Chapter 8: Subterfuge

General Watts sped down the base's corridor, occasionally lit by the blinking fluorescent lights above, one hand on his holster. The gun — a traditional atlesian revolver — was loaded, despite his lack of targets. That was the main problem.

No guards anywhere. Sloppy job if you're trying to assassinate me, he thought.

The database was a mere blur in his vision, he ran past his personal kitchen, now a dark void with the open door that resided in the space between the flickering lights. He detested the novice work, taking out only half the lights, and for what reason? To distract him? He had Aura, he could sense with more than just sight, hearing or smell.

Still, he found none of his men anywhere. Not even signs of struggle. Mutiny?

Finally, he reached his personal quarters. Normally, it'd be guarded by two of the best Specialists available at all times. Presently, the corridor was devoid of any and all military personnel, and above all else, the heavy and tall steel door was ajar. Slightly open, it could be easily pushed open by him.

He approached, soundless, moving close to the walls. He pushed the door open, only slightly, yet within a breath he was pulled inside by the very hand that touched the door. Instinct took over, his hand unlatched his revolver from the holster, he aimed it forward-

"Don't," the baritone voice in front of him warned Watts, unconcerned.

Hazel was his name, as far as Watts recalled. The brown skinned giant of a man was unarmed, no signs of Dust fueling either. He stood there in front of Watts, patiently waiting for him to lower his weapon. As Watts holstered it, he took a step back, walked around the General and closed the door behind them with a dull and heavy slam. Checking the quarters, Watts noticed nothing out of the ordinary. It was a simple, if spacious room, the walls covered by bookshelves with literature from all over Remnant. His desk, opposite to the door, was still perfectly clean, even the single official quill case was kept where he'd left it.

"I take it you're responsible for the mess outside my quarters. What's the meaning of this?" Watts asked.

Hazel grunted, "What do you think?"

Watts sighed. Hazel could be very straightforward and secretive simultaneously if he so wished, and all in very few words. It irked him how the man's simplicity could act like a punctuation mark, stopping any and all forms of dialogue. He had to know, was there an incident before Hazel made it there? There were no signs of fighting in the hallways…

Hazel walked to a nearby bag, opened it to reveal a Grimm, the bulbous, jellyfish form of a Seer floated across the room, stopping in front of Watts' own desk. Black smoke cascaded out of it, like paint scattering in water. From the shadowy smoke rose the familiar form of his benefactor, the tall, silver haired and alabaster skinned woman.

Salem.

Watts stood still, instinct taking over, as if a wild predator had its sights on him.

"Good morning, Arthur," she said. Her eyes, Grimm eyes with black sclera and red irises stared down at him, some of the smoke covered her, but not the eyes.

Watts managed his most formal bow, arched forward, one hand to his chest, "Ah, yes, good morning, Your Highness. May I accommodate you?"

A nervous smile touched Watts' face, he couldn't understand why Salem wanted to speak personally. She could simply contact him via one of their scrolls.

"You may not."

The silence hung in the air before Salem continued, "It is a very interesting morning."

Watts straightened up, "I beg your pardon? I don't believe I understand."

Salem stood tall, her chin up, and her back straight. She reminded Watts of Nobles from the time before the war, the kind he never witnessed, only read about in old stories. "Most continents don't have the night sky at the time of dawn, you see," she explained.

"Ah. It is special to Solitas," Watts said.

"Yes… The midnight sun, the miracle city of Atlas, many things are special to Solitas."

Where was she trying to get with it? Watts wet his lips with his tongue, "Yes, Your Highness."

The illusion of Salem walked around his desk, stopped behind it, her eyes still noticeable under the smoke, and even as she casually turned her back to Watts they could be seen through the illusion. To think of someone who could turn her back to the one door in his room, to every person inside it while still remaining completely confident. Watts had taken the title of General, he controlled the military, its school, and the council, yet that woman, he knew, held more power than he ever would.

A chair, his chair, moved as if it had a mind of its own, dragging around the table and finally resting beside him, opposite to Salem.

She looked back at him dispassionately, only enough so he could see her face in profile, "Take your seat."

Watts sat himself down.

Before he could think of questioning why on Remnant they were having such conversation, Salem continued, "I believe we've talked in the past about how Solitas necessitated a sane rule. You've certainly opened my eyes to the madness of General Ironwood, is this correct?"

The thought of that foolish General incensed Watts, "That man was a lunatic, he endorsed pet projects, pipe dreams of sentient androids! I made the knights, I made the paladins, the seekers and the drones, and when I was no longer useful, he tossed me away! Tried to have me assassinated by none other than his Ace Ops."

"Of course. And such is why I gave you permission to work with my Grimm."

"And I am grateful-"

Salem whirled, beamed a stare at Watts, "I do not, however, remember giving you permission to create Grimm-human hybrids."

Beads of sweat trickled down Watts' temple, "Your Highness, I believed it was implied I may work on them as I saw fit…" Watts lied. He couldn't have known if she would eventually discover it, but the possibility had been there from the beginning. There was such power behind the hybrids, the new-types… They had potential to become the greatest weapons Watts had ever seen, and what good is a dagger forever kept in its sheath?

Salem's gaze was unwavering, "And so you saw it fit to mix Aura and Grimm? Tell me why," she last statement was more of a command, absolute.

"I… the machines are limited…" he said, struggling to recall the excuses he had prepared, why was it so difficult? It was as if his brain was being pressured to the insides of his skull, forming thoughts was like swimming across quicksand.

"I'm well aware of the limits of machines," Salem interrupted him. "Is that all you have to say for yourself? Such a small obstacle proved insurmountable to you?"

Watts wiped at the sweat that gathered on his forehead, "It's… a slow and difficult process, with diminishing returns. We can only program so much into the machines…"

"That is why you were given Grimm. And it is why you will make use of them, and only them," Salem said, her words final.

"But-even then, they provide a good power source, nearly limitless… But they can't compare to what an Aura-enhanced person can do! They have no creativity!"

Salem raised an eyebrow, "Is that so? If they're such a setback, then perhaps I should simply order them back to their original state?"

What? If she reverts them, they'll no longer be docile… We'll have them tearing through the research labs, the cities, every military base holds dozens of Paladins!

"I… Don't deny they're powerful. Many forget that Grimm can make use of tactics on their own. But with a human-"

"Spare me the trivial details, Arthur. Do you think me a fool like Ironwood? I know exactly why you did such a thing. I'm aware you believe the junction of android and Grimm can rectify their weakness to Aura, as I know you believe a human mind driving such could produce the best results. Like your Paladins, for example."

As Salem listed the summary of Watts' five years of research, a cold sensation gripped his guts.

She continued, "I merely needed to hear it from you. So tell me, did you think your little plot was successful?"

Behind and to Watts' left, Hazel chuckled once. The gesture reminded Watts of the man, who despite his size, so easily became one with the background.

He struggled in his chair, "Failure is a part of research, it can give insights into-"

"Answer the question," she demanded, in a tone Watts and his mind struggled to grasp. It was as if she spoke from inside his mind… Pulled his strings like a puppet…

He caved in, "The Dragon was defeated three weeks ago. We lost control, it rampaged on the surroundings, then we shot it down using Atlas' mounted turrets," Watts admitted but not without trickery to the act. She could make him say the truth, sure, and he hadn't lied… merely omitted the reason, a small part of the context.

It was bold, he was assuming Salem was making inferences, and such depended on information. If incorrect information was given, it could lead to incorrect outcomes. Eh didn't know why he'd done it, it was almost like survival instincts taking over. Perhaps, if she didn't know the full story, he would feel like prey staring at a Grimm.

Salem crossed one arm in front of her chest, its hand to the other's bicep, then put the remaining hand up to her chin, "And do you know why you lost control of it?"

"We were in the process of investigating it," he said. Again, not entirely untrue, he still had no idea what team intercepted the Dragon, or how it managed to remove the host from it.

"No need, I'll tell you why. It rampaged because the body was separated from the host. I suppose I should say "she rampaged", given the host. Correct?"

How can she know? I've kept this research secret for all these years, is she really that perceptive… I underestimated just how much she knows. He thought, with some degree of surprise.

From the knowledge Salem had gifted him, he knew she was far older than she seemed. Salem had in her keep entire libraries from civilizations none in Remnant ever heard about, she could recount from memory the origins of entire martial arts, down to one hundred generations, knew engineering techniques so advanced they made Watts himself look like a bumbling caveman. Despite being aware of it all, he somehow still underestimated Her. There was no real conceivable bottom to the pit she drew her power from, attempting to measure it would be like measuring uncountable infinity.

"That is correct," Watts resigned himself to admitting, despite Salem's question being rhetorical in essence.

"And the host, the Schnee woman, Winter, was it? She was powerful, truly a pity that she was lost to this… experiment."

"We didn't think it possible, given the layers of protection she had."

"You've failed to account for many things Watts, I hope you're coming to realize it."

The thought struck Watts, was she there to end his life? It was a mere mistake, she couldn't…

Before Watts could defend himself, Salem continued, "You must have something to say in your defense. Regardless, I hope you're coming to see that toying with hybrids like you have done is no simple matter. They are fickle, and people, even the best Aura-enhanced human or faunus, are flawed. You will not repeat this."

Human or Faunus, she speaks of us like we're not on the same level, he thought. In a way, it wasn't entirely untrue. And in the same line of thought, he continued, She tells me not to repeat this experiment merely because of a failure?

After a brief pause, Salem continued, "That is, of course, immaterial. I care not about the failures. So tell me, what of the raids to the south?"

That she didn't care about his failures meant something… he kept the thought in mind. Watts furrowed his eyebrows, "There has been some resistance…"

Salem waved a hand, "Go on."

"The men say there are Huntresses and Huntsmen from outside the continent. They strike quickly and disappear just as fast."

Salem hummed, "Grimm Hunter standard."

"But expansion is going as planned. Most of the villages outside Atlas were so poorly defended it was barely a fight. Without the CCTS to call for help, they're prey for the tundra."

The past five years since the Breach of Vale had whittled down the number of Huntsmen in Solitas, most of them dead in some last stand defending nameless villages. During these years, when the military, so heavily armed and equipped with the best resources Lien could buy, attacked, they were taken eventually. All but the last few, the ones now protected by outsiders.

"Perfect. It is time to remove House Schnee then. Get rid of the man."

"Aaah, I believe that might not be possible, even at this point. The Schnee still holds too much power over us. He refuses to give up the factories, the Dust mines, even stalls production when we try to expand, he knows we're looking for new mines. In time it can be done, it's inevitable, but at the moment it'd cause too much instability."

"I know. It was better to let the man fade away into obscurity, but that was before the events you just detailed me."

She had plans inside her plans, Watts thought, noticing how far ahead of himself she was. "I don't understand," he admitted.

"Winter Schnee was saved by her own sister, Weiss Schnee. The Grimm Hunters giving you trouble are from Beacon Academy, and with their presence here, variables change. It is now possible to take the SDC by force."

He stared at the illusion of Salem, staggered. How did she come to such conclusions?

"Your flabbergasted expression does not instill me with confidence."

Watts shook himself free of the stupor, "I still can't follow,"

Salem smiled, walked around the table, then sat on it, her legs crossed.

"I'm afraid there are some details that are best left unsaid. But regardless, here are the facts: Vacuo and Mistral cannot spare forces to travel all the way to Solitas. Vacuo is too busy enforcing a might makes right rule. Mistralians point knives at each other's backs on the regular, it's brimming with warlords and corrupt Huntsmen and deceit is their coin of trade. That leaves us with Vale."

"Vale? The only relevant thing about Vale is the fact the city was breached years ago."

"Incorrect. Think of the necessary qualities a Hunter would need to travel here. Unity, trust in each other. They'd need a good expertise in infiltration, as well as intelligence and counterintelligence."

"And this relates to Vale?"

"Of course," Salem told him, her expression casual, as if she was commenting on the tapestry, "The Huntresses and Huntsmen of Vale were trained by Ozpin, weren't they, Hazel?"

"Yes," the man said, with some amount of contempt in his voice.

"The others wouldn't make it here. These are not mere tired villagers, I call them Grimm Hunters because that is their true nature. Trained since childhood, instilled with the best tactics, weaponry, education, and above all, the lay of the land. It's true that some leave to become independent, but the ones that remain under Beacon? At no point will any of them care about trying to outrank their peers because there are no ranks. Bribes are just insults, they can spot a spy from a mile away, they've converted one of ours! Even the existence of a leader within teams, universal as teams are, exists only to focus the group. A wedge to drive in their attack."

Watts hesitated, still struggling with the idea. Those Huntsmen couldn't possibly be that powerful. He had Aura himself, they were merely people, and they all could fall.

A smirk touched Salem's face, she leaned in closer despite the fact they were meters apart from each other, "So, you see, this is our weapon against the Schnee Dust Company."

For a few seconds, Watts considered the implications…

"But there's no way they'll agree on it."

"Who says they'll have to? You need only to make demands of the SDC. Demand more, always more than the last time. The Schnee man will have no other choice but to bring his weapons, slaves and androids more often. He'll become more ferocious, brutal, even."

"I see…"

"None are fond of him, and it'll definitely catch the attention of the Grimm Hunters. As long as he appears to be a more important threat, they'll attack him for you, both the Schnee sisters need only an excuse to do so. When the dust settles, you'll take what's his."

Salem's illusion raised itself from the table, dissipated slowly, from the feet moving up, "And, of course, Hazel will be aiding you," the words echoed as she disintegrated along with the Grimm that projected her.

Watts glanced at Hazel.

He is not real aid. Watts thought. That man is an executioner, a sword hovering atop my head. If I don't toe the line…

—❖—

Salem leaned on her throne, illuminated only by the purple light that pierced the tall windows behind her, the light of the sunset in the Grimm lands.

With a thought, she disintegrated the Seer that projected her image to Watts, then another, one who was carried by Tyrian all the way to the Schnee manor. Her conversation with the Schnee patriarch had been uninteresting. She knew what he needed, and with only the slightest push, the man moved entirely.

He'd settled on a deal with a smuggler of her choosing. A man who had evaded Huntsmen for years would bring Dust from outside the continent, she was confident that if anything the smuggler would at least wanted Dust reserves, properly paranoid due to his awareness of the fact that the military wanted his resources. His Dust, money, mines, land, all of it. The underhanded tactics, veneer of legality and order was simply that, a veil, excuses.

Jacques did not yet know that the smuggler was a trap, not a gift. He likely suspected the man himself would try to steal from him, paranoid as he was.

He would, that was a part of Salem's deal with the smuggler, but it was a feint. A clear attack that would draw the attention of Jacques. He would never know the fact that his daughter returned to Solitas, his spies would never reach her, they'd be too busy looking at the most evasive man on Remnant.

He would fall, and soon.

And Watts. He was… Unfit, at least long-term. Too many mistakes for one man, but she had to make him believe he was needed, and that his mistakes were forgivable for now. The implicit threats would keep him from moving out of expected deviations, at least for the time.

But he was arrogant. An underlying problem, not solved by a simple conversation. Watts thought he knew what was best, but never presented any reason as to why, no foundation to the belief. It betrayed the true reason for such, he believed he knew best merely because the ideas were coming from him.

He too would fail. He could not be allowed to come so close to one of her own secrets without dying. The man was too close to discovering human grimm-hybrids, and he was so arrogant as to show his hand to his enemies so casually. Salem herself only brought the Hound in the most dire of situations, and even then, only after a couple of centuries had passed.

What a fool he was! To show his hand to the enemies, and tell them where the knife was. Pure, undiluted foolishness.

Both were such overtly cruel men, both were unfit to rule Atlas, much less Solitas.

She rose from her throne, a deep breath elated her. She checked her hair, still kept in the tight bun. This was the moment before the first domino could be pushed. The others would follow… The chain of events would pick up speed, others would fall, as night follows day, they would fall.

Are you watching, Ozma? Have you changed your name and face again? I hope you have, and I hope it was painful.

Salem ran her hand through her hair, the styling undoing itself on her fingers.

How can you look at them and think they're anything but beyond any help? They conspire against one another, fight, to no end! No end at all! They still think they're separated by races! Think themselves different from Faunus!

She closed her eyes, thinking of the Grimm. She experienced everything they did, filtered into her mind. Teams of Huntsmen in all lands, as well as villages, stalked by clever Beowolved for days before they attacked.

We could've made humanity better than gods. Better than the callous, idiodic deities that toyed with our lives! You made little gods yourself! Demigods, Hunters of Grimm, but above the rest they sit, in might, honor, everything you admire about humanity, exacerbated.

Never before had she felt this way. Where before Salem first wanted obliteration, an end to her perpetual life, she had been filled with a new purpose, a new goal.

There could be no quarter.