Chapter 25: The Struggle

Sorrell watched Whitley shuffle with discomfort. It amused him, in the way that one was entertained by a mutt's confusion when it tangles itself on its lead. Though the aristocrat was curious what the cause of Whitley's distress was, it shouldn't be much of a problem. Perhaps this may be a gateway to enlisting a Schnee under his ranks. He had always admired the Schnee family and their shared Semblance. To hide his smile, he drank some tea, offering some to his guest.

"Oh, umm, thank you." Whitley murmured. As he held the teacup, he couldn't look Sorrell in the eye. After sipping some himself, the young patrician appeared more at ease. "It's delicious."

"An old family recipe." Sorrell explained. "It was almost lost in the Great War, as many things were." He was getting tired of making small talk and waiting for the boy to muster his courage. "So, tell me. Why come to me when you and your father are apparently so close?"

The sullen expression returned as though it never left. "I... I've tried. But he is furious with me. And I can understand his anger, but I want to redeem myself." Sorrell rolled his eyes after recalling that Jacques was also fond of dragging out simple answers. "When I tried to bring up this problem, he turns me away."

"And so you choose to confide in someone you met weeks prior?" Sorrell questioned with a laugh. "If my memory is correct, I didn't exactly enjoy our discussion."

"I had no one else to turn to."

Sorrell looked at the young patrician in mild confusion. Is he really so pathetic? "Why not-" He stopped, about to suggest James. "No, no, James would overreact."

Whitley gave a chuckle. "I thought the same."

"All right, however feeble your reasoning, I suppose I can agree." Sorrell was being overly harsh, yet it didn't faze Whitley. "So then, shall we begin? What could you possibly be worrying about that you can only confide in me? I'm dying to know." The sooner we get this over with, the better. The aristocrat expected for him to finally spill the beans, but he instead procured his Scroll.

"Do you recall the attack that happened the first night we met?" Whitley asked.

"What of it?" Sorrell replied, tone growing displeased. Whitley placed his Scroll on the table, pushing it towards the aristocrat. Sorrell plucked it, and stared at the image glowing on the screen. It was the lower half of a person. One that Sorrell knew. However blurred it was, one couldn't mistake the metallic accessories hanging at the hip for anything other than the weapons of Coal Basklef. The aristocrat's breath froze, his burning glare focusing on the picture. His blood boiled. After his anger rose, he whispered through gritted teeth "What. Is this."

"I took this after I returned to the mansion, shortly after your departure." Sorrell's eyes trailed up and glared at Whitley's. The boy was looking down, unable to notice the fury behind the aristocrat's brown eyes. His hands began to tremble. "When I arrived, there was evidence of their vandalism. I managed to intercept them, but never got a good look at any of them. I hoped that-"

The cup Sorrell held cracked loudly, his grip tightening around the broken handle. The teacup smashed on the ground, shrapnel and liquid splashing and skittering across the floor. Whitley looked to the floor, and then at Sorrell, who was still staring at the photo. His hand squeezed the handle, digging it into his Aura. "This. Is one of the vermin responsible. You managed to catch him in the act."

"Yes," Whitley answered, causing Sorrell to switch his gaze onto the boy. "But I haven't been able to show Father." The aristocrat raised his eyebrows. His anger faltered, though a hint of it lingered in his mind.

"You haven't shown it to anyone?" The boy shook his head.

"As you can see, there's something odd about..." Whitley began an explanation which Sorrell drowned out. His anger flared again, but this time, he didn't let it surface. There will be hell to pay. But for now, it's time to turn this around. "... no actual sign of their association to the White Fang. I can't fathom it, but-"

"You think someone set them up." Sorrell finished for him. The boy nodded. "It's not impossible. Your father has many enemies."

"But that's ridiculous. He's an honorable man. I can't imagine why people would hate us."

Sorrell laughed at the question. "Well that's rather selfish to say."

(-)

Viridian was slammed against the wall, sending shock waves and cracks rippling through it. He grabbed at the hands choking him, struggling to breathe. Through his squinted eyes, he could make out the mask and horns inches from his face. The Faunus smashed Viridian's body against the wall again, and the gladiator's sword fell out of reach. He wasn't fond of being the helpless one. He hated the smirk his captor had even more.

After that comment about going easy, Viridian charged in blind. No way was he gonna let some geezer belittle him like that. Viridian was determined to wipe the smile off his face. With a fist. What he couldn't understand is why no one else was trying to attack the giant while he's preoccupied. Their opponent was distracted. This was the perfect opportunity to strike back, but they were doing nothing instead. At least, as far as he could see.

He was pushed against the wall again, his Aura deteriorating. Viridian's lungs felt like they were on fire, his throat numb. But more prominent than the pain was his soaring rage. He wasn't about to lose consciousness here, not to this Faunus. Viridian heard clashing, and opened his eyes to see Coal trying to pry the Faunus's fingers from his throat. The claws made their foe flinch, and after shaking off Coal, he tossed Viridian across the hall. After colliding with the wall, Viridian snarled as he got up. Coal jumped back to him, looking concerned.

"You ok?" He asked. Viridian shoved his hand into Coal's face, pushing him back as he got up. Not wasting any time, he charged back into the fray. Seraphina was trying to hold the giant back, though it was obvious she couldn't do so for long. Viridian shoved her aside as he searched for his discarded weapon. He knew the psychic would recover immediately anyway. The Faunus was upon him faster than he expected, and he avoided his strike by an inch. In the background, Sera unwrapped a second steel whip, hidden around her waist.

The psychic's whip lashed across the floor, grabbing Viridian's sword. With another yank, it was flying towards the gladiator, who blocked a side swipe with his arm. The Faunus' ears twitched, and he back flipped over the whirling blade. Viridian caught it, not bothering to thank Sera, and prepared a spinning strike. This was the first time he saw the giant scowl, blocking the powerful blow with both hands on his mace. Gunfire erupted from behind him, and the Faunus cried out at the bullet that struck his Aura.

Sera was smirking, holding a shotgun in her left hand. She thrust it to the side, and the barrel loosened and unfolded into a whip again. It was Viridian's turn to attack, and he set upon his foe with haste and savagery. Strike after strike blocked by the Faunus, who was being pushed back further and further. His ears twitched again, and not a moment too soon, as he ducked to avoid Sera's wide sweep. Her whip wrapped around Viridian's sword, and he yanked it back. The Faunus stood up in time to receive Sera's heel across his face as she swung by.

The gladiator swung her around, and the psychic was flying towards the Faunus again. He managed to dodge it this time, but Sera was far from done. As she flew past, she swung both whips to latch onto his arms. The whips' elasticity allowed her to catapult herself at him again, but she realized her mistake too late. She gasped at the sight of the Faunus extending a foot towards her. Her body crumpled against his foot, releasing both whips. She glared at him after a fit of coughing. Like a rag doll, he flung her off and deflected another of Viridian's blows.

"You're a crafty bunch, I'll give ya that!" The Faunus announced while he tested the gladiator's strength, both sides grinding their weapons against each other. Viridian faltered, but regained his advantage with some difficulty, snarling. All for naught as he was overpowered and shoved back. The Faunus rested his mace against his shoulder, and after snickering, it unravelled into a wrecking ball again. The heavy ball crashed into the ground at his feet. Viridian continued to snarl at his opponent while he urged his body to stand.

An explosion shook the room, the distant rumbles resonating through the walls. All turned to the distant door, watching dust and miniscule rubble falling from the shaky walls. Azure stirred where she lay, though she remained unharmed. Quick footsteps grabbed Viridian's attention and realized Coal used the opportunity to get closer to the Faunus. He went for a swipe, but the Faunus stretched the chain outward, catching his claws.

"Nice try, kid. Now it's my turn."

(-)

Whitley blinked, several times. He wasn't sure if he heard correct. He cleared his throat and said "I'm sorry, I must have misheard what you said."

"I said it's selfish." Sorrell repeated casually. "Despicable, really. Who are you to say their reasons are invalid without knowing what they are?"

Whitley was astonished by what he was hearing. He stood up and shouted "Nothing can justify what the White Fang are doing! That's why they're terrorists!"

"Of course." Sorrell's agreement took him by surprise. "Nothing in the world can justify dirty tactics and evil. But there are countless reasons that would drive people to such methods, just or not." Whitley calmed down, sitting down again. The aristocrat looked pleased. "So, how about you tell me? Why would the White Fang loathe the entire Schnee family?"

"Because they're-" He started, interrupted by Sorrell shushing him.

"Don't describe them. It's easy to define someone from the victim's perspective, but what about theirs?" He gestured for Whitley to continue.

Whitley didn't know what Sorrell was hinting at. He began to grasp at straws. "Because... they've been wronged." The aristocrat's face lit up, nodding. "They've been wronged, and... they want to make it right. But that-"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. One step at a time. So, they have been given the short end of the stick. Now, their cause seems just a little more justifiable rather than blind. But that's just the White Fang, and even I agree they're just overzealous. What about competitors to the Schnee Dust Company?"

The business competition? Whitley didn't realize it until now, but he supposed they must have some reason as well. His father always told him they were envious of his success and wealth. Going along with Sorrell's suggestion, he tried to imagine what it would be like. Of course, big, rivalling names still fought for leading distributor of Dust, but there were smaller businesses as well. A simple family, trying to make ends meet. Eager, ambitious. He imagined starting a career to rival his father's. But the SDC was so big and influential.

"They never had a chance to begin with." Whitley was shocked by what he was saying. He had never thought about it before. "But that isn't-"

"Jacques' fault?" Sorrell finished for him. "You're right. It isn't necessarily anyone's fault. It's just something that happens, even to those that spend their entire planning."

"Right." A dark feeling dwelled within, one Whitley was uncomfortable with. As if reading his mind, Sorrell continued.

"But it's still a tragedy. Even if Jacques didn't intend it, they still suffered just by the SDC existing." Whitley's eyes stared at the ground, glum. "It would make sense for them to blame the SDC for their problems. And they're not wrong, but that doesn't make it right, either."

"Now you're speaking in riddles." The young patrician remarked. He sighed afterwards. "But I know what you mean."

"Perfect. Then that's phase one out of the way." As Whitley looked up with confusion written on his face, Sorrell stood and made his way to the doors on the far side. "Come with me."

"Where are you taking me?" He asked, confused yet compliant. "What do you mean 'phase one'? Is there more?"

Sorrell laughed, a laughter that wasn't far from being a cackle like a villain from a cartoon. "Of course. You're looking for any clues that might lead to the ones behind the initial attack, correct? Well, then we have to find all the people your father trampled. The struggle of the unfortunate paved his way to fortune." Whitley felt reluctant to follow him further. Sorrell acted like his father was a sinister man, and he couldn't be sure whether he would like what the aristocrat would try to show him. Even so, he sought justice, he sought answers. Hand clasped around his Scroll, Whitley kept up with Sorrell's swift pace.

They wandered further into Sorrell's manor, down hallway after hallway. The young patrician admired the statues and art pieces every now and then. Yet they left a question. Wasn't all art destroyed in the Great War? It was for that reason, after all, that parents named their children after colors. A tradition carried out even today, and possibly for many generations to come. Clearly, there were many secrets to Sorrell's family. It was at this point he realized, despite how much he was confiding in the aristocrat, he knew next to nothing else.

"Your father never told you much about me, did he?" Sorrell asked the boy. "You must have countless questions about me. So, please, ask away."

Whitley wrapped his right hand around his left elbow in discomfort. "You told me too many questions leads to one's demise."

Sorrell gave a genuine laugh. "I did. And you told me that one can never ask enough questions. Worry not, Whitley, it will help with explaining what comes next."

He felt even less sure than before about this all. Whitley came for help with a topic he couldn't overcome on his own, but was now wondering if it was best to let the picture gather dust. But the nagging thought of bringing whoever was behind this to justice was something he couldn't ignore. "What kind of business do you run?"

Sorrell turned his head, just enough to watch him through the corner of his eye. Whitley could see a faint grin spread across his face. "The truth is, I'm more or less retired. Because of the sizeable fortune bequeathed to me, I don't do much of anything in terms of work." He gave a sigh, as though reminiscing about the past. "Of course, that's just a lie."

"I beg your pardon?" Whitley blurted. He did expect the aristocrat to lie to him, but he never thought he would openly admit to it.

"Sitting back and watching humans find new ways to destroy each other grows boring after such a long stalemate." What is he talking about? "The Alaric family has had ties with criminal activity for ages. We monitor, and often times, interfere in little ways that often break the rules."

"You're... not lying again?" Whitley was almost afraid of the answer he would receive.

"That's up for you to decide." More and more riddles and vague statements. Whitley was starting to feel annoyed with Sorrell dodging validating his own statements. "The kind of business I conduct with your father is hardly ever the legal kind."

"You're making it difficult to trust you, Mr. Alaric."

"I realize. But I must ask you to try, at least for a little longer. You may not like what you are about to see." Sorrell snapped his fingers. A shadowy figure passed Whitley, giving him a heart attack. He didn't even know this woman was following them. The woman in black opened the door they were approaching. She moved aside, bowing as Sorrell strode through. They entered a new room, filled with computer screens and monitors and other similar items. The aristocrat plopped down on the chair overlooking it all, a rejuvenating sigh escaping him. A keyboard slid out from the left arm of the chair, and Sorrell got to work.

Whitley stood next to the chair, the sick feeling in his stomach growing worse. A moment later, the screens came alive, and images of his father were everywhere. Most were accompanied by articles from newspapers or business statements. Whitley recognized his father's signature on some of them. It left him confused, but deeper down he was anxious.

"Five years ago," Sorrell muttered, bringing one page to focus. "Mr. Schnee ordered fifty cargo ships for his Dust shipments from some small name company, yatta yatta yatta... Claimed faulty products, refused to return the ships, likely to skimp out on paying for them." Whitley's eyes widened as he read the finer details of the page Sorrell was reading. And there it was, plain as day. It even had a picture of Jacques shaking hands with someone, likely the head of the company. "I remember that one! Good times."

"What?!"

"Yes, he had me financially terrorize them so they wouldn't have a choice but to give him the ships for free. Moving on." Another file brought to the center screen. "A humble little Dust shop here in Atlas, run by one Mr. Coal... Bullied into closing down... Well, well, his son Flynt is aiming for Atlas Academy. Small world. Moving on. Let's see-"

"Stop." Whitley demanded, shying away from the screens. Sorrell shot him a smug look. "Please, slow down. What is all this?"

Sorrell shrugged. "You wanted to know who might harbor ill will towards your father. Your best bet is someone he did business with. It's a long list, so-"

"Why do you have it then?" Whitley clenched his fists. He wasn't buying it. Mr. Alaric could have easily fabricated all this to get his way. But what did he want?

"Well, I have this information because I was a key part in most of these transactions. But if you want a simpler reasoning..." He smiled, a sickening grin. "It's blackmail."

"Blackmail?"

"Mr. Schnee is no stranger to foul play. Who knows when he'll turn on me. Once he knows I have all this, it should set him straight."

Whitley couldn't believe what he was hearing. But if Sorrell was to be trusted... He searched the other pages for answers, and everywhere he looked, he found a familiar case with a new side he never knew of. A competitor robbed by thieves, forcing him to close down. Someone that used to work for him claiming to spill his dirty secrets was set upon by ruffians in the middle of the night. A little girl went missing, forcing a mother to stop her-

His blood froze, eyes glued to the screen in horror. As if sensing the boy's dread, Sorrell pulled the file closer. It showed a little girl, barely more than five, dark hair tied with a bow, bright purple eyes and a huge smile. The word 'MISSING' was plastered underneath it along with contact info. The article told of a mother who was fighting back against the SDC with the weapon of the law, halting all investigations into the company in order to find her daughter. Yolande Roux stopped at nothing to find her only child, Violette Roux, aged five at the time. The search went on for several months, after which she was found in the alleys of southern Atlas. Signs of starving and imprisonment could be found-

"Violette..." Whitley whispered.

"Someone you knew?" Sorrell asked in a low voice.

"I remember this. I was eight at the time. Father was being persecuted by a lawyer determined to find dirt on him. I remember Father being furious about it. Then it all stopped when word of her missing daughter reached the media. I felt so sorry for Miss Roux, I remember secretly going around town with Klein to help search." Whitley gulped, finding a lump in his throat. His voice was shaky, his hands trembling. "I searched for five weeks. Nobody found anything. As if Violette just vanished."

"Yes," Sorrell replied. "I recall the newspapers being just about little Violette for weeks. I believe they gave up after nobody liked reading about something so depressing. And would you look at that. It says here that once they recovered her, she showed signs of being kidnapped and captive."

Whitley's blood boiled. He recalled how delighted his father was about the halt in attacks from Miss Roux. The young patrician no longer needed any proof. "Show me everything you've got on my father."

(-)

The explosion from the White Fang was larger and closer than Zafiro anticipated. If it wasn't for his Aura, he might be worried about his eyebrows burning off. He sailed through the air until he landed on all fours, coughing. The Faunus army was growing, now well over thirty. It didn't help that the big boy came to play, too. The Lieutenant thrust his chainsaw to Zafiro's neck.

"Tell us where the Schnees are, and we'll make your death swift." He growled.

"Is there an option that doesn't lead to my death?" The artist asked with a smile. The Lieutenant responded by bringing his chainsaw crashing down. Zafiro blocked it with his staff, but the whirring teeth was wearing down his weapon. He shoved it away, then teleported to the only location in his line of sight. He teleported directly above him. At that point, Zafiro wasn't sure what his plan was. There was no surface to brush with Dust, and his Aura was running low. Without any proper time to plan, the eccentric artist howled and tried to strike the Lieutenant over the head.

The Lieutenant turned and grabbed his staff before it could even come close to his forehead. "I've had enough of your petty tricks, human." He scoffed and flung the staff and the one wielding it into the ground. Zafiro groaned from below, whimpering.

"All right, I'll settle for a draw." The artist murmured. But the Lieutenant was having none of it. The other Faunus were hollering and yelling for him to finish it. Zafiro closed his eyes, his life flashing before his eyes. He didn't remember it being so unexciting. Well, let's count my regrets. I should've tried harder to get a date from Lily. Ahhh... My Lily. My Alva...

The cheers stopped. Zafiro could feel a strange rumbling through his body as he lay on the ground. The Faunus seemed to notice it as well. They realized what it was. Footsteps. And lots of them. Zafiro looked up, just in time for the stampede to stop, and he saw another army. Only these soldiers wore the traditional Atlesian Soldier uniform. The White Fang clustered, outnumbered and outgunned. The General stepped forth, leading the charge. His arms were crossed behind his back as usual, and despite the circumstances, his face was unreadable and reserved.

"Stand down." He shouted over the murmurs from the Faunus. "You are surrounded, and there is no way out. Give yourselves up, or we will detain you all with force." Many of the White Fang were already cowering, but their ringleader refused to give in.

"Never! Any one of us that surrenders deserves the same fate that's in store for you! I'm glad you could make it, 'General'. I never expected to be given this opportunity!" The Lieutenant charged in, waving his chainsaw like a madman. The soldiers prepared to fire, but the General stepped forth. He stopped the chainsaw with his right hand, pushing it aside as he struck the Lieutenant squarely in the gut. The Faunus wheezed, falling to his knees. Taken out by an unarmed man.

"I demand, once again, for the surrender of all White Fang members!" He shouted. "This area is under my protection!"