Day 1
0845
Schnee Manor
When the Legionnaires first arrived, the reporters had swarmed their vehicle, cameras flashing. Men masked with balaclavas, their eyes obscured by sunglasses, dismounted from the vehicle, not wearing any particular uniform and in civilian attire. However, they were strapped with rifles and body armor.
Something about the anonymous nature of the armed masked individuals made the reporters back away. A further incentive was given when the largest of them, dressed in a plain black shirt and jeans, shoved one of the cameras stuck in his face away with such force it sent the man tumbling into the crowd. The indignant journalist's threats of legal action were promptly ignored.
Winter made her way towards the manor, and the crowd parted when it became clear her escorts were willing to trample through anyone who got in their way. The police cordon knew better, and let the woman through. The men that escorted her stood motionless and still like Atlesian Knights next to the police, much to the law enforcement's discomfort.
Previous attempts had been made to get closer to the manor, but those attempts were met with gunfire and explosives. Yet Winter had just walked right in, back straight and eyes forward.
As she approached the house, Winter stood in the middle of the wide-open courtyard for all to see. There were five bodies lying on top of each other in a heap, just in front of the main door. It was a sight Winter had seen multiple times in places like Menagerie, or the outskirts of every Kingdom. She never thought she would see it in Atlas.
Winter recognized the uniform. Security Huntsmen in training hired to patrol the school grounds. They were barely adults, most likely on their first-year assignment from Atlas Academy.
Shame. A damned shame.
With exaggerated motions, she opened her scroll.
She dialed her home number and waited for the line to connect.
There was a click.
"You wanted to talk? Here I am." Winter said softly.
"Movement, top floor window, third from the balcony," Ren whispered, his semblance penetrating the walls and washing the world in blots of emotional color. He only saw a handful of hostile colors amidst the sea of cold blue fear. "I don't see a lot of them. Either they are not here, or they are dead."
"Hm," Ciel hummed, her habit of indicating that she was deep in thought, "They might be around the area, in the off chance we bring our VIP."
"No snipers from what I can see either," Ren added.
"Fuck," Cardin cursed under his breath, "if anything fucking happens…."
"Focus," Russel said, his voice monotone and devoid of emotion, "get your head in the game."
"Russ!" Cardin hissed, "Miya's in there! We should be going in."
"Yeah, I want to as well," Russel nodded, "Maybe we throw few stun grenades, and we'll get the job done. Or maybe not," He cocked his head to Cardin, "if not. They might just start shooting the kids before we kick down the door to them."
"Fuck!" Cardin cursed under his breath, his hands tightening on the rifle he held.
"All the more reason to keep a cool head, Winchester," Ciel said softly, "you should know better."
"I…" Cardin took a deep breath and sighed. When he spoke again, his voice was now calm. "You're right. I'm sorry."
"We'll get her," Ren promised, "When we go in, we'll cut them all down."
When the line was established, it wasn't just Winter that was listening in. At a more secure location, law enforcement and military were recording the audio. Under Winter's suggestion, the police were able to force a connection to the mansion and keep that line open.
Officers and anyone linked into the network could hear what was going on in the mansion, but those that were inside would have no idea.
"You wanted to talk? Here I am." Winter said softly.
There was a pause on the other side.
Footsteps. A change of hands.
"Winter Schnee," Adam spoke, his sneer evident by sound alone, "Is this how we are to talk? How cowardly can you get?"
Says the man that took children hostage, Winter thought. She didn't voice it, in case it agitated the man even further.
"Who am I addressing?"
"Adam Taurus. I'm sure you have heard of me."
Of course she has. The man isn't the only high-profile White Fang commander on her hit list, but his activities were largely limited to Menagerie, until today.
"I do not know what you have planned, Taurus," Winter said, "but, you have asked for me by name. I am here now. What are your demands?"
There was a huff on the other side of the phone, a sniff of contempt, perhaps. Adam replied, "My conditions are simple. I know you have people listening in on this. I have a message for the entirety of Atlas. I want you to broadcast that. After that, I want an exchange. Two people and a Bullhead. Those, for the hostages."
"What's the message, and what do you mean by two people?"
"Recently, you were directly involved in illegal and hostile action against the citizens of Menagerie," Adam stated, "your murder spree was not only sanctioned by the Atlesian council, but was also aided by two former members of the White Fang. Oscar Pine, and Ilia Amitola."
Winter frowned. Somehow, despite all her caution, they knew of her mission in Menagerie. He was clever too, phrasing it in that particular way. If the media were to get their hands on the recording, they would have a field day.
He knows nothing is more important to the Atlas elite than public perception.
"I will record a proper statement for your news channels, and I want that played on every news channel in Remnant. Our attack yesterday was a message to all you human oppressors and slave masters. We are more than capable of retaliating. Atlas is to pull out any and all personnel operating in White Fang territory. More attacks will follow should they fail to follow through," Adam continued, "As for the traitors that aided in your slaughter, Oscar Pine and Ilia Amitola. Give them to me, and I will release half the hostages. They are to be taken back to Menagerie for prosecution. Give us the Bullhead, I will release the rest of the hostages. I will take a few with me to safeguard myself, and they will be released once we are out of Solitas."
"I am not affiliated with the Atlas military anymore, Taurus. But, I will do everything within my power to ensure there is no further bloodshed. Of course, it will take time. "
"You have until night to comply. Every thirty minutes after that, I will shoot a person starting with the adults, then the children."
"This will take time, Taurus," Winter insisted, "We could not give you your demands within a day. We cannot just sign off the Kingdom's residents, nor can we just make a Bullhead appear out of thin air. We need time to process these things."
"Schnee," Adam warned, "I frankly do not care. In fact, I care so little I will shoot a hostage now to expedite the process, how about that?"
"If you do that, Adam-"
"Don't call me Adam," he snarled.
"If you do that," Winter continued calmly, her voice as cold as the Atlesian winds, "you know what will happen."
"Then the hostages are all dead," Adam sneered, "If one of my men dies, twenty humans die. If Atlesians storm the manor, we will shoot everyone before you get to us. Do not test me."
"So let us avoid that," Winter said keeping her voice level, "give me seven days. The message, we can hand over to the media by tomorrow noon. The people you asked for, will need a few days to process, and especially the Bullhead. Give me seven days to avoid a bloodbath. So that everyone walks out with what they want."
There was silence on the end of the line.
"You have three days," Adam said, "After that, the consequences will be yours to bear."
0950
Gylnda Goodwitch's Office, Atlas Central Tower
Glynda Goodwitch swallowed the bile that was building in her throat.
She felt sick. Sick, disgusted, and terrified at the same time. Each second she spends sitting in her office chair signing off paperwork is another second she could be doing something.
But, in truth, Glynda knew there was nothing she could do.
It made her feel helpless. It made her feel angry.
It made her feel like it was Beacon all over again.
But, the Fall of Beacon was another beast entirely. The White Fang and the forces of Salem descended upon them in an instant, striking at them while they were at their most complacent. The following hours were a constant battle against Grimm and terrorists alike, a mad scramble for survival.
This? She hasn't even recovered from the events yesterday, and the true extent of casualties has not even been properly documented. Now, this...
Glynda took off her glasses and closed her eyes. Tears threatened to pour out, as the weight of responsibility was suddenly suffocating. Was this how James felt? Was this how Ozpin felt? How did they deal with it?
There was a knock on the door. Glynda straightened, clearing her throat as she blinked away her unspilled tears. Fixing her glasses, she took a moment to collect herself.
"Come in,"
Of all the people she was expecting, it wasn't Qrow.
His expression was solemn, and his eyes alert. That alone speaks of the severity of the situation.
Glynda sighed, "I hope you bring good news. However, knowing your luck..."
Qrow rolled his eyes at the jab. She was not in a good mood, and he could hardly blame her, "Yes and, no."
"Good news first, I suppose,"
Qrow nodded, "Winter asked me to do a little fly around. We have a general idea of where the hostages are kept. That, and about twenty students had escaped with a member of staff. His name is Klein. He is being debriefed now."
"Thanks the Brothers for the small mercies," Glynda cleared her throat again when it cracked slightly. She hoped her eyes weren't red enough to give away her emotions just moments ago. It would be utterly unsightly. "And the bad news?"
If Qrow noticed her red eyes, he didn't say anything, "I just heard from Winter. The White Fang has released their demands."
"Whatever it is," Glynda sighed, "Camilla and Sleet will be against it. You should have heard them in the meeting."
"I think you should hear it anyway," Qrow said, taking a seat and popping open the cap of his hip flask. He took a small sip, "They said if we allow them to release a message to the news channels, and conduct an exchange of people, they will release some hostages."
"I can already hear Camilla saying something about not allowing the terrorists to use our network as a platform to broadcast their propaganda," Glynda snorted. She motioned for Qrow's flask. He hesitated, before handing it to her.
She took a swig, and almost immediately gagged as the harsh liquid seared her throat, "Brothers! What happened to the bottles Winter gave you?"
"Looks like you don't like the taste of poverty too," Qrow chuckled briefly before his smile fell again. "It's not the message we should be worried about. They want Ozpin and one of Winter's agents in exchange for the children."
"Brother of Darkness take their damned souls," Glynda cursed, "so they were sent by Salem after all." She pinched the bridge of her nose as she felt a headache slowly ebb into existence. Glynda looked up, "Where is Ozpin now?"
"With Winter's agent. By now they will have moved again."
"Well, we really could use Ozpin's guidance right about now," Glynda sighed, "I don't know what to do."
"I think this is a matter none of us could handle," Qrow admitted, "Oz trained us as Huntsmen first and foremost. So let us do what we can, instead of focusing what on what we can't."
Glynda sighed, then cleared her throat. She straightened, "Yes, of course. The negativity. There is bound to be more Grimm amassing. We've barely achieved proper mobilization."
Qrow nodded, "The Academy is needed now more than ever. It might be cold, but if the Grimm gets in, there is going to be more than two hundred body bags to fill."
1000
Schnee Manor
"You, Schnee."
Whitley looked up, his heart leaping at the sudden voice. Miya's hand gripped tightly around his arm. Some people whimpered, unable to keep their fear out of their voices.
The White Fang, seemingly the leader, towered over him, his Grimm mask rendering any emotions unreadable. His intricate mask had a dent in it, like it had taken a bullet the day before. Whitley blinked a few times, before managing to croak out, "Y-yes?"
"Come with me,"
"I-"
"Now."
Whitley gulped. His mouth was suddenly dry. Were they about to execute him? To send a message?
Miya whimpered, her little hands tightening around his arm. He shushed her as he gently pried her off, "Don't worry, dear. I'll be back shortly." He looked around at the students surrounding him, "All of you, behave."
Whitley followed the man, eyeing the ghost-like woman shadowing their every step. The very sight of her sent shivers down Whitley's spine. She looked normal enough, if one could excuse the almost corpse-like pallor. But, there was something in the way she moved, the aura she exuded, that sent Whitley on a knife's edge.
No one else followed. They didn't need to. How much damage could a crippled rich man like him do to a hardened terrorist?
"I had a chat with your sister," the man began, "I am curious. Do you know what your sister has been up to?"
"No, Mr…," Whitley said, struggling to keep pace with the man.
"Adam Taurus," the man said, "remember it."
"I don't think I could forget even if I wanted to," Whitley grimaced. He wanted to ask what the man hoped to achieve by taking an entire school hostage, but he was afraid of the answer he would get.
"Good," Adam sneered.
"No, I do not know what Winter does," Whitley said, shaking his head, "I know she does some work for the military or the council, but that's about it."
"Ice bitch has quite an impressive amount of blood on her hands. Not as much as your father, of course," Adam began, "do you have any idea how many of my people she has killed in the past five years?"
"No, sir."
"Just a few weeks ago, she left close to forty bodies in her wake," Adam replied, "just to give you an idea of the havoc she leaves in her wake."
Whitley shuddered.
"I want to know, Schnee. I want to hear it from the mouth of one of you," Adam continued, "why do you hate us so? What have us faunuskind ever done to deserve your cruelty?"
Almost instinctively, Whitley blurted out, "I do not hate the faunus."
"I asked you the question, Schnee," Adam said, "I will not kill you for the answer you give. Speak openly."
"I-" Whitley swallowed. Was this a trap? Could his word be trusted? "I am not lying when I said I do not hate the faunus. Not anymore, at least."
"Is that so?" the man snorted, clearly doubting him, "I knew the men that killed your father, your mother, your sister. Either you are lying to me, or-"
"I am not," Whitley insisted, "I despise terrorists, bandits, and warlords. But, I do not hate the faunus. I think Winter is the same. If Weiss was still alive, I'm certain she would have said the same thing."
The girl that stood beside Adam bristled at his comment. Whitley frowned, but for a brief moment, her eyes looked almost sorrowful. Then, in a blink of an eye, it was gone. Even despite that, a single tear ran down her cheeks.
The man also seemed to notice. He lifted a finger and with almost infinite gentleness, wiped the tear away.
"Let me ask you, Mr. Taurus," Whitley ventured, "why have you chosen this path?"
For the moment, the man was taken aback, perhaps by Whitley's boldness, or by the question itself. His lips curled into a sneer, "This path? This path?" Adam spat, "Do you have any idea what your father has done, boy?"
"Unfortunately, yes," Whitley sighed, "I reviewed and changed his policies after all."
"Then that should give you an answer."
Whitley frowned, "Were you….were you from the mines?"
Adam nodded. "I was born in the Mantle slums. An unwanted son of a human overseer twice the age of my mother," he grimaced, "She died in the Mantle Square protests years after."
He reached up to his mask, and pulled it off without ceremony.
Whitley's eyes widened at the crude brand burned into his face. The words "SDC" had long since scarred over, and had forever marked the man for the rest of his life. Whitley's heart crumbled at the sight. He tried to speak, but all he could manage was a pathetic, "Oh…"
"Look at it, Schnee," Adam snarled, "get a good fucking look at what your father has done to me. Not just to me, but to countless others too. It is one of the reasons why our uniform included a mask. "
Adam quickly put his mask back on, as if he was ashamed of his face, "So you tell me, Schnee. Why have I chosen this path?"
Whitley kept his eyes on Adam. Past the slits on his mask, his brilliant blue eyes were full of anger and hatred. Yet behind them, untold sorrow and frustration. For a brief moment, Whitley wondered what the man could have been. A brilliant huntsman, perhaps. Or maybe even a loving family man by now.
Instead, he was here. Blood of countless others no doubt on his hands, and about to spill more for whatever mission he was sent on.
It was always one thing to listen and hear about the stories of exploitation, but it was always another thing to be forced to confront it directly. Despite Whitley's changes over the years, both to himself and the company, it didn't get easier.
"My father," Whitley started softly, "did a lot of terrible things. That is being slowly acknowledged. Believe me, I'm doing my damndest to do my part in righting his wrongs."
He spread his arms around, gesturing the entire manor, "This. All of this is but the first step. Change must be gradual, Mr. Taurus. A sudden shift will birth more resistance, even if it is the right thing to do."
Adam shook his head, "Would you have embarked on this path, had we not taken drastic measures, Schnee?"
Whitley considered this for a moment. Eventually, like it pained him to admit, he spoke, "Not me. But, I wasn't the heir to the SDC back then. My sister, Brothers rest her kind soul, was. I believe she would have done better in my stead."
"How long would that have taken? How long until your bastard of a father bit it before she could take over?" Adam challenged. Whitley didn't answer.
"Exactly," Adam sighed, and for a moment he almost sounded sad. "Were we to give our lives to the winds of fate, then we wouldn't get anywhere."
"You get it off your chest?" Yuma asked when Adam finally returned.
Adam grunted dismissively. In truth, he didn't know what he wanted out of his conversation with the Schnee. Throughout his life, he had imagined and fantasized about the moment he would look contemptuously down at a Schnee as they begged and wept for their lives, his sword at their throats.
Not like this, not under these circumstances.
"I didn't hear any shouting, and the little shit is still alive," Yuma chuckled, "so it couldn't be all that bad now, could it?"
Adam sighed, "I can't tell, Yuma. I don't know if he's being sincere, or he's just saying that because we have a knife to his throat."
Yuma hummed in understanding, "In my humble opinion..."
Adam rolled his eyes.
"Stop that," Yuma grinned, "I can feel you roll your eyes even under that mask."
Adam grinned, "Go on then, Mr. Humble."
"I think he's got his heart in the right place, Adam." Yuma shrugged, "No matter what the outcome of this attack is, he will not change his heart."
"What do you mean, no matter the outcome?" Adam frowned, looking at his friend sharply. The man gave him a knowing look, his lips pressed together thinly in a mocking smile, "You worry that he might go back on his word, undo all the good that he's done, and go back to being Papa Schnee after this shitshow." Yuma shrugged, "I doubt it. There was this little faunus girl clinging onto him like he was her father or some shit. I sense a personal connection there."
Adam sighed, sagging in defeat, "This entire shit is fucked, Yuma. I shouldn't have listened to Tyrian. This is going to set back the social progress made here for years. Before we know it they'll be back burning property stamps onto our faces, and the world will be silent."
"So why did you listen to him?" Yuma asked.
"I..."
Yuma waited, but eventually, Adam shook his head, unable to answer.
"You need to choose, Adam," Yuma sighed, "I know we owe Tyrian's employer a lot. The resources, the enhancements, the money, the hardware. Remnant wouldn't have known our power and determination without them. But shit! We can't lose sight of what we are. What the White Fang stands for."
"Yuma," Adam said quietly, "you know it's not that simple."
His old friend shrugged, "It isn't. But, we wanted to be the masters of our own fate. Sometimes the lash isn't a physical one, but something that targets someone you love." Yuma eyed Blake warily, "the purpose is all the same. Control."
Adam didn't say anything. His jaws were working.
"I'm only saying this as your friend, Adam," Yuma said, patting the man on the back, "but I didn't cast off the shackles of a slave, only to exchange it for the collar of an attack dog. Think on that."
1000
CQB Facility "Kill House"
Almost immediately after the brief talks, the team headed immediately to the kill house. It was unsurprising for the team that Winter had the configuration of the Schnee Manor stored within the databanks of the training arena, for they all had practiced clearing their place of residence at least once their lives.
Training and drills began almost immediately. With only basic intel on enemy numbers and hostage location, a basic assault plan had been drawn out, and Winter wasted no time in putting it in action.
They were to begin their assault from the roof, go in silently and work their way down to the gym. Once they are in, they will blow an escape for the hostages to escape while they take the fight to the Fang. It was risky, but there were simply too many hostages to deal with. If the White Fang decided they want to keep them scattered throughout the multiple rooms of the manor, they would need another assault plan.
At least, that was the basic plan. However, they all knew no plan survives enemy contact. Most importantly, they were still but a small team.
Their usual rifles were swapped out for a more cut-down version of their weapons, chambering a smaller calibre. It was equally as deadly within the close-quarter confines they were going to find themselves in, and there was less of a risk of bullets punching through walls and hitting unintended targets.
Dust fumes, acrid smoke, exhaustion, and the constant booming of stun grenades soon filled the facility.
Winter's mood grew more foul by the minute. The team knew this, because there was no verbal lashing when inevitable mistakes were made. Winter just softly ordered another run of the kill house.
Each run was faster, more brutal.
The men didn't tire out easily, but even Winter recognized they needed a break for some food and water. If they were to storm the building right this instant, they would be ready and not burned out.
It was also then, Atlas military had requested Winter's presence.
"Fucking hell," Russel grumbled as he opened his Mistrali takeout box, "Ice Queen's gone full sub-zero."
Cardin didn't answer. He ate his meal robotically, as if on autopilot. His eyes were staring off at nothing, and his mind was obviously occupied.
"And you've malfunctioned too, it seems," Russel quipped. He sagged when his former leader offered no response.
Ren ate his meal quietly too, but Ciel seems to be struggling with her shaking hands. The chopsticks provided put up more of a challenge to Ciel than the rifle she had used a few moments ago.
The ex-Legionnaire still had it in her. She was able to keep up with the team, albeit with a few initial hiccups. However, it was clear her injuries had significantly affected her aim.
No more perfect headshots from across the field for Miss Ciel Soleil. She was lucky to land most shots centre mass, and each missed bullet meant it might go into a child. With the chaos and confusion that will no doubt be going on, that is a very real possibility.
Ciel huffed, "I should get a fork."
"Do you want me to feed you?" Russel grinned.
"In your dreams, Thrush," Ciel rolled her eyes. She stared at her hands, contemplating.
Ren looked at her, frowning. He was already halfway through his meal. "A bit too late to have doubt now, Ciel."
Ciel frowned, "Your semblance is sometimes quite the invasion of privacy, you know that?"
"I didn't need my semblance for that," Ren shrugged, "I don't use it that often believe it or not."
Ciel held his gaze, then sighed. She shook her head, "These damned hands, Lie. I was just thinking if I could undergo surgery and be back on the field within the day."
Ren frowned. Russel's grin fell, and even Cardin looked up.
"You know what the docs said," Cardin said quietly, "no amount of surgery could fix permanent nerve damage. The only way is to…"
Ciel nodded, putting down her meal. She stared at her scar-ridden hands. "I know. The procedure of getting my arms removed and replacing them with cybernetics would only way. It will also be done in a day."
"Provided there are no complications," Russel reminded her, "you'd be losing a lot more than your sense of touch, Ciel. It's a huge risk you are taking."
"Your Aura would be drained significantly, too," Ren said, "our souls are intricately linked with the body."
This was a fact that she wasn't entirely aware of. But, out of nowhere, she remembered an old friend of hers.
"Penny had Aura," Ciel shot back.
"Penny was full metal, like we are fully flesh and blood." Ren corrected, "But, I doubt that will affect your decision."
Ciel said nothing, but nodded slowly. "Both my arms, for the chance to save more of those kids. I don't know why I'm hesitating." Ciel swallowed, staring at her hands. They were shaking harder than ever.
She knew why she was hesitating. It was more than cutting part of her soul off, in her beliefs. It was a mark, a permanent reminder of her faults and failures. The White Fang torturer had killed her partner first, and slowly bled him dry as he called out her name. Then...
Ciel closed her eyes as the memories came flooding back.
Oh, Bolin. Poor Bolin...
Someone reached out, clasping her own scarred hands in their own. Another pair of hands, then another. She looked up in surprise. The men around her took her hands into their own, gripping them gently as they ran their fingers across her scarred skin.
Ciel closed her eyes, and savored their touch, committing the sensations in her hands to memory.
Perhaps, for the very last time.
"You don't have to do this, Ciel," Winter said, "I just got word that we are getting ex-Special Police to back us up. In fact, they are on their way right now."
Ciel shook her head, "I know our standards, ma'am. Currently, I am a liability even in close quarters."
This was only half true. Winter knew the risks, but in this crisis, Ciel's previous experience within in unit was invaluable. Even so, her actions spoke of commitment. Barring any extraneous circumstances, they were unlikely to storm the building before her surgery and the minimal recovery period.
Winter nodded, "I know I cannot dissuade you, Ciel. Know that the SDC will reimburse your costs. Don't let me keep you."
Ciel saluted, and turned.
"Oh, and Ciel?"
"Yes, ma'am?"
Winter smiled, "Welcome back to the unit."
Winter looked at the men assembled in front.
Four squads. Four men each. All assembled within a few hours. Atlas bureaucracy could be surprisingly efficient when all the very image of Atlas itself was at risk.
Yet, this was only the beginning, the first step. Pitched against cold-blooded enhanced terrorists led by one of the most notorious leaders in the White Fang, Winter had no doubt there will be casualties. She wasn't even sure if these men would be enough.
Four squads of men to rescue around two hundred students and teachers, most without their auras unlocked, huddled inside a large room in a mansion that is will definitely be fortified with traps.
The very thought itself sends shivers down her spine.
Ciel tutted. She marched up and barked, "Atten-tion!"
Sixteen pairs of boots stamped together in perfect unison. Winter nodded, satisfied. She wasn't surprised after all at the discipline. They all used to be Ironwood's Special Police unit. They have stormed the Mantle slums multiple times, clearing out gang leaders and drug dealers with each raid. The special police's training served as the foundation of some of the very tactics and training Winter uses herself.
The Atlesian council had disbanded them, citing rights violations and brutality. That day was the happiest day of every criminal in Mantle.
Some of them were instructors. Others, were serving either serving as Huntsmen, militia, or police.
These were the few that were still deemed physically fit enough to join a potential assault.
"At ease!" Winter shouted, eyeing them all one by one. All eyes were fixed forwards, but there was an undeniable spark in them.
Winter knew that spark. In fact, she saw it in the eyes of Ciel.
The spark of purpose.
"I will not waste time on any speeches," Winter said, "we all know what is at stake, and why you were chosen."
There it was. The subtle shift in the atmosphere, when the mind of a professional shifted gears from peace to war.
"I have drawn up a basic assault plan, and will brief you on the numbers and weapons we might be facing," Winter continued, "The Kill house has been configured to a portion of the Schnee Manor. That is where the hostages are being kept, and that is where we will meet the terrorists. We will run through the kill house as many times as needed to complete the mission."
With a wave, Winter sent the assault plans to each member's scroll.
"Take a few minutes and familiarize yourselves with your designated areas and roles. Should you have any concerns and suggestions, bring them up to me. Let's do this, people."
The teams had been divided into three.
Red team, Blue team, and Green team. Green team going to be solely comprised of Winter and her men, and they would be the spearhead of the operations. Red and Green team was going to enter through the roof of the manor, while Blue team will enter from the ground. Both teams will work their way towards the gym, focusing on hostage rescue and extraction.
However, in this scenario, Winter was overseeing each team's performance on video while her men acted as the opposition forces.
From the outset, it was clear that some of their skills were rusty from lack of use. It shouldn't take took long to sharpen their senses, but just how much could their edge be honed within a few days?
Blue team stormed in, through the windows in two-man teams, throwing in stun grenades that exploded in a blinding flash of light and thunder. Sometimes, they were faced with armed Atlesian droids. Other times, the room was empty. One by one, they repeated the procedure, each room hammering individual arcs of fire, moments, and target selection, into their minds.
In one move, they occupied the lower floors. Moving out, covering each other, they broke into the main hallway.
There, a lone figure of Ren stood, unarmed and seemingly clueless.
They barked orders at him, but they were unwilling to fire.
Ren backed away, mock panic in his eyes, and turned to run away. They shouted and chased after him as Ren rounded a corner.
It was very possible that children and adults would flee from the very people that were trying to save them. Ren was simulating that fact.
Or, it could be an ambush.
Ren popped out, rifle suddenly in hand.
Two people went down in an instant, thrown back by the dummy rounds that exploded in their chests, sending them crashing into the ground. Return fire peppered the wall, but Ren was gone. A door could be heard slamming shut.
The "dead" soldiers lay on the ground covered in white powder while their teammates continued the mission.
The team rounded the corners carefully, to the hallway that led straight to the gym.
There were two changing rooms on each side, complete with showers and toilets.
Those needed to be cleared before they could enter the gym.
They repeated the process, throwing in flashbangs and going in.
Atlesian droids rocked, deactivating in a cloud of white powder. One fell, hit in the head. The other turned around, and managed to let off a blank round before going down with another head shot.
Russel popped out from a shower stall, and fired.
The point man was catapulted backwards, trailing white powder as the dummy round detonated. The team turned, in shock.
The opposing toilet stall flew open, and Cardin shot the rest of them in the back while they turned to face Russel.
Russel then sauntered out, and tossed a grenade into the rest of Blue team.
In an instant, the entirety of Blue team was decimated, covered in white powder.
Ren reappeared, coming out of the other changing room, picking off any survivors with casual shots to their bodies.
The echo of boots came from upstairs.
"Stairs!" Ren shouted to his team.
It was then Red team appeared. The firefight that ensued was cut short a few minutes later by Winter over the loudspeaker.
"EndEx," Winter announced, "Time is up. By now, they would have started executing children. Let's run this again one more time, and we'll have a look at the footage."
A few hours had passed, and the training and resumed. It was getting close to the end of day, and Winter doubted the White Fang would be agitated into action. It was also the perfect time for some proactive action.
Her team had a mission to do: A simple surveillance mission, to plant cameras and listening devices into the gym. She trusted them enough to get it done. Better them than Huntsmen or police.
In the meantime, Winter watched the ex-special police run through their basic skills again and again. Sometimes she would join them, others, she simply observed and instructed.
Winter watched from the catwalk, looking down upon the milling bodies of the men she will lead into battle. They were fast, but not fast enough. They were good, but not good enough. Winter and her team had their work cut out for them.
She had them returned to basic room clearing. Winter has not authorized the use of live ammunition yet, which is how her team usually trained in the kill house. Even if these ex special police forces retained their skills at their peak, Winter doubted she would let them even then.
She watched as the first team moved down the corridor. Atlesian droids popped out suddenly, behind walls and pillars. Gunfire erupted.
"Cease fire!" Winter barked, anger suddenly flaring in the pit of her stomach.
The team below looked up, wide-eyed and confused. She singled out the pointman, a cat faunus by the name of Steele. The woman cringed at the incoming barrage.
"That target was unarmed!" Winter roared, pointing at a downed Atlesian droid. The droid indeed did not have a weapon. "You just shot a fucking teacher!"
The woman said nothing, knowing she messed up. Winter pinched the bridge of her nose, growling in frustration. At least they were making these mistakes now. But, how much time could they afford?
"Identify your targets! That's a major fuck up!" Winter hammered her hand into her palm for emphasis, "One more fuck up, and you're off the assault team."
"Yes ma'am. Won't happen again!" Steele shouted back.
"See to it," Winter snarled, "that goes for all of you! Reset!"
They ran through the scenario again. The droids were put in different positions every time. The team below blew off the hinges of a door, and tossed a stun grenade in.
The familiar deafening bang echoed through the kill house, and the team stormed in. The dark room lit up briefly with gunshots, and a few moments later they were manhandling a hostage droid out.
Winter nodded, satisfied. The shot placements were not headshots, but it will have to do.
2000
Schnee Manor
Night had fallen over Atlas. There was no moon tonight.
For the children of Atlas, it had been a long day.
Miya wondered how long this nightmare would last. She closed her eyes and imagined what she would be doing now if all this didn't happen. Cardin had promised her ice cream, and she knew they would have it, even despite the Atlas cold.
Miya smiled, imagining the cold numbness in her cheeks and the sweet aftertaste of strawberry and vanilla. Her stomach growled, and all of a sudden the dryness in her throat worsened.
Her body was making it painfully clear that she had gone an entire day without eating or drinking.
The gym was dark. No one bothered to turn on the lights, but Miya could still see.
She knew her human classmates would not be able to see anything, and Miya shuddered at the thought. At least she could see the monsters lurking in the dark.
There was this one particular monster that she couldn't bring herself to look at. The ghost man with the bladed tail.
Right now, it was skittering across the walls like a massive insect. She had seen uncle Russel do something similar, walking on walls and climbing on ceilings. Cardin would always throw a fit when Russel took her on a few of his "climbs". She smiled at the thought.
The monster was drawing something with his fingers. Dark liquid seemed to ooze from his fingertips as he drew circles and symbols across the entire wall behind them. She could hear the terrible tune he hummed as he worked away.
It sounded like a sad song, but the way the monster was singing it made her skin crawl. When she looked upon the symbol on the wall, something made her look away.
Her head hurt, and all of a sudden she felt terrified.
Something about the drawing was not right. There was a metallic taste in her mouth. Her head felt light.
Miya swallowed, wincing at the sudden horrendous taste. But before she knew it, she fell back, true darkness edging into her vision.
She suddenly felt sleepy.
Yes, perhaps it is for the best. Maybe when she wakes up the next day, this will all be over.
2000
Schee Manor Gardens
By now, most of the journalists had gone to rest. Their cameras and scrolls were not rolling and broadcasting, but they still lay in wait inside their parked cars and nearby hotels. Military activity still buzzed through the air, searching for any potential terrorists still lurking in the flying city.
Unbeknownst to them, the surviving Black Claws were already out of their reach. Only Adam's contingent remained.
The police and military stood ever vigilant, their earlier tension drained. They were under the illusion the terrorists needed to sleep too, and that since it was the first day, nothing too drastic would happen.
They were right, to an extent.
Russel and Cardin crept up to the walls, silent and unseen. Russel looked up to the roof, then back at his teammate. He nodded.
Cardin braced his legs and crouched. His readied his hands, and prepared for their tried and true team maneuver developed during their days in Beacon: Throw Russel as hard as possible.
Aura pumped into Russel's thighs, and with a small run, he stepped on Cardin's palm, and jumped. Cardin grunted silently activating his semblance. Force amplification. His already huge strength tripled, and with a simple heave, he tossed his teammate straight into the air. Like a bullet, Russel shot up silently into the sky.
Cardin's strength calculation was perfect. Russel landed lightly, feet first into the roof of the manor.
Lowering himself to the roof, Russel crept across, his movements almost snake-like as he slithered across to his destination.
There. He could see the various skylights that decorated this part of the building. He just needed to place microphones and cameras where it counted. Referencing the blueprint he had imprinted into his mind, Russel edged his way towards his top priority.
As he reached the window, Russel fought the desire to look into the gym. The light pollution in Atlas is as severe as any city, and his head would be a very visible silhouette, even to human eyes.
He slid out the camera he was given. It was small, bulbous, and snakelike. Keeping low, he slid it across, down into the skylight. He stuck it in place with a roll of duct tape, and sniggered inwardly at the truly wonderful and multipurpose invention.
The camera feed went live.
2000
Looking Glass Hotel
A room had been cleared out in the nearby hotel, overlooking the manor.
Inside, surveillance teams were operating in several rooms. Screens, sound recorders, scrolls and computers lined the room. At the window, hidden behind curtains, Lie Ren watched his two teammates with binoculars.
He just saw Russel plant the first camera.
"Green on camera 1," Ren announced, "connection established."
Soldiers and law enforcement in the command room breathed a sigh of relief. There were even a few muted claps.
The feed blinked into view.
He took a brief look at the black and white night shot of the situation. It was clear that the majority, if not all of the hostages were in this room. He spotted several guards, a pitiful amount, standing around, weapons at the ready. It at least confirmed their numbers were but a mere handful.
However, one interesting figure caught his eye.
"Controller, zoom in on the man clinging on the wall."
The image clicked into view. The picture quality was poor, but it was unmistakable.
"Tyrian," Ren growled. In a sense, he was glad the man was here.
When the time comes to storm the manor, Ren hopes he will be the one to finally gut the Ripper of Anima.
"What is he doing?" One of the controllers asked. Ren shrugged.
The camera's feed focused on the image, but almost immediately lost focus. It readjusted in vain, as the camera operator wiggled the controls around vigorously.
"Damn, the glass must be messing with the autofocus." The operator said.
Then, the feed jittered, and died into static.
"Damn," Ren cursed, "what's going on?"
The controller shook his head, "I don't know, sir." The man leaned in, looking at the controls,
"mics are still operational, but the feed seems to be completely cut."
He looked back into the binoculars, and tracked Russel. Panning his view around, he zoomed in on the multiple skylights and windows, looking for movement.
Russel planted the second camera.
"Camera 2 is online now," Ren noted, "check that one."
The black and white image clicked into view, this time from another angle. All of the hostages were gathered on the far side of the gym. Five guards stood motionless, with Tyrian clinging onto the wall. Again, the camera lost focus, then died shortly after.
"A bad batch of cameras," someone in the room cursed, "damn Vacuo junk."
Something wasn't right, this Ren knew. He couldn't risk Russel taking a peek down, taking Faunus night vision into account.
"Russel," Ren said into the radio, "place the last camera facing the entrance of the hallway, above the hostages. It's risky, so take it slow. I'm going to have a few aircraft fly low over the manor."
A double burst of static. An affirmative. Russel didn't want to risk being heard too.
It was a risky choice to place a camera there, being right above the enemy with enhanced senses. But, if they were going to pick up any chatter, it would be there.
"Tyrian!" Adam hissed, "What the fuck are you doing?"
Tyrian glanced down at Adam from his vantage point, his eyes almost gleaming in the darkness. Adam could smell the stink of blood from below. The killer's hands were bloody, and the image, the symbols he had painstakingly drawn on the walls were almost repulsive to look at.
A distant drone of a Bullhead flying over drowned out Tyrian's soft reply.
Adam didn't care what the man had to say. The smell of blood was getting stronger by the minute, and he was sure his men weren't too keen on it too.
"Just get down, Tyrian."
"It will be done soon, child," Tyrian grinned, "a safeguard if you will. For me as much as it is for you."
Adam shook his head in disbelief. His patience with this man was almost at breaking point. He gripped his sword tightly, but after a brief struggle, relented. To fight the man here would invite trouble from the Atlesians.
"Open the windows, or the skylight then," Adam sighed, "Smells horrible in here."
Tyrian blew an exaggerated raspberry, "Fine. After-"
"Now," Adam hissed. He took a deep breath, when he saw Tyrians face harden, "please. I'm about to god damn hurl from the smell alone."
Tyrian held his gaze, then huffed, "Fine. Just for you."
Adam watched as he clambered up the walls and into the roof, wondering for a brief moment how much Aura control was required for such a feat. Then again, Tyrian was no slouch in combat, so it also didn't come as a surprise.
Adam looked at the hostages, the children laying around his feet. Most of them were already asleep, much to his surprise. He was certain there would be several of them too afraid to sleep.
The Schnee was in a corner with the other adults, and even he looked drowsy, like he was in a trance. Perhaps it was the lack of food and water.
The negotiators that called after Winter had offered them food, but they had rejected it. Adam had been certain it would be spiked with drugs. But, he had neglected to think about the hostages, the children.
If they were going to be here for three days, non-enhanced people like him and Yuma would need food and water too. He wasn't about to go off to the canteen to prepare a meal either. Perhaps they could be his insurance against any drugging attempt.
Blake was crouching over a sleeping human child. She brushed her pale fingers across his face, almost affectionately.
"Blake, to me," Adam whispered quietly, "come on, let's find a bed."
She then silently stood up, and ghost across the gym, as quiet as a gentle breeze.
"Fine," Tyrian's voice played through the speakers of the scroll, "Just for you."
When the microphone picked up that portion of the conversation, Ren's blood ran cold.
He looked at camera 3's image, and saw Tyrian slowly clambering his way up toward the device.
"Shit, get down!" Ren hissed through the radio.
The operators around him flinched, some instinctively ducking down at the sudden urgent command. However, they realized it was directed to the agent on the ground.
"He's coming up through the skylights, pull back! Russ!"
Russel, threw himself off the edge of the roof almost immediately. Ren watched as Russel spun in midair, and caught himself onto the ledge by the tip of his fingers. There, he hung silently. A heartbeat later, the skylight flew open.
The head of Tyrian Callows popped out.
Ren felt his heart pounding hard in his chest, almost about to burst through his mouth.
If Tyrian just turned around, he would see the camera Russel had just planted there. If he looked more closely to the ledge, just to the right, he would be able to spot Russel's fingers clinging on.
If Tyrian decided to step onto the roof and open more skylights, then they would be compromised, and in really deep shit.
Russel must have heard the skylight click open too, because he didn't move a muscle. Ren doubted he was even breathing. Russel could take the fall, but it won't be a silent landing.
Tyrian stayed there for a few moments. Ren saw him take a deep breath of air, and his face twist into a sinister smile. Then, he ducked back in.
Ren let out a breath, very aware of how close they were to being compromised.
The door of the hotel room clicked open, and Clover stepped in.
He looked around, surprised at the tense atmosphere.
"What happened?"
Ren suddenly felt the urge to laugh. They had been so close to fucking everything up. Instead, they got lucky. Very lucky.
Ren grinned at Clover, "Oh Clover, you beautiful bastard."
AN: Life's been busy, hence the slower updates. That, and also I wasn't entirely sure which direction to take this particular scenario, focus, procedure and resolution wise.
Let me know what you guys think! Please leave a review!