to forbid you from doing for you to behave. You're going back to your cell."
Whitley picked up the phone on his desk, and called for the guards. Two of them came in.
"Take Winter back to her cell," Whitley ordered, "Winter, don't resist or try to escape."
The guards took Winter by either arm and began leading her out. She looked over to Weiss.
"I'm sorry," Weiss mouthed.
They left the room, and the door closed behind them. Whitley sighed, opened up the top drawer of his desk, and drew out a bottle of rum. He grabbed a glass from the drawer, set it on the desk, and poured.
"Makes things so difficult," He said again.
Seeing an opportunity, Weiss stepped forward. She picked up the pen from where it had fallen, and placed it back on the desk. She straightened the chair that had been knocked aside, and sat down.
"Oh, thank you," Whitley said, "You agree with me, right? That was a bit of an overreaction?"
"Ironwood was important to her, you know that." Weiss said.
"Yes, well, family is important to me," Whitley said, "I knew she'd take it hard, but..."
"What are you going to do about Soleil?" Weiss asked.
"I don't know," Whitley said, "Give her a promotion, probably. I'm not executing her to appease some childish sense of retribution."
"Winter won't let this go easily," Weiss said.
"No," Whitley said, "Could you talk to her? I have this weird feeling she'll listen to you more than me."
"I'll try," Weiss said, "Do you have another glass?"
Whitley sipped at his rum, gritted as the rum went down, then nodded. He opened the drawer again, grabbed another glass, and poured some of the rum into it. He slid the glass across the table. He put the bottle away as Weiss picked up the glass and took a swig. He glanced down at the revolver.
"I feel like I could get that thing mounted," He said, "Or I could carry it around myself, I suppose."
"That thing?" Weiss asked, raising an eyebrow, "Not really your style, is it? Besides, look at it. It's bigger than you. You fire that, it'll probably knock you backwards through a wall."
Whitley had been sipping his drink. He choked a little as he laughed.
"Yeah," He said, "You're not wrong."
There was a quiet moment. Internally, Weiss's mind was racing. What would make him talk? What would make him trust her? Whitley glanced around the office, then back to Weiss. He smiled to himself.
"What?" Weiss asked.
"Oh, nothing," Whitley said, "Just a funny thought. You're sitting where I was."
Weiss raised an eyebrow, looked at her chair, then back to Whitley.
"Where you...?"
"Yeah," Whitley said, smiling as if recalling a pleasant memory, "I was sitting there. Father was sitting right here."
Weiss felt a chill run through her. Whitley tossed back the rest of his drink.