Chapter 28: As he lay, dying


Mr. S was an educated man.

Straight A student, MIT grad, two masters from Cal-Tech, fifteen years work experience, team player. Heck, he'd even done a semester in MIPT in the Soviet Union.

He had it all.

Except… all of that was nothing before the question facing him today. The night had passed swiftly, as he stayed up wrestling with it to little effect; and his failures were stark, because the caliber of issue he was facing was not one that could be simply solved with college education.

No, the caliber of the issue, was legendary. Because, this was no ordinary, everyday, question.

It was one of The Questions.

When Mr. S had been a younger man, attending as an exchange student in MIPT, he'd - resolving to pick up a bit of the local culture - joined a Moscow, Russian Lit club.

And, he wasn't sure why it only occurred to him now, but he remembered Dostoyevsky had listed - among the highlights of his works - what he'd called The Eternal Questions: those questions which had haunted and excited Man ever since his inception, and which, with every new generation, faced fervent and unsuccessful attempts to answer them. The impossibility of the questions was not a hindrance in this regard; because, when one needed an answer, the difficulty of the question wasn't something that dettered a man; it, infact, perhaps only drove him on all the more.

And among these Questions were such delights as: What is the meaning of life? What is morality? What are this week's lottery numbers?

Mr. S, though, was perhaps facing the oldest of those questions. The one which, in it's painful simplicity, affected every person: from the humblest monk to the most ostentatious emperor:

The question, put into simple language, was this:

"What. in god's name, is there to eat?"

For Mr. S, that list had grown dangerously short.

And that list, to his chagrin, had not grown any longer by the morning, when Mr. S, in between appointments, stumbled past a glass door and caught a glimpse of his reflection, discovering his new look: malnourished vampire. Low blood sugar would do that, he imagined, and experienced.

Mr. S didn't have many solutions to speak of. Every one he came up with seemed inadequate in the face of his problem.

Telling the staff about the poisoner directly was a no go. Because doing so would, naturally, bait the question: "What makes you think there's a traitor?" A question Mr. S could only truthfully answer by saying: "A ghost told me." Changing the kitchen procedures on a whim would just make the traitor adapt, if the staff even bothered to follow the new procedures, that was. Trying to burst into the kitchen and steal something would only work once. And the math just wasn't too kind to the idea of a secret potato farm in his bedroom.

The only solution, as far as he could see, was to eat out. To go out, into the world, where Adam was undoubtedly hiding, and wander around some low security, highly crowded, locations in search of food.

Schwarz was unlikely to allow it, Mr. S guessed.

Schwarz… the thought came, and he ran over everything he knew about her, trying desperately to convince himself that there was no way she was the traitor. Unfortunately, Mr. S had taken too many formal logic classes to conclude anything other than: "inconclusive" on the matter.

Another pang of hunger hit Mr. S.

And, this... wasn't like any ordinary hunger. This… was not funny. He doubled over at the almost physical pain that just wouldn't go away. Every waking moment, it was on his mind. It would subside, for a time, just long enough for him not to acclimate, but then… there it was...there again!

His heart was beating sickeningly, and he was weak, and everything seemed to take effort. He passed by another mirror, and the dark bands under his eyes paid witness to his insomnia. And, every morning he had to wake up with that fake smile on his face and play the perfect host to every asshole that shared a work schedule with him. And he just wanted to scream!


Of course, at this point, we must note that what was transcribed above was... a rough translation of the thoughts which ran through Mr. S's mind.

We will now be returning to and recapping the unvarnished truth of Mr. S's scattered imagination.

Because, you see, Mr. S had some degrees, and there was this guy, Dostoyevky, that had some questions. And, Mr. S just felt very hungry, and hadn't slept in days, and Oh Man look at him in the mirror! Anyway, he was probably going to starve to death. So, there was that. And yeah, the potato farm wasn't going to woerk out even if he did manage to truck in all the dirt required. And, there was the hunger again! What was he thinking about? Oh, right, the... the... what was it? Schwarz wasn't a traitor was she?

And…

And...

What the fuck! Why was he starving! Why had he spent two hours working out the carrying capacity of a potato farm in a bedroom! What was wrong with him!

Abruptly, he interrupted his fourth tantrum of the morning, and breathed meditatively.

Hunger. Hunger was the mind killer. He couldn't let this thing beat him. He was just hungry, and his thoughts were jumbled. He would just have to think his way out of this. He knew there had to be a solution - there always was.

Mr. S organized his thoughts very carefully and deliberately. He clutched onto that constant thread, just for a moment of lucidity. He had to stop thinking about the hunger.

And… in that bubble of calm he'd managed to seclude himself in, was the answer!

There it was!

Oh.. oh yes!

Oh my god!

Holy…!

This… this was beautiful!

This was a solution to trump Euclid!

It came to him like lightning, so sudden it was, so divorced from any of his previous musings, so elegant!

It was genius! It was art! This is something that could never have occurred to him, not in a million years of original thought! This was something out of the ether! This was something so amazing, so novel, that he knew he would never be able to replicate it! And to think, the solution to it all was so simple! And it had so many other applications as well!

He had to write it down!

But… there wasn't really any paper around, Mr. S thought. He'd just trust himself to remember it. No way he'd forget something like-

NO! No, no, no, no. That wasn't happening again! He'd learned that painful lesson two hundred times too many.

Mr. S pulled out his scroll, fumbling with the fingerprint, and repeating the core tenets of the solution in his head like a mantra as he worked to pull out the note taking application.

Oh, this was going to be amazing.

This was awesome!

This was going to solve all his problems!

"Mr. Schnee!"

Aaaaand, it was gone.

"Mr. Schnee!" the voice came again, demanding.

Mr. S… was exceedingly calm, held hostage by his need to remember.

"Just… just one moment," he held his hand up, shutting his eyes and trying desperately to recall the idea.

"No! No, I will not be waiting just one moment!" the voice retorted, shrill with determination - the same kind of determination that had caused Mr. S to classify reporters as necessary evils. "I have a family to think about, Mr. Schnee, and I will not be waiting for one more second while you continue to ignore me!"

Poof! I'm never coming back again! The idea seemed to yell joyfully down at him as it floated away into the stratosphere like a gentrified Mary Poppins.

Mr. S' phone was bending and creaking in his grip, digging trenches into his skin; he turned a gaze onto the source of the voice, and there stood an... ordinary looking butler - one, who, when he saw the expression carved into Mr. S's face, began to show a lot less determination than his voice had earlier acceded to.

"Yes?" Mr. S asked, drawing the word out like it was on a rack.

"Uh…"

"What?" Mr. S asked, "What could it possibly bet?"

"Well, It's just that-"

"Get to the point!" Mr. S yelled.

"My wedding, sir." The butler said.

Mr. S felt himself growing from angry to livid, grinding his teeth so hard that he momentarily lost the ability to speak.

The butler, reading the situation, hurried onward.

"Well, according to tradition, it is meant to be supported by the house. But, when I initially submitted it for approval, it... wasn't…" He paused a short second, eyes bouncing in time with the narrative as he ran over it in his head. "...suffice it to say, sir. It's now been delayed for four years. And, considering recent events, I feared it might be delayed yet longer. Not, that I'm complaining. I just wanted to… get some information about its current status!"

The butler, all throughout the sentence, looked to be on the verge of fleeing; cringing.

Mr. S... was smiling. And never had he felt more thankful for that semester in Moscow; because, not only had his experiences in the Soviet Union prepared him for the sudden lack of food, but he'd also attended several russian weddings. And, there, at those colorful weddings, he'd engaged in what was perhaps the most memorable conversation of his life. It was a wonder he'd forgotten it until now.


Mr. S wandered around the glimmering samovars, watching as the people cheered and celebrated for the happy couple. Alone and friendless as he was, Mr. S felt drawn to, and had a natural affinity for, the similarly lonely people he could spot stalking around the party. This did not, however, mean that he at all wanted to talk to any of them.

It seemed he wouldn't be getting a choice, however.

"Hey!" A voice called, soft despite its insistence.

Mr. S turned his head indistinctly towards the main floor.

"Hey!" the voice called again.

And Mr. S turned to a man hunched over the buffet counter. The man, a kebab lightly in one hand, supported himself with an elbow on the table.

"You are american? Right?" the man asked.

"Uh, yes." Mr. S said, sounding very much like a lost college student. "How did you know?"

"I am KGB," the man answered casually, lifting his coat to reveal a pistol in proof. "It is my business to know."

"Uh…"

"Oh. Don't worry. If you were spy, we would not be talking here."

"Uh…"

"Listen. I do you a favor. I give you knowledge. It might save life some day."

"Uh…"

"Do you see this?" The man assertively lifted the kebab, brandishing it like a revolutionary leader might brandish recently gotten food. "This is kebab."

"Uh…"

"Do you know why I eat this?" The man took a savory bite. "Do you know why?"

"...no?" Mr. S answered, feeling as if he'd answered wrong.

"I eat this, because we are at wedding," the man answered.

Mr. S resolved himself to silence, trying to exit this conversation as soon as possible. But, seeing that the man had himself fallen silent in turn, Mr. S found that he couldn't help himself, and asked: "What does the fact that we're at a wedding have to do with anything?"

"Russian maxim," the man answered, "'It is impossible to poison food at wedding.'"

"Uh…"

"It means this," the man clarified, tossing the kebab stick in with the other unwashed dishes and wiping his hands clean with some hand paper, "to poison man in own home. It is easy. Simple. Just poison food in house, or bribe servant."

"Well, couldn't you-"

"But! To poison man at wedding, impossible."

"But…"

"Impossible!" The man asserted, more strongly. "For one, there is tons of food, in constant rotation, none of it guaranteed to reach mark. Not to mention, even if you wanted to poison entire party, working out the timing and dosages would be nightmare. For some people eat sooner and are less resistant. They would be… how do you say… canary in coal mine."

"So, you're eating here because you know it's impossible to poison food at a wedding…" Mr. S said, struggling to follow the train of the conversation.

"Yes" - the man answered - "unless... the food is not catered. If someone has control of kitchen, then anything is possible. But, if food is catered, from outside source, it is safest place to eat." Mwah! The man kissed his fingertips as if relishing a delicacy.

"Uh…"

"That!" the man gestured, "is why I eat food here at wedding. Never can trust food anywhere else."

"...Ok."

"Bah!" the man threw out his hands. "You Americans never appreciate good advice. Just remember who told you if it saves life one day."

"Uh, ok… What is your name, by the way?"

"I not tell you yet. I am KGB."

"I… take it you already know my name, then?" Mr. S asked, growing increasingly worried.

"Oh, ha!" the man laughed. "No, we not memorize name of every college student. We simply give you code names based on time of arrival and danger level."

Mr. S couldn't help himself. "What's my codename?" he asked.

"Mr. S," the Russian replied incidentally, pulling out a pager and checking through its settings.

"What does that stand for?"

"The 'Mr.' indicates you are male. The 'S'... well, that is secret."

"Well, I still haven't gotten your name, Mr…"

"I not tell you last name; it is confidential. I give you first name to remember me by."

"Ok, what is your first name, then?"

"Vladimir."


Thank you, Vladimir. Mr. S thought earnestly. He turned an increasingly dark smile onto the butler.

"You know," Mr. S began, increasingly frantic butterflies whirling in his stomach, "four years is far too long for anyone to wait. You will have your wedding, that I can promise."

"Oh!" the man almost choked in surprise. "Really? That's great to hear! When-"

"Today," Mr. S answered.

"Uh…"

"We're going to have the wedding today," Mr. S said simply, putting a polite, but firm, hand onto the younger man's shoulders.


And so, later that day, there was a wedding.

The Schnee Manor garden, in expected fashion, was opulent.

Well, actually, 'opulent' would probably be understating it quite a bit. This place came with its own space heaters and artificial atmosphere. Water jets crowded the lawn like grass stalks, and, through the snow, Mr. S was sure he could see tropical flowers growing!

Yeah, this wasn't opulence, this made Versailles look British.

But that was not the center of Mr. S's attention that day. No, for while the tents were being set up, and the servants moved the lawn chairs into place, there, in the background, another intercontinental bullhead was unloading a crowd of confused people.

The bride and her family, having been allocated special accomodations on a private flight, were among the first to arrive, and therefore already engaged in conversation with Mr. S.

"Well…" the older woman smiled politely, "we… uh… are certainly thankful… very thankful, for your agreement to pay for the wedding! We uh…"

"Oh, don't consider it a favor!" Mr. S replied with a polite smile. "Consider it instead as a repayment, for all the delays you've faced because of our… scheduling failures here. And, really, I can only say that I feel I haven't done enough."

"Yes, yes, yes," the woman smiled, and bobbed her head like it was on a faulty spring. "It was just that… uh... Two hours ago, we were in our home, in Minstrel, ready to go to bed, and then two strange men showed up and put us in a bullhead and now we're here!" She gestured to their surroundings. "And it turns out we're having a wedding, too!" She turned her smile onto her future son in law. "It's just, uh, two hours ago we were about to go to bed… in Minstrel! And now we're here! And those two men in the glasses didn't tell us their names!"

She said all of this with enthusiastic happiness, broken up by a chipped quality in her hard voice.

"Oh, well, in such short circumstances, we felt we had to expedite the family gathering process. Otherwise this could have taken months. You understand. All Travel expenses are covered, naturally, and you can return immediately home after the wedding."

"But, we don't have our passports!"

"Border control won't take any issue," Mr. S assured with an easy smile. "And, if they do - refer them to me."

Off to the side, the future bride was sitting in a lawn chair, legs crossed chastely underneath the long skirt of her summer dress. She was a sweet woman with a sweet smile, and appeared to take all of the joy of the sudden events without any of the worry.

"Well, we certainly are thankful, Mr. Schnee," the woman said, rising with a curtsey. "My family and I are very new to this Schnee Family, business, but, if you'd hear the way my fiance talks about you, one could swear you were a descendant of the gods!"

"Oh, perhaps I've tried too hard to appear regal. It can be such a bother, walking so straight backed all the time."

"Oh, haha," the woman laughed a melodious laugh, the rest of the family joining in. "He never said anything about you being so funny! To be honest, I was kind of nervous to meet with you. One always hears so many harsh things."

"Oh, I try not to over obsess about the small things; It's the secret to a long life, after all-"

"Sir," Schwarz interrupted their talk, coming out onto the courtyard to join them. "The catering company isn't dealing. They're saying they don't fulfill orders unless they're made two weeks in advance."

"What!" Mr. S yelled.


In the absence of appropriate planes, tranes, and automobiles, often the best way to traverse a hundred miles of wind-blasted tundra - was on horseback.

Granted, these horses had awakened auras and a cruising speed of 200 miles per hour, but those were details in the larger scheme of things, and McGarnagle could see the mining town rise over the northern horizon.

The horse's hoofbeats, up until this point a humming mass of noise, reverted to the more distinct, thundering, effect as the animal slowed.

Icy ground broke up as the animals cantered to a stop. Above them passed the broken arch of the main gate of Ika Fraza, the Schnee Dust Company's northernmost mining town, as well as Atlas's main supplier of Ice Dust.

McGarnagle dismounted, and Melva, over the jangle of his stirrup, managed a small whisper.

"I get the feeling Adam may have more allies here than we do."

McGarnagle didn't bother to look back at the staring locals as he readjusted his saddle. They were a lot he'd seen before: overworked, alcoholic, husbands, their demure wives and reckless children. The surrounding buildings were all ramshackle and bust, empty shells filled with heating units. Several huts, with broken units or stripped insulation were abandoned, and the local population of faunus weren't looking too kindly at their intrusion into their small town.

McGarnagle knew that, somewhere among them, was someone who could tell him where Adam was. He knew that, somewhere among them, was a person who no longer had the keys that were now in Adam's hands.

Of course, he didn't have a warrant, he couldn't use his semblance to interrogate them. It… wouldn't do to have someone like him invading the privacy of ordinary citizens on the whims of suspicion, he'd been told.

But, that didn't mean he was completely barred from the use of his semblance. Often, McGarnagle did his best work without asking a single question. He simply lifted the veil, and disappeared into the background. It was amazing what people would let loose at bars when they thought the police weren't watching.

As McGarnagle leashed his horse, and headed to the bar, however, he didn't try to hide. Quite the opposite, in fact. Feeling the pressure of time, and sensing the rising tension, he kicked through the swinging, western-styled doors of the bar, and lifted the veil, his shadow primed to fill the room.

Immediately, there was an explosion of activity from the local patrons. Everyone in his immediate vicinity burst away as if they'd been zapped with a cattle prod. A dozen pairs of eyes trained themselves with laser focus onto the mysterious figure; and the local maid, having the advantage of distance, had plastered herself against the far wall, a dropped tray and broken glassware clattering at her feet.

McGarnagle was painted in dark and malevolent shadows, and had taken the figure of someone dangerous, someone bleak. The effect was somewhat helped by the fact that he'd neglected to conceal his gun. For, at his side, hanging at his hip, was a weighty slug of Iron: an oversized six-shooter with one-pound bullets for rounds.

It was perhaps to McGarnagle's credit, that everyone feared his shadow more.

McGarnagle claimed a spot from the suddenly empty stretch of seats before the bar. And, in the sudden quiet that had overtaken the place, his voice carried well.

"I'm an Atlas Ranger," McGarnagle announced, "I'm here to take Adam Taurus, alive, dead, anyway he wants to come."

McGarnagle slapped down a stack of bills into the counter. "For the glasses," he said, shattered glassware still heard from where it rattled at the maid's feet.


In such a small town, such a short piece of news carried well and carried fast. And it wasn't too long before it reached Adam's ears.

"Atlas Ranger?" Adam asked.

"That's what he called himself," the messenger nodded obsequiously, not looking up from where he bowed.

"What do you think, General?" Adam asked.

The general, who refused to look up from where his legs had been lashed to the chair's, was a sorry sight, and, in particular, one of the sights the messenger sought to avoid the most.

"I think It matters little, at this point. Your plan was foolproof," he spat. "Nothing could stop you, not even reason, as it turned out."

"You still believe I lack reason? You talk as if I don't know," Adam's words filled the broken hut, heard well over the whistling wind that penetrated through the ill-fit wall panels. And his every breath seemed to fog in the air, sparkling with ice crystals. He didn't much feel like taking one of the working huts from the families.

"Don't know what?" the general asked, looking up for the first time.

"That you betrayed me in Vale."

"What?"

"That you withheld necessary supplies from me. That you lied to me about the supplies you were sending, and instructed others to lie to me on your behalf." Adam was calm despite the accusations; he paced back and forth, hands deliberately held away from his weapons.

"We…" the general trailed.

"What?" Adam asked. "You what?"

"There are others who need our supplies, Adam. You do not have any rights to them above and beyond our faunus brothers!"

"Haha! 'Our faunus brothers.'" Adam quoted. "That certainly is rich coming from you ice eaters."

The general snarled at that turn of phrase.

"Do not forget who you're speaking to, Adam! You ungrateful whelp! Do not forget how many died to free you from that gods-forsaken hole we dug you out of!"

Adam, was unfazed.

"But, that's just what you do, isn't it?" he said, sounding distant. "You take a faunus from the mines, lavish him in the glory of not being whipped too often, and expect him to lap at your feet for the gracious treatment. You promise him freedom, you preach equality, you send him to do your dirty work, and then you hope he dies before he sees through it all. And, if he doesn't die, you work to kill him. Isn't that right"

"We do not simply preach! Just look at yourself-"

"Look at him!" Adam gestured suddenly to the faunus bowing at his feet. "Where I come from, I treated all Faunus as my brothers, and I cared for them. We bled for each other, and in that way we were equal. But him..." he gestured again to the bowing faunus. "Is this how the faunus of Solitas behave after a generation under your care?"

"Oh, and you think your self serving idealism can undo what you've done? You destroyed us! Whatever our failings, how can they compare to what you've done to the white fang!"

"Say that one more time!" Adam drew his sword. "You have nothing to lose, so I don't see why you continue to lie! You betrayed me! You lied about the supplies, you lied about the information, you lied about our chances of victory, and ten thousand faunus were decimated in Vale! You sent everything off to those quislings in Vacuo because they had the right names, and you don't even care, do you! You don't even care about the damage you've done to my white fang!" Adam slammed a closed fist against his chest at the word "my".

And the old general seemed to grow older; his shoulders sagged.

"We… were not in the position to… There were certain elements that were against you. That is true. Whatever you may think, it was not the highest leadership. You and Sierra may have had your disagreements, but she was never one to break the procedures."

"Then who…"

"No one and everyone. We simply had a precedence order to fulfill. But, we did not lie, and this is no reason to do what you've done. It's not too late, Adam, to salvage-"

"You think I'm stupid, don't you?" Adam said. "You're not coming out of this room alive, so you shouldn't feel the need to lie, either way."

"What, do you mean?"

"I mean, that I know what you've all done. Maybe you didn't intend to destroy anyone but me, but you succeeded beyond your wildest expectations. And now... my branch is gone." Adam, gripped his upper arm with painful sincerity. "The White Fang is dead. Why should I salvage the wastes left behind up here? Why should I save you, who've done everything to undermine our vision? Why should you deserve to live, when the rest of us who are fighting are an acceptable sacrifice? What is the use of a logistics network, when it has no one to supply?"

"We didn't mean for it-"

"And, you underestimated me," Adam continued. "You thought I would die, or that if I survived, that I wouldn't find those responsible."

"You're-"

"Not as dumb as you thought I was? I know many things you couldn't dream of glimpsing, General. I rose through the ranks because I understood all of your failures. I knew you could never suspect me of knowing, even as I killed you all off."

"So… all of this carnage-!"

"It wasn't planned, but I certainly wasn't doing it on a whim," Adam shifted his left shoulder. The cold had taken to aching it.

"Then, what was the purpose of this ludicrous plan? What of the line and the planes!"

"Oh, I certainly intend to carry that off."

"Why?"

"To show Blake the consequences of her actions."

"Petty revenge," the general spat.

"Oh, no. I've known Blake for far longer than anyone else, General. I know what her natural instinct will be. Maybe she won't come after the first attack, or the second, or the sixth, but, eventually, she'll realize - and she'll come back to me. If only to stop it all. And then, I'll stop... and I'll take her away with me, and together we'll live our lives away from all of this!"

"You're delusional!"

Adam only chuckled a familiar chuckle. "And they shall reject him, who has borne witness to the truth," quoting the familiar passage those nun's had recited over him during his rehabilitation from the mines. He really didn't believe in their gods, even to this day. But, considering they were taking care of him for free, he supposed he could bother to remember some quotes. And, to his surprise, he found a surprising amount of truth in them.

"And, you, I take it, have seen the truth?" the general was breathing exclusively through his nostrils, the cold taking root in his voice.

"I've seen some truths. And I know things you refuse to see. For example, I know that this mysterious 'Atlas Ranger' is McGarnagle."

The general nearly choked.

"Oh, don't worry," Adam calmed. "You won't have the opportunity to meet him. I plan to kill you before then."

The general was not calmed by this.

"McGarnagle is not one to be-"

"Trifled with, I've heard," Adam turned away, growing bored and gripping a hand onto his sword handle.

"You fool! You've no idea how great a danger-!"

Suddenly, Adam whipped about - pulling out his blade with a flash - and, abruptly, stopped. Adam, frozen in a low crouch, held the flat of his blade inches from the general's eyes.

"Do you see, General," Adam remarked, pushing the blade yet closer.

There, barely visible against the red finish, were twenty, light marks scratched into the surface of the metal.

"These," Adam continued, "are a record of every great battle I've broken. Every, so-called, invincible opponent I've felled. This man, this McGarnagle, will be nothing more to me than number 21."

"You, on the other hand - " Adam stepped back, lifting the sword into a ready position " - will not get even that honor."


"What!" Mr. S screamed. "What do you mean they only take orders two weeks in advance!"

Schwarz took it in stride, understanding well that, while he was yelling, he wasn't yelling at her, per say.

The bride, however, was far more appeasing.

"Oh! Please don't be mad Mr. Schnee. We don't really need any fancy catering, anyhow! We're perfectly happy to have a wedding without it. We can just get some food from your mess halls!"

No good, Ivan said that wouldn't work! Is what Mr. S would have said if the poor, confused, bride had understood the context of the situation.

Instead, he defaulted to the far more understandable:


"Look, Ruby!" Weiss said with strained patience. "He doesn't just need someone to talk to, and I don't care what your instincts are telling you. I'm the one who's spent seventeen years dealing with him! Now, for the last time, could you just promise me you won't talk to him anymore!"

Ruby was adamant, and took the moment to catch up as they rounded the corner.

"But, he just seems like he cares! I mean, he did stand up for you at the dinner."

"Yeah, not to mention, he got Whitley to apologize to Blake," Yang gestured at the cat-girl.

"And he's holding that wedding today!" Ruby said, smiling on the backswing. "I mean, he even got those military guys to cancel that airshow so that more guests could arrive!"

"Look, first of all, I'm the one who got Whitley to apologize! And, second of all, the wedding doesn't matter! He's probably doing it for his own benefit somehow! He's evil, and he doesn't care about anything!"

Weiss said this just as they walked into the garden.

And there was Mr. Schnee, talking to Schwarz and the collected trimuverate of the Bride's family.

"No! That won't work! This wedding has to be absolutely perfect!" Mr. S yelled.

Again, the bride tried to intervene, standing up from her chair. "But, really, Mr. Schnee, I'd be perfectly happy with the kitchen staff-"

"Sit down," Mr. S told her, gesturing her back into her seat, "We're going to get catering, and frankly, I feel like the rest of you just don't care! There! I said it!"

Weiss decided that she'd had enough of today, for today.


"Like I said, it has to be perfect!" Mr. S reiterated. "We're only getting one shot at this, people!"

The second maid came, shuffling stacks of printer paper in her hands, and looking very haggard as she did so. It wasn't often one did an instant wedding.

"Uh, sir," the second maid croaked, "the musicians have cancelled."

"We'll go without, then!" Mr. S quickly turned back to Schwarz. "Anyway, about the catering."

"But, sir, they really only do take orders two weeks in advance. I imagine that probably is how long it takes to prepare the meals."

"Ugh!" Mr. S sighed into his hands. This was getting hopeless. But… there was still an inkling of intuition that sparked him to ask: "Schwarz… what company does the catering?"

"Uh, Catering Inc., sir. They're the only company in the city that provides professional catering services."

"And, are they wholly owned, or a subsidiary?"

Schwarz, translating that question into something that made sense, answered, "They're a subsidiary of Wedding Planners and Sons Corporation, sir."

"Huh, Wedding Planners and Sons," Mr. S scrunched his brows, and driving on instinct, asked on. "Who owns them, Schwarz?"

Schwarz typed furiously onto her tablet. "Pary Inc., sir."

"And who owns them?"

"General Industries."

"And who owns them?"

"Uh… Dog Incorporated."

"And… who owns them?"

"Atlesean Motor Company."

"And, who owns them?"

"Terra Energy Corporation"

"And who owns them?"

"EA"

"And, who owns them?"

"Microsoft"

"Wait, what?"

"You, know, the software company. Microsoft Letter, Excel, Workpoint?"

"Ok," Mr. S shook his head, "and who owns them?"

"Terracotta Industries, sir."

"And who owns them?"

"White Tiger and Associates,"

"And them?"

"Atlas Robotics."

"And them?"

"Mega Corp Incorporated, sir."

"And, who owns them, Schwarz?" Mr. S asked, feeling out of breath.

Schwarz paused a moment, tapping and re tapping at her tablet as she smoothly traversed between screens.

Schwarz blinked, and worked a bit longer as if to confirm the fact.

"Uh… apparently we do, sir," Schwarz said, "SCHNEE Company bought them out eight years ago for one hundred billion Lien."

"Schwarz."

"Yes, sir?"

"I think you know what to do."


Sakura Terracotta, CEO of Terracotta Industries, had been having a great nap until she got the call.

She even said as much.

"You know?" she said to the CEO of White Tiger and Associates, "I was having a great nap until you called me."

"Yeah, so was I until Atlas Robotics called me!" They said, almost yelling into the speaker. "And so will Microsoft until you call them! The point is, just get it done so I can get back to the rest of my life!"

"Yeah, yeah," Sakura said, fumbling blindly for her pen and notepad, "what did you say they wanted again? Catering for a party?"

"A wedding!" the figure corrected, "they want catering for a full sized wedding! And they want it in two hours!"

"What! That's bullshit! I don't even work in that business and I know that's not happening."

"Yeah, well, the wedding is at the Schnee Manor."

"...Fuck!"

"Hey, just be glad It's not our problem! It's Catering Incorporated's problem!"

"Oh yeah," Sakura said, feeling much better about herself as she hung up and phoned Microsoft.


McGarnagle was a sundial, a spire of shadows that beget more shadows onto the ice-capped main road of the mining town.

Melva was there, too.

Adam, true to his word, was on the far end of the pathway, just beyond the primitive clocktower. He was alone, and his hands were far from his hilt.

"McGarnagle," Adam greeted quietly, his voice carried on the chill winds that funneled through the center street.

"Adam," McGarnagle responded, unfazed.

"How about we agree beforehand, on the-"

CLANG!

Melva's short sword appeared next to McGarnagle's eye, it was ringing like a bell and McGarnagle could make out a small skiff where the bullet had been deflected.

What McGarnagle hadn't made out, however, was the shooter.

"Told you I'd save your ass," Melva smirked, before turning that smirk into a more confident look, and turning her sword down to point at a nearby street sign. "And you!" Melva announced, overflowing with bravura, "I take it, are one of those sneaky illusionist types I have so much fun hunting down!"

The street sign dissipated like shattering sugar crystals, and Neo took a bow.

"So, I take it our agreement is annulled?" Melva turned her voice onto Adam, who shrugged indifferently as he fell to a ready stance.

"I'll take the ice-cream girl, you handle Adam," Melva said, and suddenly burst fire several well-placed shots in Neo's direction.

Neo jumped back with a flip, landing with her hands and transitioning to a sliding crouch.

McGarnagle, meanwhile, was suddenly called upon to block Adam, who appeared before him and hit him hard enough to send him crashing into a nearby building.

McGarnagle righted himself in midair as he tumbled through the wall. The building had apparently been dug several stories into the ground, and it took several seconds for him to land. All around him was darkness; above, the dim beacon of light where he'd burst in. Briefly, the light was obscured, and a clack of noise on the far side of the building indicated Adam's arrival.

"You know," Adam's voice came, swave and confident, "I don't know much about you, human, but I bet you're not quite so used to fighting in the dark as I am, are you?" Adam's voice reverberated in the empty cavern of a building, and the light seemed insubstantial against the tarry blackness of the surrounding space.

McGarnagle stood in place, seeming to be the only thing illuminated by the light.

McGarnagle pulled up his shadow, and melted into the surrounding darkness.


Melva's eyes were spotlights against the alley shadows.

"Not very smart of you to come here," she smirked, sending Neo into a nearby warehouse with a harsh kick.

Neo, previously disguised as an abandoned desert trolley, shifted into a compact ball, flipping and landing lightly in the abandoned warehouse, and panting profusely as she snarled out into the sudden darkness she found herself in. Briefly, a laugh and two glimmering objects betrayed themselves before another round of burst fire forced her to dodge away.


"Your Semblance won't help you here, McGarnagle!" Adam yelled. "I know you're the only other person in the room! And I know this place inside out! If you honestly think some shadows are enough to-"

Adam paused mid turn. He'd seen a man while he was talking, back when he'd still been facing the shelving units. He knew he'd seen the man, and he knew that McGarnagle was the only other person in the room…

With great panic, Adam turned back around, hoping McGarnagle hadn't found another hiding place.

There, he calmed himself as he observed the scene. Everything was as he'd set it up before the fight. There were the shelves, the dust stores, the shadowy man...

Adam turned back with a disappointed sigh, and, the moment his eyes left the scene, blinked again in great panic!


Melva, despite her best efforts, was finding it very hard to tag the woman.

Neo, reacting on instinct, turned and twisted with straining effort, trying to roll with the hits. A sudden duck let a cluster of bullets fly over her back. She again stabbed into the darkness with her parasol, and missed.

The fight was going rather well for her, all things considered.

Suddenly, something snagged her foot and she transitioned into an emergency one-handed cartwheel to catch herself, dodging another slice of the short sword with a sudden flex of her wrist and snapping open her umbrella to the shuddering rain of lead that came from her opponent.


And there, Adam calmed himself as he observed the scene.

It was exactly as he'd left it before the fight. There were the shelves, the stores of dust, the mysterious man that was to be ignored.

Adam turned back with disappointment - and then, for the fifteenth time, his eyes suddenly widened in great panic!

He turned around, except this time there was no man. There was, however, a five inch slug coming for him.

Adam trained his sword on the round, a banging spark as metal hit metal. His arm rattled with the shock of the impact and his feet jolted against the sudden acceleration; his body sliding back across the floor until he hit the far wall. Elsewhere, McGarnagle could be heard scampering madly beyond the hidden objects.

Adam, sword glowing now with the energy of the impact, rushed forward to intercept. Turning the corner, and raising his sword, he slashed down blindly.

And, there beyond the turn, was… nothing of importance, as far as Adam could deduce.

Too committed to his sword swing, Adam settled for not wasting the stored energy. His inert weapon, glowing though it was, was caught in the crook of the mysterious man's upheld gun. Adam, signing with frustration, turned away from the deliriously mumbling man. The man was saying something about timing, far as he could ascertain.

Shrugging, Adam went back to the center of the room.

And, then, at some undetermined moment… his eyes widened in great panic!


"You know, you're really, really annoying."

Neo smirked and decided to take that as a great complement, a bullet grazing her shoulder as she worked her way indistinctly across the darkened room. Stopping in a low crouch, she readied a pounce and looked suddenly up to, what had the entire time, been her real goal: the one glass window that had yet to be boarded up.

Too quick for even her own awareness to catch on, she made the leap and slid beautifully out into the evening sunlight, glimmering shards humming all around her with razor notes.

Melva was quick to copy the woman, joining her out onto the rooftops just as the explosion rocked through the street.


"Gahhh!" Adam roared, blocking yet another monstrously sized bullet.

With mad frustration, Adam sprinted forward faster than he'd ever moved, his rage pushing him into a blur as he positioned himself in the center of the building, ignoring the shadowy man, and sent out a concentric slash throughout the entire level, hitting the various dust stores located throughout the building.

Fire, Ice, Earth and Air, all mixed together into an expanding, hard stream of fire, and engulfed both of the men in steam.

As if hit by the apex of a pendulating hammer, both men were rocketed back onto mainstreet, feeling incredibly clear headed by the sudden weight of reality that had imposed itself on their bodies, and startled by the crimson sunlight which beamed through the empty road.

Both of them, operating on trained instinct, scrambled to right themselves against the icy ground which broke apart under their scorched forms.

They supported themselves at extreme angles to the tundra floor, they slowed and righted themselves with their crashing feet, and tumultuously, among the ongoing fires and howling winds whipping about their forms, righted themselves enough to attempt a rise.

They were forty feet apart, and their shadows loomed large against the crimson snow, flying away from the burning sunlight that blew at them. They both rushed to stand, and, to their senses, their bodies seemed sluggish against the racing clock, as they reached for their weapons, and looked to kill.

Here, time seemed to slow further for the two men. Glowing ripples ran across their bodies as their auras depleted against the face of the explosion, and they looked at one another. Their eyes met, and a moment of perfect understanding passed between them, one exclusive to people facing sudden death, when there was no time for words.

Adam's hand was a flash, and pulled at his sword, moving it into a swing.

McGarnagle had already shot,

BANG!

The bullet outpaced its own sound, and it was deafening as it rang through his body. Shakily, he turned his head down. A great, happy warmth was flowing in his gut, and streaming blood fell like curtains from the oversized wound. It was a strange, rapturous feeling that hit him all of a sudden. His body seemed to tizz with sudden jolts where the bullet had passed through.

Was this what the nun's had meant? "Death is the greatest joy?"

Adam felt his strength leaving him, though he didn't feel weak.

"Blake?" he whispered, and darkness fell over his eyes.

He didn't feel the impact. After that, a long and lonely moment passed, and he heard a shuffle of feet and the voice of that police woman. He was happy to hear it, though it was fading.

"Time of death, 11:21…"


"... body confirmed to be of Adam Taurus," Melva finished, recording onto her scroll.

Neo, she wasn't sure how, had gotten away from her when she'd rushed forward to support McGarnagle.

So, naturally, Melva was eager to change the subject.

"Jeez," she said, looking at the larger of McGarnagle's two guns. "Didn't chief tell you not to fire that thing in city limits?"

"These aren't city limits," McGarnagle said.

"Technically, they are," Melva said, taking one last picture of the scene before stuffing the scroll into her pocket. "Anyway, we should probably look for the other suspect."

"Later," McGarnagle said. "First, the planes."


Mr. S stood impatiently on the sidelines as the wedding guests arranged themselves.

Come on, people, seating is in alphabetical order! Oh, come on, I know your last name doesn't start with G!

Next to him, was a priest or vicar of some sort. He wasn't sure what religion the man was pledged to, but it had some uncanny resemblances to Earth's aberhamic faiths. Heck, he would've called them Christians if they weren't polytheists.

"You know, sir. Forgive me for saying so" - the man gestured with a hand and allowed his flowing, golden green robes to sway under him - "but this does seem a rather sudden wedding."

"It's long overdue, in fact," Mr. S said, smiling politely.

Come on, just forty five more minutes!

He resisted the urge to hop in place and clap happily.

"Hm… you really want to see this wedding through, don't you?" the vicar asked.

"I guess you could say that."

"Are you a friend of the couple?"

"I'm the patron of this house. It is my responsibility to sign off on these things."

"Of course, but, if I may be so bold. I do observe that something seems to be troubling you."

"Really?" Mr. S said shortly, hating the sudden reminder of his hunger.

"Yes, yes," the vicar nodded sagely. "You are a rich man, with many distractions. Yet, you've somehow set yourself personally to the task of completing this wedding."

"I'd do this for any member of the house," Mr. S said honestly.

"I believe that," the vicar said, "and I believe it is through that, that your soul shall be reborn."

"...Pardon?"

"Oh, yes. You may not know it; but this sudden urge you feel to help these people - it is your soul crying out. Despite your riches, your true-self hungers for a more meaningful existence, for an exercise of the moral senses."

"Uh...I doubt that," Mr. S said, doubtfully.

"Man can not live on bread alone!" The vicar declared boldly.

"Yeah, that's not really the problem I'm having at the moment." Mr. S said.

"Sir!" Schwarz came, "we have a problem!"

"What is it?" Mr. S asked, allowing himself to be taken aside to a private corner.

"The groom has cold feet!" Schwaz yelled even as she whispered.

"What! Get the best man on it!" Mr. S matched her tone.

"He's still on route from Vacuo! And the groom wants to cancel now!"

"What!?"

"Yes. Most of the stuff has already been ordered, but I can still cancel the caterin-"

"No, Schwarz!"

"Then what are we supposed to do!"

Mr. S thought a moment, and asked:

"Where's the groom?"


"Ok, look, this isn't like you!" Mr. S said seriously, hands clasped together over his knees as he sat opposite from the nervously shuffling groom. "This isn't the man who petitioned for four years to get married to the woman he loved. This isn't the man who stood up to Mr. Schnee so that he could have a wedding the same day!"

"But what if the marriage doesn't work out! What about her parents?"

"Then you'll get a divorce," Mr. S said, obviously. "I mean… It's going to work out. Trust me."

"But what if-"

"Ok, shut up," Mr. S interrupted. And, the groom complied. "Close your eyes," Mr. S ordered. And, again, the groom complied.

"Now," Mr. S said after a moment's silence. "I want you to clear your mind, and imagine that sunflower smiling girl you were talking in the garden with, earlier this morning. I want you to remember her smile, and her laugh, and everything about her that made you want to get married in the first place...are you doing that?"

"Yes."

"Now, tell me, quickly, yes or no. Look into her face, and tell me. Would you leave her for anything?"

"No."

"Can you look at that face, and see anything but your purpose for living?"

"No!"

"Do you love her!"

"Yes! Oh, gods, yes! I love her!"

"Then there you have it! You have something special here! Something they only dream about in the story books. You have love at food… I mean, at first sight! Am I wrong!?"

"No!"

"Then go out there, and marry that woman!"


"I can't marry them!"

The vicar groaned. His robes spilled about his prone form as he lay on one of the benches.

The crowd was gathered underneath one of the exterior hallways that lined the garden. Large, marble columns bordered the length of it, with empty air in between.

"Get back from him, everyone!" The house doctor yelled, holding a wet cloth over the vicar's forehead.

"How do you feel!" She asked, looking patiently into the man's bright eyes.

"Oh, I'll live," he said with a weary chuckle.

"What's wrong, specifically?"

"Oh, just sudden weakness. Lightness of head, you know, that sort of thing."

"Ok, that's it. The wedding's off!" the doctor said with painful finality. "He's in no state to perform any ceremonies!"

Mr. S felt the world take a turvy turn. And, behind him, in the far corner of the world, he could hear Schwarz saying: "We can still cancel the catering, sir."

"No!" he said, turning to Schwarz, "Why are you always trying to cancel the catering? Why don't you cancel the streamers for once! And we're not canceling anything, by the way!" He spoke in a desperate way, and didn't let up when he turned to the vicar.

"Is there no other way?" He asked. "Are there no other vicars?"

"Oh, the monastery's strictly closed at this time of night. They do not accept arrivals or take requests, except in emergencies."

"Would-"

"And this is not an emergency," the man said, a sly tone coming to his voice. "… however," the man continued, letting the crowd hang on the word.

"However?" Mr. S said.

"One does not need to be a vicar to perform a wedding ceremony."

"Really?"

"Yes, you can just take an online course and get certified that way."

"How do you get certified!" A woman, the bride's aunt called hopefully from the crowd.

"You just have to memorize this," the vicar shuffled around in his robes, and pulled out a forty-five page book, "and take a test!"

The book was lightly bound with navy blue velvet, and it's title read, written in ornate, gold lettering, "Conducting A Wedding Ceremony In Forty Five Easy Pages."

All of the crowd recoiled from the task.

"It's a dense book," the vicar announced, "single spaced, times new Atlesian, twelve point font, no bibliography or introduction… and no pictures."

A sudden and terrible gasp came from the crowd. The aunt was sobbing.

"Times new Atlesian!" a hushed whisper came.

"Fourty five pages!"

"That's impossible!"

Everyone was stepping back, and even the ever hopeful bride seemed to have lost hope and accepted her fate of being mildly inconvenienced until tomorrow evening.

Everyone thought themselves inadequate before the task.

Everyone that was… except our hero!

"I'll do it." Mr. S's voice came, soft and carrying easily through the night air.

Five dozen pairs of eyes turned onto him, and the immediate crowd seemed to recoil from his proclamation.

"You must understand," the vicar said with unrelenting grimmness, "one does not simply pass the wedding ceremony test. You must memorize this book, learn it inside out, commit yourself to making no mistakes!"

"I have a good memory," Mr. S shrugged. "I'll take that into the library and I'll come back out in thirty minutes. I'll take the test under the Vicar's supervision, and, if you'll have me," he bowed slightly in the direction of the bride's family, "I'll conduct the wedding."

Slowly, shyly, the bride nodded.

And, confidently, Mr. S stuck his hand out in the direction of the vicar.

"I'll have the book, if you please!"

And they said that second Masters wasn't worth it.


"I now pronounce you, husband… and wife." Mr. S, bedecked in the billowy folds of his vicar's robe, raised his left arm with a slow, regal motion, index and middle finger adjusted to just the right angle.

"You may now kiss."

And they kissed.

And the crowd went wild!

After the cheering subsided, Mr. S took the moment to commandeer the mic.

"Uh… excuse me. Excuse me!" he called, gathering attention. "I regret to inform you that, due to a malfunction with the sound system, we will be postponing the dance," Mr. S said, voice carrying well through the sound system. "We are working to fix it as soon as possible, but… Until then..."

Mr. S smiled, and clapped his hands heartily.

"Let's eat!"