Chapter 27: Investigation
Clang!
The heavy metal door shut ominously in place, and the warden - still rearing in his chair from the energy with which he'd been thrown into it - was left to stew in the deafening echo of the sound as it rattled off the surrounding darkness.
The noise did little to distract the warden from his woes, however. He was still under investigation. The concrete and metal room, designed as if to sap heat from it's subjects, was already bringing him to shivers. The annoyingly bright heatlamp directed into his face was a bother. And, oh yes, the years of jail time awaiting him certainly soured the mood.
Still, at the moment, all of that mattered very little. After all, how could it, when he was in the presence of such a preeminent friend?
"Oh, how I'm so very glad to see you here, monsieur." The warden leant forward approvingly, as if to move closer to the figure sitting on the other side of the table. "I can not tell you how much your presence here has settled my heart." The warden whispered with a confidential expression. "Know that, of everyone, I have always considered you the greatest of friends. I have always trusted you without reservation. And, although you have already done more than I can repay; I can do nothing now, except continue to rely on that trust to see me through this."
"What's wrong?" The figure asked with a disinterested tone and a voice like gravel.
"Oh, how I wish I could spill my heart to you at this very moment! All of this secrecy has always eaten me up; you know that! But, I can't." The warden slipped from his conspiratorial whisper to look over at the wall length mirror. "These… dogs are watching us. They will use every letter I speak to draft my sentence."
"Don't worry about the police. They're not watching us,' the figure reassured.
This warden was taken by great surprise at this.
"You're sure?" he leant forward earnestly, supporting his weight on his cuffed hands under him until he was nearly parallel with the table. "You are not joking, monsieur?"
"Just tell me about the situation," the figure said.
"Oh, of course," the warden sat up, abashed. "Forgive my hesitancy. I'm rather shaken by this whole-"
"The information," the figure demanded, leaning back impatiently.
"Oh, yes." The warden shook his head, as if in great confusion. "It's this whole White Fang situation. You know I was adamant we not involve ourselves! But, I'm also not the one incharge of decisions, so I was sent here to oversee the weapons store-"
"You run a weapons store for the White Fang?" the figure interrupted, looking down to draft a witness statement.
"Who else, monami?"
"I thought the White Fang didn't have a presence in Atlas."
"Oh, not an active branch, to be sure. But, to say they don't have a presence would be missing the forest for the trees. They run the majority of their logistical network through here! Food, dust, uniforms, information, weaponry; -" here he gestured to himself with a smile, "- everything they use touches Mantle in one way or another."
"Hm." the figure nodded. "And what of the recent raid? Pretty active for a departmental branch."
"Oh," the warden seethed, "that… was Adam's doing. And I'd bet my life that raid is the reason I'm in here." He jangled his cuffs for emphasis.
"Why would Adam do that?"
"How should I know!?" the warden spat, "and why should I care? I have no interest in understanding the insane. All I know is that he wants that girly of his, and damn anyone who finds themselves in his way!" The warden turned his head aside with disdain, leaning back in his chair and allowing the sodium-vapor lamp-light to glimmer brilliantly off his vermilion coat.
"Do you know anything about his plans?" For the first time, the figure leaned forward enough that the light could catch him, revealing to the warden...
"Oh, if you can call them plans."
"Call them whatever you want, just tell me."
"Oh, well, I'm not fully certain, to be honest. But… uh, do you know that warehouse on thirty fifth street?"
"Yes."
"He's been asking for major transfers of dust to the location, and weapons, and ammo. It's quite an exposing activity, moving that much material, but I suppose that doesn't matter considering its purpose."
"I don't understand," the figure replied after a moment. "What would be the purpose of moving everything to the warehouse on thirty-fifth?"
"Oh, yes, you wouldn't know, would you?" The warden tapped his chin. "Well, you remember the old tether point they used to run between here and Atlas?"
"That went defunct in '48."
"Oh, the trolley stopped running, but the line still exists. And, because it went defunct, they didn't bother to replace it when they upgraded the whole system in 1455! So, of all the tether lines between Atlas and the ground, that one is still operable under local power!"
The warden smiled with pride at the wide eyed reaction he'd garnered from his friend.
"Oh, it's a wonder to observe a stoic's machinations!" The warden chuckled. "I can see you thinking now: 'if they manage to revive that line…' hahaha!"
"Can they revive that line!" the figure roared, sending his chair leaping across the concrete floor as he stood over the warden.
"Why, of course they can! They've been able to for years, now! They've even managed to access the underground lines in Atlas. If Adam gets his way… well, you know the SDC's secondary palace? The one they use to store all that dust?... 'Boom'" the warden mimed, spreading his hands apart at the wrist to demonstrate the action.
And, considering the look in his friends eye at the statement, the warden couldn't help but appreciate the understatement of it all. The warden clapped his bound hands as well as he was able, finding himself caught up in the excitement. "You know, I hate to give Adam any credit, but I have to say: he's certainly made things interesting."
The figure was already walking hurriedly out of the door, kicking it closed behind him and allowing the shadows to recede as McGarnagle took precedence in the darkness.
"So, another case closed?" Melva asked, focusing down on the lollipop stick she was messily unwrapping.
"Adam's about to blow up the dust repository!" McGarnagle growled, walking past her.
"Yeah, I heard that." Melva, at last, succeeded in unwrapping the confection, tossing the plastic into the garbage bin behind her as they exited out into the Mantel winter. "Still, considering everything he told us, it shouldn't be too hard to track these guys down."
Melva unrolled a fact sheet with all the witness testimony they'd managed to collect from the warden. On it was a detailed map of Mantle, marked with the name and location of every White Fang Hideout, White Fang sympathiser, White Fang dust store, White Fang Leader, and White Fang bowling club the suspect was aware of.
"And all of this in one hour," Melva smiled with appreciation, looking down at the multi-colored map and tracing over the hand-written notes that filled the white border.
"It shouldn't have taken us one hour," McGarnagle let out a hard shift of air through his nostrils, and turned a scowl onto the undersized local police station they'd been forced to rely on.
Melva rolled the map back into a compact cylinder and stuffed it into the evidence bag. "Hey, I told the courts it was urgent," she said with a defensive tone. "It's not like they can sign warrants much faster than they did, anyhow."
"I shouldn't need a warrant to interrogate scum like him!" McGarnagle threw an arm out to point back at the police station, his voice cutting through the crisp, Mantle air like a duty suspension through an officer's disciplinary record.
Melva reflexively ducked under the statement, slowly rising when she remembered they weren't in the main city. "Yeah, yeah, easy there, judge," she called with placating gestures. "Remember what happened last time chief caught you saying that?"
"Will he remember if we're an hour too late to stop Adam?"
"He'll certainly be worrying until we do," Melva looked down at the scroll, as well as the numerous messages from headquarters that filled it. Another message pinged onto the screen, and Melva paused to read it. "He says reinforcements are being delayed by a snow storm, but that they've got the Atlas side of the tube under lock down."
McGarnagle was silent.
"You don't sound too happy to hear that," Melva noticed.
"How long will reinforcements be delayed?" McGarnagle asked.
"It's Atlas weather," Melva shrugged, "one hour, two weeks, same difference."
"Hm."
"Seriously, what's got you so down?"
"Adam…" McGarnagle said. "He'd know that, if we caught the warden, we'd find all of this out."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying, we still don't know his plan B."
"Plan B?" Melva chuckled. "No offense, McGarnagle, but I think you're dreaming up a more interesting case for yourself. This Adam character doesn't seem like the type who'd have a plan B, or a plan in general, for that matter."
"This Adam character" - McGarnagle stuffed his hands huffily into his over sized coat-pockets - "has been the commander of the southern White Fang for half a decade. You'd do well not to underestimate him."
"We'll see, soon enough," Melva slipped her scroll back into her pocket. "Anyway," she continued, "what's next?"
"We gol to the White Fang Headquarters," McGarnagle answered. "If Adam's there, we arrest him. If he's not there, we find out where he is."
"You know," Melva said. - talking eloquently around the lollipop stick bobbing out of her mouth - "with the recent changes in management, it's probably going to be heavily guarded."
"Probably," McGarnagle responded, unfazed.
"You might actually have to get off your ass and try for once."
"I doubt it."
"Rough day?" The guard joked and waved them in.
They stepped into the gated premises of the White Fang hideout.
Melva held an annoyed look, certain she could detect a smug aura coming from the mass of shadows to her left.
"How's it going!?" Another one of the friendlier faunus waved from across the snow covered courtyard, his white uniform stark against the corrugated steel of the boundary wall.
Melva felt her focus sharpen further at the provocation. Here was a chance to get the information they were looking for; but how to best exploit it?
"Hey," McGarnagle responded boredly, "where's Adam?"
"Oh, he's in the meeting room!" The faunus responded immediately. "You know, the one at the end of the main hall! I can take you there if you-!"
"It's fine," McGarnagle interrupted, ignoring the man and heading off for the main building.
Melva, despite this being the fiftieth time seeing the effect, still couldn't help the feeling of amazement that came with the sight. "Impressive," she commended. "I didn't know it could make people see you as a faunus."
"It can make them see me as whatever I need them to," McGarnagle responded slowly, his words keeping pace with his unhurried stride.
"Wow, that is broken." Melva looked turned to observe the sun glare off the snow. "How come you didn't show off that trick when you were applying? I'm sure you could've wowed them if you made them think you were a faunus."
"They don't allow faunus into the police force," McGarnagle spoke dryly.
"Now that's not true," Melva denied. "What about that new girl? ...uh, the Rabbit faunus," she snapped her fingers in consternation: "Judy! That was her name."
"She's not an officer, she's a meter maid," McGarnagle retorted
"Still…" Melva replied, letting her voice die as they approached the building.
Melva crouched low, letting McGarnagle's watery shadow fall over her as they entered the building.
Inside, it was empty, and quiet, and the far door at the end of the hallway was closed.
Cautiously, they slid themselves over to hug one of the side walls.
Here they slowed to a crawl, walking in trained lockstep as they stalked carefully and gingerly across the long hallway. Ages passed in their quiet solitude, and time slowed as they vigil over the passing doorways to either side.
Before they'd reached the first door, however, McGarnagle dropped his shadow and Melva, though she expected the move, couldn't help but display her annoyance.
"What's wrong?" Melva, not looking away from her observation, raised her gun higher. She could feel that she was gripping it tighter now.
McGarnagle, in a change of pace, was silent,
"Why did you drop your semblance?" Melva was speaking with a professional whisper, though that didn't conceal any of the immediacy that harried the question.
Another moment passed in silence.
"I've seen you hold it up for hours, McGarnagle. Days. And I can see your aura isn't low," she spared a glance at him now, eyes glowing meaningfully as they looked up into his. "Why did you lower it now?"
McGarnagle kept his eyes focused ahead of them, his lips grimaced with unsaid words.
Melva sighed with unsaid fury. "Come on, McGarnagle. We've been working together for… how long now?" She quieted as they passed by a set of doors, starting back up as they probed deeper into the hallway. "I'm not asking you to trust me with everything, but I thought you considered us partners at this point."
"We are partners," McGarnagle said at last, an unwavering confidence bolstering his words.
"Yet you still won't tell me why you keep dropping your semblance whenever we enter enemy territory." Melva sniped, a creeping annoyance rising in her voice. "What's the matter? Is it a defect in the semblance, or is it something with your head?"
McGarnagle was, again, silent, but reclaimed his voice just before Melva could continue hers. "My semblance is perfect," he said, head sagging. "It works completely and I don't use any stamina to maintain it."
"I noticed," Melva scowled down the barrel of her gun, "you always have it up to some extent. So, what's the problem with amping it up now? Afraid they'd recognize you?"
"They wouldn't recognize me." McGarnagle spoiled. "Like I said, my semblance is perfect. It doesn't work on the eyes, it works on the soul. It works on everyone."
"Ok? So what's the problem?" Melva asked.
"I can't recognize myself."
Melva felt her eyes widen. "You always seemed so composed," she said, sounding sympathetic.
"I can remember my goals and intent, but I never know if they're even worth pursuing. I'm not even sure I'm the good guy, half the time. I can do it for questioning, but that's not a state I can muster myself to kill someone in."
Melva was quiet, taking in the information.
"Thank you," Melva nodded at last, flexing her fingers along the handle of her pistol.
Again, a doorway came up and they were silent.
Melva was thankful for the obstruction. It gave her time to think.
"You know," Melva said at last, seeing the final door approaching, and deciding there wouldn't be a better time to say so, "I used to be legally blind before I awakened mine."
"You…" McGarnagle said with disbelief, "... legally blind?"
"Haha, unbelievable isn't it," Melva said with nostalgic serenity. "I used to wear glasses, you know? Large, square rimmed things. I could hardly see without them. I was told I wouldn't get to join the force even with an aura… Show's what they know." Melva laughed, a heartfelt tone sneaking into her voice as they approached the final door. Her fingers flexed themselves on her gun, adjusting and readjusting her grip. In her chest, her heart beat like a sprinting drum. "Still, at times like this, I always wonder how my life would've turned out if I hadn't made it."
"What? You don't like storming into a room full of armed White Fang?" McGarnagle said, a hint of humor in his voice.
Melva let out a humorless chuckle. "Let's just say It's never been my favorite part of the job."
"How many are in there?" McGarnagle asked.
Melva cast her eyes onto the borders of the closed door, taking in the subtle reflections and shadows. "Five figures, at least some of them are armed."
They grew stoic as they approached the door.
Still, aware that it may be their last, they figured they had time for one final exchange.
"You know, sometimes... I think we were meant to be." Melva said. "I can really see us solving crimes for a long time after this."
"You're certainly the best pair of eyes on the force."
"Yeah, and to think I used to be legally blind. Ironic, isn't it?" Melva let out a short, nervous chuckle.
"I'm not sure that's technically ironic," McGarnagle responded.
"...Fuck you!" Melva scowled and stepped aside.
Passing by her, McGarnagle rushed the door, gun at the ready.
The early morning sun was sluggish over the northern latitudes, and Mantle was bathed in the ethereal twilight of the northern morning.
Adam stood at the head of the table, starlight illuminating his features as his five commanders looked upon him.
"McGarnagle is not a force to be so trifled with," the elder faunus spoke. "I know of your exploits, young Adam, and I respect your strength. But, it is in the service of preserving that strength for the White Fang that I advise against this rash course you've set upon."
"I did not ask for your advice." Adam's words cut through the early morning air. "I asked, simply, for information about how to kill McGarnagle. Will no one tell me?"
"How can we tell you?" the lieutenant spoke brashly from the opposite side. "We have not managed to kill McGarnagle, so how would we know what makes him die?"
"Deductive reasoning," Adam harshed simply.
"Deductive reasoning is fundamentally based on inductive reasoning, and thus invalid," the lieutenant pushed back, looking Adam directly in his mask. "Besides, I'm not sure why you've asked us about killing in the first place. You seem to be the expert on the subject." The lieutenant leant back into his chair and crossed his arms.
"How much does he know about us?" Adam asked.
It was the lieutenant that answered. "Since they captured the warden? Everything," he said with finality.
"That seems a bold claim," Adam ground through his teeth.
"There's a reason we've been lying low, Adam," the Lieutenant snarled, "McGarnagle's semblance will turn anyone into an open book. As far we're concerned, we can assume he knows everything, from our names, to the location of this hideout, to our fucking career aspirations, which, as far as I can tell, are now all prison related."
"Then we continue with the plan," Adam said. "Have everyone working double time. I want the main setup completed by tonight."
"Didn't you hear me!" the lieutenant stood, revealing the rifle that hung precariously on his belt, "the police are going to be knocking down that gate before the morning's over!" He pointed out of the open door into the courtyard beyond.
"We'll abandon this place," Adam answered.
"We'll have to abandon every place!" The lieutenant was getting heated. "We should've been pulling out yesterday, if you hadn't commandeered all our men to play pack mule for your dust transfers! You-!"
"I'll stop you right there!" Every head turned to the intruding voice. It was the old faunus, who sat regally back, stroking his white beard. "We have problems, there's no need to add to them with needless bloodshed!" Here he turned his eyes pointedly on the lieutenant.
The lieutenant, unabashedly brandishing his rifle, only sat up straighter.
Breathing a relenting sigh, the old faunus returned his attention to Adam.
"And, loathe as I am to be in the position of agreeing with the young lieutenant, I must advise that retreating may be our only viable move. We need all the manpower we can spare to remove our presence in haste. Every second counts now, and every captured member is a remarkable liability. Even a single faunus captured alive could be a fatal blow to us considering our current state! We must remove our men, Adam. We must remove everything!"
Adam showed little care for the lieutenant and his rifle, and he showed even less care for the old general's words.
Still, the faunus's words did inspire some thought in him.
Adam made a small movement, and rested his hand on his sword handle.
Cchck!
The lieutenant leveled his rifle at Adam, gripping onto the weapon with both hands.
"Lieutenant, put that weapon down!" The general yelled before turning to Adam. "And, young Adam, you must listen to me. You can not fathom the danger McGarnagle represents to us."
"You don't need to worry about McGarnagle, general." Adam spoke with perfect repose, still resting his hand on the handle, and not turning to acknowledge the weapon wielding man next to him. "I'll deal with him."
"And, what of the common men?" The general argued. "They know enough to tear down the foundations of our existence. What of us?" The general asked, gesturing to himself and his compatriots.
"The men have nothing important to say," Adam replied. "And you won't be giving McGarnagle any information."
"That is not a choice we can make," the general responded sternly.
"I know," Adam said, suddenly turning his hand to grip the blade.
The lieutenant, eyes wide in fear, moved to press the trigger.
Too late, however, for Adam had completed his swing, and painted the walls with a colorful arc of red.
Soon, the darkness fell, and the sun rose to it's noon-time peak, and then withered again, as a dense fog of storm clouds formed to obscure it.
A crack of lightning ran through the increasingly heavy snowfall, harshly illuminating the grotesque scene for the police officers.
"Seems like he took it in one swing," Melva noted, studying the blood splatters on a distant wall.
McGarnagle stepped over the body of the fallen lieutenant, casting his eyes on the other dead figures as they sat stiffly, with heads lolled at odd angles, around the table. He leant coolly over an old faunus, reading the doodle's he'd been drawing in his notebook. Must've been a boring meeting, until it wasn't.
"Why would he kill them?" McGarnagle said with a wondering tone.
"Maybe he didn't want any more information leaking out? Not even you can make the dead talk, after all."
"Why not hide them away, in that case?"
"Conflict in the leadership?" Melva ran a finger across a nearby chalkboard. "It's not uncommon in criminal enterprises."
"He knows we're after him," McGarnalge walked to look out the window, casting shadow across all of the room as he did so.
"Still think he's got a plan B?"
"I think he's not one to go down quietly."
"We'll find him soon enough," Melva assured.
"What makes you say that?
"Because I think I just might know what his plan B is, after all," Melva said, confident pride oozing from her voice.
This, McGarnagle had to see.
"How can you know that?" McGarnagle turned around, watching her as she ran the fine chalk-dust between her fingers.
"You know that dust mining colony north of here?"
"Yes," McGarnagle raised an eyebrow.
"Well, it's a bit further north than most people imagine. It's way, way, way up there. Beyond the rail lines. And the storms there make Mantle look like a beach resort."
"Why are you telling me things I already know?"
"Because," Melva perked, "here's something you just might not know. Regular chalk doesn't work well in those temperatures, so they make their own."
"How do they manage that?"
"Hm," Melva shrugged, "they grind up regular chalk and mix in some ice dust. Not like they can't afford it, they're drowning in the stuff up there, after all."
"So, why would Adam be going there?"
"Well, thinking of the chalk, I was just remembering my time in Atlas air traffic."
"You used to work in Atlas air traffic?"
"Yes, and I just remembered that we always used to hate airships coming from the mining colony."
"Why?"
"Because they never had up to date RFIA tags. They were too far away and no-one bothered to enforce things too strictly with them. As far as we were concerned, we had no idea whether a ship coming from there was even legally chartered, much less whether it was supposed to be arriving at that time."
"You think Adam knows about this?"
"I think the White Fang's known about this for a long time. They've made a business of shipping things illegally, after all."
"And you think he's going there to get one of those ships?"
"I think he's going to be flying several of those ships into Atlas dust repositories soon."
"And, considering our luck, I take it that communications with Atlas have been blocked by the storm?"
Melva looked down at her scroll, and gave a heavy nod of confirmation.
McGarnagle let out a weary sigh. "It's a hundred and twenty miles to the mining colony. We won't make it in time if we try to go back to Mantle first."
"Then we go directly to the colony," Melva said, unworried. "Maybe the storm will clear up on the way, and we can warn them then."
"No," McGarnagle said. "I'll go to the colony and try to stop Adam. You go back and warn-"
"No." Melva denied the proposition with a simplicity that cut. "We'll both be going to the colony; and we won't be 'trying' anything. We'll be stopping Adam."
"Atlas needs to know-"
"Atlas won't be doing anything in this weather. Those colony planes are underpowered, but they're built to fly through storms like this. They'll slip through the sensors even if every unit is scanning for them. Our only option is to stop him, McGarnagle. And, frankly, I don't want to have to remind you how many times my eyes have kept you from catching a bullet."
McGarnagle thought over her words for a moment, and, seeing the truth in them, finally spoke.
"Let's do this."
