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JUST UPDATED THE LIST, MESSAGE IF YOU ARE MEANT TO BE ON IT AND I MADE A DUMB

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Atlas was a short hop and skip on an Atlesian transport up from the ground base, with a direct line for craft coming and going from the training location for a variety of obvious reasons. A simple order from Specialist Ebi and they were allowed to land near Atlas Academy itself, a rarity for such transport craft coming from the training base. They touched down at a small cluster of buildings surrounding a tall, domed building set off to the side from Atlas Academy proper.

Stepping out he was thankful for the heavy armor's thermal insulation, as limited as it was. Even with Atlas' thermal protections and environmental systems, winds still blew, and they blew hard and cold in the Fall of Atlas. Shrill wind whistling through the high, sharp roofs of Atlas' architecture carried snow that melted before they got closer to him. But the chill remained, nonetheless, carried by the howling wind of a building storm.

And blowing cold across his face, enough so he wanted nothing more than to cover his chin and lips for warmth. But discipline won out, for he and his training partner both, and so he kept his hands at his sides. Used to the chill and used to ignoring it, but thankful, at least, for the warmth of Atlas' systems between the hard gusts. At least for the few moments before they were led inside, following Specialist Ebi's lead.

"Update from High, boys." The man started as they walked, passing by troopers of all kinds as well as security droids and officers. All of whom were working on something and none of whom paid them any mind. "Night of rest and a shower, tests tomorrow. Full physical, aptitude analysis, mental evaluation, the works. You pass and day ends with Aura activation and mil-path Specialist induction."

"Understood." The two soldiers answered, his partner, Mann, taking the lead and asking, "What kinda numbers are we looking at?"

"Well, I know I said you'd be with the other hopefuls, but…" Ebi shrugged and sighed, as though making a decision, and finally spread his arms in a gesture that was part mock surrender and part stretch. "To hell with it, I guess. Who on Remnant would you tell that it would matter?"

"Sir?"

"There's not really all that many new Specialist hopefuls, kids. Atlas has been needing more traditional Hunters and with relations with Mantle…" Ebi trailed off meaningfully, stopping and turning to meet their eyes through their armored visors. Jaune looked around them for him discussing what had to not be meant to be talked about, but found only a suddenly empty hallway. His surprise must have shown, even with the helmet, because the man chuckled and let his Aura flare, smiling. "Aura means Semblances, boys, and mine brings luck. Don't overthink it, just lean into it."

"Really?" His father, back in Ansel, had always warned against relying on Semblances like those. They were always too… "Convenient."

"It's always worked out for me, yeah, Arc. Word from your uppers, rely on your Semblance. The Gods' gift to man, Semblances. Well, long as you get a good one..." He shrugged after a half-second, seeming to put the topic to bed and moving on. Giving them each a look he frowned and sighed, shaking his head. "Head Specialist Schnee does not want you knowing this, so you keep your mouths shut. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Yes, Specialist."

"Good kids. Yeah… Good kids." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and then shrugging. Shaking his head he forced a stiff smile and started to explain, "Specialists are Hunters, but militarized. One of you has a slot open in Atlas Academy, on the mil-path. The other, whoever has the lowest evals, will go back to basic tomorrow evening. Back to standard trooper training."

"Only one of us…?" The man had said they'd be separated. Apparently, Jaune supposed, that was a more literal concept than they'd assumed. "I figured we'd be on other teams, split up like enlistees always get, but…"

"Sir, what..." Mann asked, giving him a sidelong glance and grimacing, he sighed tiredly. A long day of training and tense revelations would do that to a man, Jaune supposed. He certainly felt the fatigue himself. "What are the evals looking for, Specialist Ebi? If we're competing…"

"Not supposed to tell you that."

"Weren't supposed to tell us what you already did, either." Jaune pointed out calmly, stepping closer to the man and nodding. "Already broke the rules, Sir. My father always told me, more rules don't mean anything after you break the first one." He added after a second, and quieter, almost pleading, "Please, Sir. Tell us what we're going up against tomorrow."

"Why should I?" The man asked, sharp eyes narrowing. After a moment, green eyes searching Jaune's body movement and what he could see of his face, he explained, quietly like he was trying to hide it. "I already told you, Arc, Mann. Mental, physical, Aura check. Evals, plain and simple."

"But…"

"But, Arc?"

"I don't..." He paused to consider what he wanted to say, what he felt, for a moment and then grimaced and pursed his lips. "Fuck it." "But, Sir, I don't like this. We shouldn't be forced to compete against each other. Kick each other down to get ahead. It's… It's wrong."

"Hm." The man gave him a long once over, as though analysing him. Looking for something Jaune couldn't guess at, only pursing his lips when their eyes met again. Turning to his partner, Ebi asked, "And you?"

"Sir?"

"What's your opinion, Mann?" He asked with a small tilt of his head and a small smile. "Out of curiosity."

"I… Think that it makes a lot of sense, Sir." Jaune grunted a 'seriously' and his training partner crossed his arms and shrugged, speaking as though it should be obvious. "Only the best advance in the Atlas Military, Sir. And they don't kowtow, either. If there's only one spot it only makes sense that only one of us can advance. And that means competing, aware of it or not, and in an arena or not."

"Mann…"

"Stow it, Arc." His partner sighed, shaking his head. "Was good while it lasted, but it's lasted long as it was going to. We should get some rest, before tomorrow." He affected a smile, then and added, jokingly, "But I mean, least we both got soft beds to look forward to, yeah?"

"I guess…"

"Down the hall, two doors on the left, look for the drones standing outside 'em." Clover grunted when his eyes turned to the man. Jerking a thumb over his shoulder he smiled and ordered, "Stow your armor in the locker at the end of the bed, eat the food waiting for you, and get some sleep."

"Sir."

"...Understood." Jaune didn't meet either of the other men's eyes as he walked after that. He simply went to the little dorm, and changed into the simple Atlesian pajamas waiting for him. Locking the armor away, he sat down to eat and sighed. Poking the potatoes idly, he reminded himself, as he so often had to in the worst moments of training, "Anything to get there, Jaune. Anything to get there."

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General Ironwood reclined in his chair, warm mug in hand, while he watched the sky outside Atlas. Full of warships, buzzing fighters, and lazily wobbling transports. The sky was dark, more for the storm clouds hovering near, pregnant with snow and ice, than anything, but he didn't mind. Such was the norm for Atlas' weather and, to him, it held a fierce beauty all its own. As much because of its appearance as for its effects.

At the end of a week of gales and frost, he knew, practically every Grimm in the area would be dead or moved on. Which opened up so many options for he and his men to spread out and entrench. If he could keep the Fang at bay, he could seize mines lost t the Grimm, or even seize the old fortifications spread around the tundra encompassing Atlas to protect the space around him. Around his Kingdom, rather. Though in truth, Salem meant that both had to be protected. But there were so many options, so many considerations…

A chime from his Scroll broke the silence of the room and, with a flick of a finger, he heard Clover's quiet voice, "General Ironwood."

"Clover." The man answered, sounding amused in a way for his terse and respectful manner of address. Smiling thinly, he took a drink of his tea, "I am going to guess from your tone of voice that you've gotten some of the answers we wanted."

"I have, Sir." The man sighed, static crackling across the comm-link as he did. Normally not a problem, but with the storm closing it, some static was to be expected. Such was more than normal for Atlas to have to deal with, unfortunately enough. "Arc and Mann are both clever and good combatants. Mann is the better marksmen and suppression operative, while Arc is better at close to medium ranges. Both of them are good at planning, but Arc is better at rapid, out of the box sorts of plans. Mann feeds off of them, from what I saw."

"Mhm. I'd heard as much beforehand." The record matched that evaluation, too, as well as the various Instructor Sergeants' reports. A thick stack of heavy reading, but then, Clover had been there for a reason, having read the reports himself a week prior. James himself had… Skimmed, but he trusted Clover's judgement. "I didn't send you to get what we already know confirmed, though, Clover."

"I know, Sir." Another static-filled sigh and the specialist started to explain what he'd learned. "Arc is a bit quick to question his superiors, from what it looks like. I refused to answer more questions and he pushed me on it. Mann just nodded like my word was gospel, even though we weren't operating under normal regs."

"A problem, but not really too severe of one." As long as he obeyed orders, questions were more than acceptable. And while he asked a lot of questions, what he'd read showed Arc obeyed orders. A free thinker, then, but disciplined and willing to set aside questions when true orders were present. "And what did they say about our little competition?"

"Mann said it was good, made perfect sense, and didn't have any complaints." Clover answered simply, sounding for all the world as though he were angry for what the man had said. Which, if Ironwood knew him as well as he thought he did, was probably the case. "Arc didn't like it. He said it was wrong, making them compete. He only let it go when I ordered them to get some rest before their evals tomorrow."

"The fictitious ones, you mean."

"Yeah, well." Clover chuckled, a low and unamused sound, "They don't know that, Sir. Kinda the point, if I remember what you said about it."

"Oh, I know. I remember our discussion on the matter, Clover. And the plan I decided on." And he also remembered Clover not liking the idea, enough so in fact that Ironwood had made it an order. But once he had, the Specialist, loyal to the breaking point, had simply snapped a salute and nodded. "So? What are your honest thoughts?"

"On?"

"You know what on." Ironwood rolled his eyes, used to the man not making things easy on him. Such was kind of in his nature, really. Much like the other man whose life revolved around his luck, in that respect… "I told you to get me a new Specialist candidate for our operations in Vale. So we could get them trained and ready to join the Specialists properly."

"I feel like Atlas Academy would be the best place to train someone up…"

"He'll be studying there as well, rest assured, but you know my opinions on training field Specialists in classrooms." Soldiering was best learned in the field, with a rifle in your hand. And soldiers he would be embedded with were more likely to respect a fellow soldier rather than a flashy, classroom trained Hunter.

And now was as good a time as any to test out new roles for his Specialists, if they could find a good candidate.

"If you want my recommendation…" Ironwood grunted his assent since he did, very much want the man's opinion. And Clover knew as much, too. He figured the man was just trying and hoping for one last chance to not have to make the big call, he supposed. After a moment, though, Clover sighed and gave his answer. "Mann would be the best soldier, hands down. Bit of a better shot, and follows orders to the letter. More, he adheres to whatever his superiors tell him like glue."

"Useful." Ironwood agreed, "For a grunt."

"But we don't want grunts."

"No, I don't. Or at least, not here and now." Simpler soldiers had their uses, to be sure. No matter how advanced their robotics and armor got, there would always be a need for men on the ground. Rifles and boots, and humans wearing both. Without them, they'd lose the trust of the people under their protection. "For now, we need leaders and tacticians, who can fight like a soldier. But they need to think for themselves well enough to actually be serviceable in the field, where orders aren't likely to come."

"Or help…"

"Clover." Ironwood grunted shortly, "It's late enough, and I know you are just trying to put off making your decision."

"Yeah, because it's not supposed to be my decision. It's supposed to be the Schnee's, Sir." But with Winter away and busy besides, she couldn't make it. Ironwood didn't bother pointing it out, though, nor did he chide the man for speaking as he had to a superior officer. He was sure that Clover was aware of both things, and didn't need it piled onto the stress he already felt. "...Arc."

"Hm?"

"I want Arc, Sir." Clover answered, voice more firm the second time he made the choice. Set on the choice now, Ironwood supposed. "He's got the heart and the head for it, and he's good at melee combat from the reports. So at the very worst, he'll be a good assaulter. We can form up a team around that."

"We could, yes." A marksman to support at range and a suppression specialist to say the least. Add a couple basic riflemen and a field medic, and he'd already have a decent a decent fireteam. "See Mann escorted away without alerting Arc. As far as Arc knows, Mann will fail tomorrow's evaluations. Or at least, Arc will outpace him."

"I understand, Sir." Clover responded in the curt, cool tone he always did in answer to orders.

"Good." Ironwood nodded, taking a long drink of his now cold tea. Sighing, he set it aside and added, "Tomorrow, introduce him to our guest. I will have a team assembled per recommendations you send me tonight-"

"Yay…"

"-and with them, he and she will go to Vale." Ironwood finished with a chuckle and a small note of sympathy for the no-doubt exhausted man. When Clover didn't protest at all he nodded, more to confirm to himself than anything, and sighed. "I'll let Miss Nikos and her manager know about the departure tomorrow evening. For now, get a meal in you, but I know you have squad files on hand already and need your recommendations by the time Arc's Aura is active."

"Understood, Sir." And Brothers, but Ironwood could already hear the fatigue in his underling's voice, even if it wasn't terribly late. The exhaustion, he was sure, was for the work coming. A long night stretched ahead of him, after all. "Will that be all, general? Or shall I solve world hunger and bring eternal peace to the Kingdom while I'm out?"

"And how would you manage that exactly, Clover?"

"Oh I'm sure the local corner store has a guide book or some such. Maybe a guru in an alley that holds all the world's answers in a cookie." Ironwood snorted a laugh and Clover joined him, chuckling quietly. When in doubt, Clover, if no one else, could drag a small chuckle out of him. Regardless, though, "That is all, yes, Clover. I wish you a good night as well, and feel bad to have given you such work so late."

"No, you don't." Clover chuckled and, rather unceremoniously, ended the call.

Sighing, the Atlesian general set the Scroll aside and opened a drawer, pulling out the bottle of medicine he had to take and tossing them into his jaw. Chewing them the way his doctor hated him doing, but which he always did since it worked and he hated swallowing pills, he stood and paced to the window. As if on cue, hail started pattering against his window, clattering into it before the ambient heating systems melted the ice and then sliding down as rain inside the same moment.

"I do feel bad, actually." He murmured, even though Clover obviously couldn't hear him. "But we all do what we must, in times like these…"

Idly, he wonder if, somewhere out there, Salem or her cronies were watching a storm pass them by too. Did they see the beauty in a storm, too? Or were they too preoccupied trying to destroy the world as they knew it? In the end, it wouldn't matter, he supposed. One of them would die, and one of them would win.

"I wonder if Mister Arc will have an influence on things?" He murmured idly, shrugging after a moment and turning as his Scroll chimed. Flicking it open he sighed and retook his seat, scanning the files Ebi was already sending his way. "Ever the hard worker…"

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Short chapter, I know, but wraps up the Prologue chapters wholly. And I didn't want to tack it onto the first REAL chapter. Hope you enjoyed what was here. It's at this point, the end of the Prologue, where I decide if this story will REALLY roll forward.

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Kharn (Guest) :

Might could do, yeah.

Talon Ibn La Ahad :

Based on what we see in the show, it's a mix of both, really. I hope to explore it a bit, going through this.