Andre was a good man. Faithful to a wife a world away, prayed to God before and after his meals, he never took advantage of anyone, treated everyone he met with respect and he kept his ledgers clean and honest. His only vice was indulging himself in food and drink from time to time – sure he was far removed from the star athlete of his college days – but he had kept it under control for several years.
What did he do to deserve this?
The Vacuans, thieves that they were, at the very least kept a semblance of order in the city and enforced something that resembles a rule of law. The Atlesians never bothered. For days now the City of Chickamauga was a slaughterhouse. The only ones spared were Atlesians, Mistrali, and other foreigners. Andre hoped that his Nationality alone would be enough to save him.
He hoped it would've been the same for the ones hiding in his cellar.
When his neighbour Mushi Liet-Bin came knocking on his door a few days ago, while family in tow, Andre instantly knew what was going on. He had read the reports, he knew what was going on all over the occupied territories. If the Atlesian Army arrived up, they would purge the area of undesirables. He never saw eye to eye with the man, but damn if he'll leave the man to die out there.
The next night, Mushi's son sneaked out and came back with two more families; the Abyads and Siyahs. Anwar Abyad offered Andre a handful of gold Lien, but he refused, he wouldn't want payment for doing the right thing. When Anwar insisted, Andre said that it was for everyone's benefit; They might need it if they were to flee, and Andre getting new funds without contact to the mainland would raise questions.
Andre stood by the closed window, occasionally peeking through the curtains whenever he heard the muffled rhythms of hooves or boots passing by. He was being paranoid, a part of his mind seemed to say. What creates suspicion more than seeming like you have something to hide? But wouldn't acting casual in the middle of a warzone seem even more like he's hiding something?
He then realized that he was peeking his head out while lost in thought for a good ten seconds.
The second floor would be good. Just have the curtains open, turn on a lamp, and be visible reading, or writing, or doing something, anything that doesn't scream "I'm harboring enemies of of Atlas, please arrest me."
Andre slowly crept up the stairs, nervously taking each step as if the creaking of the floorboards would betray him. When he finally arrived at his solar, he made a show of throwing open the curtains, lighting an oil lamp, and sitting in his chair. A foreign book might suffice, the brain can't worry when it's busy trying to translate the text.
About half a chapter in, Andre felt his eyes begin to droop, and decided now would be as good a time as any to put down the book. The sun was beginning to set, and the long shadows made the muddy roads look like some alien landscape.
At that moment, a squadron of Atlesian Irregulars trotted through the neighbourhood, glancing at every house. Their sergeant, a giant of a man with a great big bushy beard, dismounted and started barking orders to his subordinates. As his men lined up around his house, rifles at the ready, the giant opened the gate and strode through.
Oh no.
Andre dropped the book and bolted down the stairs as fast as he could. He threw open the cellar doors and hissed "Kill the lamp!" as the Atlesians thumped the door. Adam Siyah silently nodded and switched the oil lamp off.
Straightening his collar, he composed himself and started walking towards the door. He had it all prepared in his head; he would kindly welcome the sergeant, invite him in for tea or coffee – in the study, the parlor was too close to the cellar – and politely inform him that he had never associated with any Faunus for the past year, and he would gladly inform the Atlesians if he knew their whereabouts.
The sergeant rapped on the door three times again, more forcefully than before. As Andre opened it, he was not prepared for what he saw. The sergeant was there, an absolute brute of a man a full head taller than Andre, flanked by two beady-eyed privates nearly as tall as him. His uniform was decorated by splatters of what Andre hoped was dried mud, and his hand rested on a heavy club dangling from a leather belt. The other was holding a revolver, fully cocked and pointed right at Andre's gut.
"Sir, Uh, I-I-I, Uh…" That would be the most coherent statement Andre would say for the day.
"Mit besten Grüßen, Herr Froussard!" the sergeant jovially replied. "My captain has received reports that you are harbouring traitors and enemies to the Atlesian people in your home. Is this true?"
Andre found himself strainfully nodding.
The sergeant's smile grew predatory and he clicked his tongue. The two privates smoothly slipped past Andre and entered the house, checking every room and occasionally pounding the floors with the butts of their rifles for hidden spaces.
As the soldiers searched his house, he remained out on the front porch, trying and failing to avoid eye contact with the larger man. The brute would sometimes amuse himself by twitching the arm holding the revolver, his beard twitching with silent laughter whenever Andre flinched. Andre became acutely aware that he was sweating like a pig, and shakily blotted a handkerchief across his forehead. He offered it to the sergeant as an awkward attempt at civility, but the man mockingly grinned and shook his head.
Finally, one of the privates yelled something, and three more of his comrades rushed through the gate and into the house. When they emerged a minute later, ten other trudged out alongside them, hands over their heads. Andre tried not to look their way out of shame, but he still caught glances of their faces: Mrs. Siyah was choking back tears, while Adam stared at him with a hatred that no words could describe. Last out came Anwar Abyad, with a slight frown and eyes full of the pity. For whom, Andre couldn't tell.
As the ten Faunus were led out of the gate, the sergeant closed it and said, "The fatherland thanks you for your cooperation, Herr Froussard!" He mounted his horse and rode off with a chuckle, and the street was as deserted as it was five minutes ago.
Andre stumbled back into the house, silently closing the door behind him. The house was untouched – the worst the Atlesians had done was kick up the edge of a rug and scuff the floor by the door – but it felt like a tornado had just swept through. Nervously, Andre stepped his way toward the closet where they were only two minutes ago. It still felt inhabited: the gas lamp was still warm, plates from an early dinner were stacked in a corner, and the air lingered with the scent of Mrs. Siyah's perfume. But its inhabitants were never coming back, and they were as good as dead.
As he turned to leave, Andre noticed a small bag in the far corner that was untouched, it was filled with Anwar Abyad's stash of gold lien. Inside was a note hastily written. "Andre take these, for we cannot use them where we are going. Thank you."
The sound of Andre's silent tears filled the room.