Book Three
Why don't you have a soul?
Chapter 48: Man, are you soooo fucked.
Thanks again to boothnat, who helped edit this chapter.
You can find her story The Traveler's Guide to Teyvat: How to not kill people - Chapter 1 - boothnat - 原神 | Genshin Impact (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own] , on her AO3 page: boothnat | Archive of Our Own.
Yang had managed very well, at first, to process the first half of the explanation. Still, she remained wary of one minute detail - one minuscule portion of fact - that no one had thus far seen fit to mention, much less explain, to her. It was a miniscule detail; one which hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things. Yet it bothered her nonetheless how none of her friends had, over the course of their explanation, thought it pertinent to address the matter.
"Ok, but why is she black, though?" Yang asked, blinking innocently over at the exasperated-
"Because it's not her original body!" Weiss explained forcibly, "why are you even asking that? Dr. Polendina's black, so why wouldn't she be?"
"Wai... then why was she white in the first place?" Yang fiddled with a lock of hair between her fingertips, a characteristic sign of her confusion.
Weiss took a deep breath - a characteristic sign of her annoyance - forcing herself to stand straight, trying to maintain her composure. She could feel a familiar anger building up inside of her- a characteristic sign that she'd spent too much time around Yang. She'd honestly been wondering what had been the cause of her recent lack of annoyance.
"I- it's…" Weiss paused, hovering a solitary finger in the air in front of her as she weighed her words, before, in a pique of exhaustion, they came rushing out: "it's... nice to have you back...Yang." Weiss said the words with a restrained breath, feeling herself destressing, "We missed you." Weiss turned away slightly, unable to look at the newly returned girl without a nostalgic light that overwhelmed effect wasn't unique to her, as was made evident by the glowing, if beaten and worn, gazes her teammates sent over to the girl.
Despite their initial hesitancy, they had all missed her they realized. She served as a reminder of the saner age they once took for granted two weeks ago. She was predictable, and just as they'd remembered her being, save for her occasional tendency to mutter to herself. She was dependable, she was expected.
And, as expected, Yang had vastly over-reacted to the bad news, and smothered Ruby in enough worried affection that the girl had at least lost the energy to mourn- to tell by the blank look that overtook her eyes as she was limply held against Yang's chest in a tight grip. Ruby still had yet to lose the capacity for embarrassment however, and occasionally sent up batting hands to push away her doting sister, who easily held Ruby in a one armed hug as if she were a stuffed animal as she carried on normal conversation with the rest of her teammates.
"Yes, well, while it really does warm my heart to see such a heartfelt reunion, I'm afraid I must be the bearer of bad news and say that we really should be on our way to the rehab clinic." Beryl made her case politely, and spoke easily despite the lopsided weight Pinkamena proved to be as she clung to Beryl's shoulder, melting over it in search for more solid support. Beryl, in stark contrast to her comrade, was a hard figure in a stark white overcoat who stretched out a stiff arm to Pinkamena, meant as much to keep away the drunken girl as to support her. And, to tell by the weary, scowling glances Beryl shot over at Pinkamena whenever the girl made sudden movements that hinted at a possible regurgitatory disaster, the former was, at all times, the higher priority.
And in accordance with that priority, Beryl, despite her soothing tones and upper class effects, let across some of her impatience to get Pinkamena to the rehab clinic… now. To communicate this, she said: "so, let's get Pinkamena to the rehab clinic… now, if you don't mind," tone clearly conveying that whether or not they minded did not, in fact, matter.
Pinkamena, who, over the course of the preceding conversation, and in time with her increasing sobriety had been growing more and more bored, perked up at the mention of something familiar. "The rehab clinic!?" she rose up with a gasp, sparks lighting in her eyes. "I know that place! The people there are great."
"Yes, well, we certainly shouldn't keep them waiting,'" Beryl supplied curtly. "We can't have you running in this state, and we're running rather late for the train as it is." Beryl flashed the watch on her wrist.
Yang compared it with hers, and, taking a closer look at the piece of jewelry, noticed the comparative lack of styling. And her time was off! Well, at least it went with her eyes.
Pinkamena didn't own a watch of course. She was never late! Because schedules and time keeping were for people who couldn't teleport, as Beryl had apparently forgotten!
"Pfft! we don't need to catch the train!" Pinkamena consoled dismissively, gripping tighter onto Beryl's shoulder as she raised a hand to do the same to Weiss. "We can just teleport, duh!"
"No!" everyone said in unison. Several pleading hands reached out to the girl, fear apparent in everyone's eyes as the words 'intersection incidents' ran like billboards across their minds.
"Stop worrying, sillies!" Pinkamena giggled. "The cocaine's out of my system now! I haven't had any since last night!"
"That was crack, Pinkamena," Beryl corrected, "and it doesn't matter if it's out of your system because you've been drinking since dawn." She spoke her points clearly, too much like someone who was dealing with a reasonable person.
"Alcohol doesn't cause intersection incidents!" Pinkamena retorted, speaking like an over dramatic defence attorney that had caught an objection.
"You're not going to teleport anybody!" Beryl was adamant.
Beryl was also fast. In fact, amongst her team, she was one of the faster huntresses, in terms of reaction time. And, accounting for their prestige, Beryl was proud to note that this put her in the top 99.999th percentile, with regard to professional hunters.
Still, that was little consolation in this case, as it only allowed her enough forewarning to look to the side and see a crisp afterimage of Pinkamena standing with a hand on her shoulder and a teasing smile across her face. Out of the corner of her eye, Beryl could see another Pinkamena standing in several other other places, with an afterimage of a hand placed on an afterimage of Weiss's shoulder, and Blake's, and Haetzen's…
As a bonus consolation, Pnkamena hadn't been lying when she claimed alcohol didn't discombobulate her enough to cause intersection incidents. She was, however - contrary to her repeated exclamations that she teleported better drunk - very bad with directions in her current state, and Beryl could only be left wondering where they would find themselves when this was over.
"Jacques!" Ironwood burst into the office, taking note of the newly repaired window, as well as of the newly functional water pump that had been installed next to the desk: a metal pipe that stood like a flag pole up to chest height, and which Schwarz was currently drawing water from.
Mr. S, cradling his own glass of the life-giving substance, seemed to have been caught off guard as he froze with the glass held half way up to his lips. He could feel the ground shaking, sending ripples through the still waters of his glass as ironwood stomped forward.
Still, Mr. S wasn't so uncomposed that he couldn't muster a response.
"Yes?" Mr. S responded.
"I need you to take Zama into your security team!" Ironwood demanded.
"Ok."
Schwarz did a spit take.
"What?" she coughed, incredulously, at Mr. S.
"Well," Mr S said, maintaining a straight face which hid his true excitement. "She did capture the assassin. And given that she needs a place to lay low until the council can come to a decision, well, it does seem like a natural fit."
"Sir, I strongly disagree," Schwarz retorted.
"Why?"
"She's a danger." Schwarz implored strongly. "That's why I had her sent away before we re-established power!"
"Oh, I'd assumed that was because you wanted to message Ironwood," Zama said, peeking her head through the half-open door.
"You brought her here!?" Schwarz raged, flattening Mr. S back into his chair with the unexpected wrath, and turning a look onto Ironwood that could melt iron, which was unfortunate for the man, as the substance was a primary component of half of his body, as well as of his name.
Ironwood was taken aback, blinking slightly at the aggressive reaction. "I… wasn't aware you'd put any security standards in place against her visit," he answered politely
Schwarz's only reply was her own, vastly more incredulous and disbelieving set of blinks- pure rage transmitting through her eyes, as well as through the rather less polite words that were being instinctually coded in the morse patterns of her rapid blinks.
"I sent multiple messages to you and your staff informing of the change in procedure- you even responded to several of them." Schwarz's voice took on a characteristically robotic and tinny nature as she recounted the facts. And they were responded to by a slightly less robotic voice as Zama stepped forward.
"Actually," Zama interrupted Ironwood's confused gestures with a revealing one of her own, "I believe she may be referring to the set of messages that I intercepted."
"Why did you intercept them!?" Schwarz turned to the girl with some opposition.
"Well, I wouldn't have been allowed back in here otherwise," Zama answered with a shrug. "Besides, it seemed to be a good demonstration of my capabilities regarding secure software systems."
Schwarz took a slight step in Zama's direction.
Ironwood shifted ever so slightly to put himself between them.
"Schwarz, I'm not sure I comprehend you," Mr. S intoned, leaning understandingly over his desk. "Zama hasn't proven herself to be any over danger to us."
"The castle's destroyed!" Schwarz shot back.
"That was on my order," Mr. S gently reminded her. "Besides which, that's in the past now. It's no reason why she can't work with us."
"And we wouldn't have had to resort to such measures if she had simply maintained communication instead of hacking the castle and locking us in!" Schwarz gestured to Zama with a reflexive arm. "She saved the servants in the mail room. I know that, but her actions afterwards were in stark contempt for any attempt at working with us."
Schwarz finished off her tirade, and was faced with the injured silence of her attentive audience.
She took a breath.
Exhaling, she continued: "Zama hasn't proven herself to be actively hostile," she relented with a weary voice. "And I do not mean to disparage the real good she has done. She's saved many lives, and for that I'm happy to thank her. She's an eminently good individual, despite her tendency to hack into our systems," she finished with a stern look at the perpetrator.
And then Schwarz stopped, as if having said everything.
And everyone looked at her, waiting for the rest of the speech.
"What?" Schwarz asked.
"Well, aren't you going to give her the job?"
"Oh, absolutely not. No." Schwarz shook her head, regaining a sense of calm. "Under no circumstances will she be allowed anywhere near this castle."
Disappointed sighs and restrained groans filled the air as everyone turned newly indignant looks onto the security chief and murmurs of dissent pulled themselves from both Ironwood and Mr. S.
"I'm not blind to the debt we owe her," Schwarz reiterated, crossing her arms, expression calm. "And, in any event, I will do whatever is possible to aid in her training. But the security of this Manor is not a training exercise, and a position on Mr. Schnee's personal security team is not one I will entrust lightly to someone who has no background, and whose most recent actions have painted her as unreliable in the face of uncer-"
Schwarz didn't finish her point, having been interrupted suddenly by Pinkamena, Haetzen, Beryl and all of team RWBY.
They didn't do or say anything in particular to interrupt her, they were just… there, suddenly, in the middle of the room, standing atop Mr. Schnee's desk.
Mr. S backed away from the sudden forest of feet that blocked his view forward, maintaining enough wherewithal to avoid accidentally looking up anybody's combat skirt.
Schwarz had no such compunctions and turned a frightening gaze onto the top of Mr. Schnee's desk, which found itself playing host to a population where the average age was 21 and a surprising 14% of the inhabitants were drunk. Surprisingly, despite these statistics, it was Ruby, in the end, who managed- with a nervous shuffle of her boots- to knock over Mr. S's glass of water.
Everyone took a beat to appraise the situation.
Their appraisal of the situation was overpowered somewhat, however, by the tremendous beeping that now filled the room.
Tremendous, by the way, as in "Loud" not "Good".
Because, finding itself suddenly in the reddest of red zones, inside Mr. Schnee's office, right next to Mr. Schnee, Yang's watch freaked out somewhat.
And 'somewhat', here, is meant as an understatement of 'tremendously'.
And 'tremendously", well, you already know what that means.
Yang's watch didn't really have a problem with being in Mr. Schnee's office, of course. It was a watch, and didn't normally care so much about space. But, it did care a lot about time, and, using these powers, had managed to deduce that: if it was in Mr. Schnee's room, then Yang must be in Mr. Schnee's office as well… literally twenty minutes after she'd just gotten the watch.
The watch didn't really care, of course. It was merely reacting to stimuli in a preprogrammed manner, like Pavlov's dog when it heard a bell, or Old Yeller's ghost whenever it heard a pump-action shotgun.
Yang, however, was a sapient being, and was more than little interested in this development. And, as the beeping went on, growing louder, Yang, Much like Old Yeller's ghost, was rapidly developing the sense that this sound was going to be an indicator of future trauma.
"What are you doing here!?" Schwarz yelled, with a voice that confirmed that prediction.
The majority of the desk's population elected to turn around, with Ruby taking a particularly strong stance to defend her sister by cowering behind her.
"...uhm," Pinkamena explained, suddenly much more sober.
Schwarz had elected to focus on the more immediate problem, however, and for the moment ignored her.
"Yang!" Schwarz said, breaking the blonde out of her stupor, and eliciting another brave squeak from Ruby as she clutched onto Yang's arm and hid further behind the girl. "You are not supposed to be here!"
"Well, I.. uh…" Yang raised a finger in hasty explanation.
"Get out!" Schwarz yelled, pointing to the exit door.
"Leaving!" Yang's voice, as well the increasingly faint beeps, could be heard receding from beyond the flapping door, leaving Ruby suddenly without cover as she looked confusedly at her empty fingers.
"And you!" Schwarz turned to her security team.
"That was an accident, please don't fire me!" Pinkamena yelled all at once.
"What are you doing here?" Schwarz demanded, standing stiffly, watching as they disembarked from atop the desk, and stood at attention before her.
Beryl hardly blinked, and drove straight into her speech. "We were sidetracked on our way to the clinic. I apologize," she intoned with a respectful air, bowing deeply.
Schwarz took another deep breath, becoming aware of how often she'd been doing that lately. "Just make sure she keeps from teleporting in the meantime."
"Yes, mam."
Schwarz turned away from Beryl to find herself face to face with Mr. S and Ironwood, who were, to her eye, holding back very smug looks and victorious twinkles in their seemed assured, now, that Schwarz would see the light.
Schwarz was quick to dash their hopes. "I'm still not letting her into the security team," she said, pulling out a scroll to send several messages.
"What!?" Mr. S raised a hand with a patent exclamation.
"Pinkamena has a history, but this is no way equivalent to Zama's."
"She just teleported in here!"
"For the first time in her career!" Schwar retorted. "She has twenty years of loyal service behind her!"
"You're being intransigent!" Ironwood accused, joining the battle on Zama's behalf.
"We don't owe you anything!" Schwarz exploded, not quite emotional, but expressing about twenty decibels more than she had up to now. "Your machinations are the entire reason we're in this situation!" Schwarz whipped an angry arm out at the water pump, "and don't you for one instant think I've forgotten how much blame we've had to accept just so your machine can traipse about Atlas and hack into my systems without so much as a warning from you, General!"
Ironwood stood, stiff and trunklike in the face of the storm.
Despite the calm facade, turmoil and regret piled against him as he took the words without comment, and looked slightly down in recollection.
After the mines had been discharged, and the Schnee manor disconnected from the Atlas system, questions and blame had been in no short supply, and the Schnee manor had to take more than their fair share of it in order to shield Zama from any suspicion. Ironwood had been grateful, and he felt a sudden, terse abashement at how quickly he'd managed to forget it, and how presumptively he'd waltzed in here making demands. Needless to say, Schwarz's words had been a wake up call.
And Ironwood immediately acquiesced, and started the motions of apologizing, and of withdrawing his demands, when he was swiftly interrupted by Mr. S.
"Schwarz," Mr. S stood from his chair, eager to step away from the forest of teenage girls that still stood atop his desk, "can we talk alone for a moment?"
Seeing as Mr. S was halfway to the door as he made this statement, Schwarz found little purchase for rebuttal, and could only send silent, stern looks to the sudden occupants of the room before following him outside.
The door clicked closed, fitting neatly into its frame behind Schwarz as she stood in the sunlit hallway that bordered it. Habit forced her eyes to make a peremptory check down both ends of the hallway before she found that Mr. S had outpaced her, and was already nearing the extreme right end of the hallway, where the open window framed a beautiful view out to the sea, and out to the sunrise that was currently sparkling above.
Schwarz quietly followed his lead, and by the time she reached his position, she found him leant back against the wall in a casual manner, betraying some exhaustion as he looked upon her.
He smiled lightly but then quickly replaced the expression with one of slight worry. "Ok, Schwarz," he said, gesturing with a diplomatic arm, "what's wrong?"
"I'm not sure what you mean." Schwarz looked out to the sunrise. The light was white hot, and the sea shimmered a brilliant blue beneath it.
"Why won't you allow Zama into the security team?" Mr. S asked.
"I won't allow her into the security team because It would be irresponsible to do so," Schwarz maintained. "I'm the head of security, and I can't rightly introduce someone like her into this household."
"Then I'm ordering you to allow Zama into the security team," Mr. S said.
"I will not follow that order,"' Schwarz turned a hard glare onto Mr S.
Two things surprised him- the sheer determination in her black eyes, and the fact that apparently,.she could just do that!
"On what grounds?" Mr. S challenged, unwilling to lose his composure, and turning his own measured glare onto the woman.
"On the grounds that allowing her into your team would break every protocol ever imagined!" Schwarz shot back, far more energetically. "She's an unknown asset, has little history except for a recent one demonstrating erratic behavior, a proclivity to hacking into our systems, and she has no relevant experience whatsoever. My responsibility is not a game, and It is not a testing ground for unproven assets."
Schwarz, all throughout, kept a harsh level of control over her words, very much unlike Mr. S, who had slipped into that familiar stance he felt his habits taking whenever he found himself alone with Schwarz, and very much unlike Schwarz herself, who normally opened up whenever the necessities of her duty didn't require anything else.
And, spending as much time alone with her as he had, Mr. S noticed the sharp pang of sadness that stabbed at him, and at the strange cocktail of emotions that rang against his normally dull senses, that brought to fore all of these subtle changes he found himself suddenly noticing in Schwarz. And, once he noticed them, they lit up like light.
Still, despite these warnings, he was still confused. And, in the face of this confusion, he ventured forth a vulnerable question.
"Schwarz…" Mr. S asked, "what's the matter?"
And, quite unexpectedly, Schwarz deflated, reaching out a hand to support herself against the glass, feeling the warmth of the sunlight glowing into her fingers. Her face fell into its own shadow as she hung her head, and stared tiredly down, letting heavy, dark bangs fall around her face deathly curtains.
Schwarz blinked, breathed, and stiffened back up into a straight stand, lifting her hand to push back her loose strands. She stood a moment like this, trying to maintain her composure before, after a moment had passed in this manner, she turned away again, exhaling in frustration and bringing up two of her hands in a reflexive motion, clenching her fists before violently forcing them back down to her sides.
Mr. S remained silent throughout this, willing himself to disappear into the background as a genuinely worried expression struck his face and a flood of concern washed away all thoughts of the Zama situation as he sat back, confused and helpless before his security head as she apparently held back a mental breakdown.
Eventually, she came back around to his side, and bore her weight down on the golden railing that stood before the large window, hunching over the bright hot object, clenching her hands around it.
At last, however, with strained patience, she spoke aloud.
"You can stop dodging around the point. It'll be easier if we just accept it and move on from there."
Mr. S, fatefully aware of his position, hesitated to reveal his ignorance of the matter. "I'm not sure what you mean, Schwarz," he said earnestly, leaning over to get a better look at Schwarz's face.
Schwarz's eyes were closed, and twitching in apparent frustration.
"I'm talking about the attacks!" she said at once and all too fast, as if in a hurry to complete the sentence.
She whirled back around, pacing away from the window before once again turning back to move towards it.
"Adam, Raven, the assassins!" she listed off. "And I didn't even manage to notice that one of them had been living here for four months!"
"We didn't manage to notice Farbe," Mr. S corrected. "Without Zama's… particular skills, I doubt anyone would have been able to."
"Yeah, well your security isn't your job," Schwarz retorted dryly. "It's my responsibility." She hung her head low at that last pronouncement, voice pitching down to measure her sadness. "And even you noticed the camera footage before I even thought to look for it." She took a particularly deep breath, as if holding back some emotions from bursting forth.
And Mr. S couldn't help but notice how young Schwarz was, to be burdened by so much responsibility.
"Schwarz," Mr. S called.
Schwarz hummed in acknowledgement, looking over at him through the corner of her eye.
"What exactly could you have done to prevent what's happened recently?" Mr. S questioned softly. "What could anyone have done?"
"I could have kept Yang from staying in the manor."
"You had no cause to believe there was a reason to."
"I had my suspicions," Schwarz spat. "People could have died!" she spoke with a sudden spark of emotion. "And that would have been on me."
"And, what about Zama?" Mr. S asked. "Do you have your suspicions about her, too?"
"Yes."
"What if I told you that letting Yang stay was the right move?"
Schwarz turned a cautious gaze onto him.
"She's still here, isn't she?" Mr. S prompted.
"With proper security measures," Schwarz retorted.
"And what would proper security measures for Zama look like?"
"Her not being on your security team, and nowhere near this castle," Schwarz answered.
"Why?" Mr. S asked, voice soft, like a questioning child.
Schwarz was surprised to see that he really meant it.
"It's procedure," she answered, straining the word. "It's basic procedure. I meant it when I said I would thank Zama, and I meant it when I said I'd help her, but allowing her into the security team isn't necessary to do that, and It wouldn't be responsible, either!"
Mr. S's retort was cut off by the blare of distant warning sirens. A steep shadow swept over Schwarz, as, outside, a running police bullhead drifted past, colors flashing and speakers blaring.
But, of that, later.
Zama was left alone with everybody else inside Mr. Schnee's office. And, to tell by their awkward expressions as everyone else desperately searched for some appropriate topic of conversation, she seemed to be handling the silence better than most.
Ironwood, as always when he found a spare moment away from his duties, rapidly scanned through the series of alerts that popped up onto his newly acquired scroll. A flash of frustration ran across his features when he realized that the Council's investigative team had reset all of his preferences, and that all of his personalized ringtones had been deleted.
On the other extreme, Ruby sat like an over caffeinated chipmunk, rubber boot padding intermittently as she, recently deprived of her sister and left somewhat light-headed by the sudden teleportation, glanced around to all corners of the room in a panicked attempt to not look directly at Zama.
More interestingly, however, in the complex series of hues and patterns that ran across Zama's visual field, Pinkamena rattled about like a flickering strobe light.
"Your friend appears to be going into shock," Zama commented dryly, directing the statement over at Beryl.
"Pardon?" Beryl raised an eyebrow at Zama.
"Her aura," Zama clarified, pointing directly now at Pinkamena, "it's fluctuating erratically, and her behavior seems to indicate she is undergoing some distress."
"Oh, don't worry about me," Pinkamena smiled, despite the fact that she was doubled over, gripping her knees for stability, "that just happens when I teleport and some of the drug residue gets dispersed throughout my body." She took a deep breath before standing up straight, smile still on her face as if to prove her point- before she promptly lost her balance and only barely managed to catch herself on the desk.
"Perhaps she should be taken to a rehab clinic. There is a good one in Atlas, from what I hear," Zama said, eyes flashing about as she read off the web display inside her eyeballs, "the reviews say the people there are great."
"Told ya so!" Pinkamena bragged.
"Yes, perhaps she should," Beryl agreed, ignoring Pinkamena's outburst, "and, excuse me, but did you just say 'her Aura?'"
"Yes."
"And, it's visible, apparently?" Berly asked, a discerning squint to her eye.
"It's detectable," Zama answered, turning her red eyes, softly glowing, onto the woman, "I've been outfitted with the necessary sensors to detect it at range, and to integrate it with my sensory map."
Beryl blinked, curiously, " I wasn't aware that was possible. To detect it at range, I mean." She held up her scroll, with it's built-in aura level detector in explanation.
Before Zama could describe the engineering and cash money necessary to achieve such technological feats, however, they were interrupted by the wailing of a siren.
It wasn't long after that when Schwarz burst in through the door, making a beeline for the main desk, where she rapidly began scanning through the various security data.
Everyone else elected to turn to the fifty foot window that made up one of the side walls.
And, despite the large mar of opaque plaster that had been patched over the slash Adam had made during his infiltration, they were still afforded a prominent view of the formation of police airships that hovered just beyond the palace wall.
As Schwarz rapidly worked at the table, and the airships hovered with dangerous stillness, Mr. S quietly made his way into the room, unnoticed by everyone as they, much like him, were fixated on the imposing fleet that had parked itself in the air, just beyond the lightly glowing bubble shield that covered the palace.
Mr. S walked to the edge of the room, standing at the foot of the window. And, looking down, from the new, wider, view afforded to him, he saw, standing at the foot of the gate, where the bubble shield met the wall, Councilwoman Camilla, and what seemed to be half of Atlas's police force. She had a loudspeaker held up to her mouth.
"Mr. Schnee! We have a warrant for a general search of the palace! Let us in immediately, or we will let ourselves in!"
Camilla, in her other hand, held up a glowing screen which, presumably, had the electronic warrant displayed. She seemed very earnest.
"Schwarz, can they let themselves in?" Mr. S asked, turning slightly to look back at the woman.
"Not a chance in hell," Schwarz answered.
Mr. S, thinking quickly, pulled out his scroll and, connecting the device to the Manor's external speakers, held it up to his mouth like a microphone.
"Councilwoman Camilla!" Mr. S answered in a voice large enough to fit a castle. "What brings you here?"
"I'm here for the private security files of the Schnee manor! Now, let us in, immediately!" Camilla demanded.
"Is this about the Green Palace?" Mr. S asked, incredulous. "I thought we took care of that!"
"No, we did not! I'm amazed you believed for one instant that we would allow someone who conspired with the White Fang to commit a terrorist attack to walk free!"
"I didn't!" Mr. S denied.
"Let us in, Jacques!" Camillas's voice hammered against the glass of the window, and against Mr. S's rapidly sinking heart.
"Ok," he said, unphased. "But, the castle is in bad shape, as you can see. We'll need to send someone with a security card to open the gate for you manually. Can you give us fifteen minutes?"
"You have two minutes, Jacques!" Camilla said, after a seething moment.
"Go!" Mr. S tossed his security card to Haetzen, who caught it and left without comment, sprinting out the door with a gust of wind.
Mr. S then took to pacing, looking increasingly worried.
"Um, Mr. Schnee, what's going on?" Ruby asked, having, due to her recent commitment to stop watching cable news, slept through the entire background to this ordeal.
"They think I helped the White Fang blow up a competitor's palace, and now they're here to look for evidence."
"… did you?" Blake asked worriedly.
"Of course I didn't!" Mr. S snapped, looking incredibly worried.
He paused, noticing their expressively skeptical faces.
"It really looks like I did, however," Mr. S admitted tiredly. "I even asked Ironwood to park the fleet over the Schnee palace for goodness's sake!" They're probably here looking for that footage."
"But Mr. Schnee," Zama interrupted, "I've looked through the entirety of the Schnee security archives, and, it seems obvious that you didn't do it."
"Really?" Mr. S asked, trying to maintain a calm facade, "how's that?"
"Well, if you take the assumption that 'Mr. Schnee colluded with terrorists to be: d" then, with an alpha of 0.0001, and the following assumptions…"
"That's, nice, Zama," Mr. S interrupted tersely, "but, even if there isn't enough evidence to run a conviction, it still looks as if I've colluded with terrorists, and Camilla won't be following court publication standards, believe me," He was swiftly beginning to regret that five minute rant he'd put the woman through, and which had left her looking more sour than a pack of expired grapes.
"Don't worry, sir," Schwarz replied evenly, still working at the desk. "The team and I have prepared for this inevitability. We've already deleted most of the relevant data."
"Thank you, Schwarz," Mr. S answered tiredly, moving with brittle motions, "but I don't believe the evidence will be any more flattering with that consideration. I'm still very much the primary suspect in the public's eye."
"What if the evidence showed that another person was responsible for the mishap?" Zama asked.
Everyone turned a skeptical eye onto her. "How?" they seemed to all ask.
Zama, shrugging, lifted her hands slightly and a brief flicker of electrical motion hinted at her presence traveling through the Manor's lighting.
Schwarz was held back from speaking by a raised hand, as Mr. S stepped back, and looked around for any sign of an effect.
Zama did not disappoint, and soon his desk lit up like a christmas tree, ringing with bells and wavering, random noises that made it sound like an eclectic instrument.
And, very soon afterward, a hologram flickered into existence above the screen, and there, vividly imagined beyond any human ability to discern from reality, a simple scene played out, depicting one of the back alleys of the Schnee Manor.
Farbe looked suspiciously over her shoulder as she stepped into the hallway, where she was met by one of her conspirators.
"You have the footage?" she asked.
"Here," the conspirator slipped out a disk package.
"Let me see," Farbe took the disk, pressed it against the back of her scroll, where it latched on with a magnetic clack.
"Testing, testing, one, two, three," Farbe spoke into the scroll, whispering, almost, as if afraid to be heard.
And, from her conspirator's scroll, the same words were heard, similarly whispered, however with a vastly different character. Namely:
"It sounds just like him!" Farbe said with giddy amazement, leaping back slightly, the sudden motion billowing out the wide skirt of her maid outfit.
"Yep," the accomplice answered with their own, artificially masked voice, "it sounds exactly like Jacques Schnee, don't it? It even imitates his scroll ID for ya. With this, you'll finally be able to make that phone call to Ironwood where you pretend to be Jacques Schnee and-"
"And make him park the fleet over the dust palace!" Farbe singsonged, excited jitters getting the better of her as she hopped up and down on her feet. "Eeee!" she squealed. "And you have the authorization that'll let me shut down the Schnee Dust palace without anyone here knowing, too?"
"Better," the figure pulled out some chips. "These'll give you full access, and hide any data trails that might lead back to you. As far as the world'll be concerned, all of this will have been Jacques' fault."
"Oh, man, it sure does feel great framing someone! Especially for a crime they would never commit!" Farbe noted, taking the chips and holding them up to the light.
"It sure does," the accomplice agreed.
Councilwoman Camilla, along with the entirety of the police force behind her, took a sudden step back from the projector screen when the scene had ended.
She looked up to Mr. S and the gathered assortment of people lined up behind him and his innocent smile.
She looked back down to the dormant projector, and then back up at Mr. S again.
"Run it through the scanner," she said, at last, to her deputy, who swiftly manipulated the rune computer in her grasp, and sent the video file off to Atlas Police Headquarters.
There the file arrived with a 'special emergency' tag, labelling it as a high priority case. And, in accordance with this fact, the entirety of Colossus's attention was, for one instant, focused.
Colossus was the largest forensic video file analysis AI in remnant. It was the largest AI in Remnant. And it was the largest by no small margin. An entire block of Atlas's realestiate had been cordoned off for its storage alone. There, server buildings containing the beast rose several hundred stories into the air, and were dug half a kilometer into the floating city's interior. At its peak, one percent of Atlas' power output spiked through the complex of buildings that hosted this AI, and several tons of ice dust ran continually through its cooling systems just to keep it functioning.
And all of that power, all of that effort was, for a brief moment, focused onto the file marked 'special emergency."
In an age where even the clearest recordings could be put into doubt by the existence of doctored footage, and of fabricated animations, the people of Remnant had spared no effort in building a titan that could maintain some semblance of trust in video evidence.
So important did they find this, that they built the world's largest and most sophisticated computer to ensure that the ideals truth and fact would not be overwhelmed by the machinations of the fictional world.
And Colossus , while always the largest computer, had very recently been surpassed in sophistication... by Penny. And, sophistication, as it turned out, was all that mattered, as it took a glance at the doctored footage, and gave it a passing grade.
The rune computer dinged in the deputy's hand, and the deputy blinked.
"It's authentic," she said.
Now it was Camilla's turn to blink. "Are you sure?"
The deputy nodded.
"Well, are you sure?" she asked again.
"Yes, ma'am," the woman intoned.
Camilla let out a short breath, taking a small look back at the disappointed faces of the police force. Shortly, she returned her sights to Mr. Schnee, as well as to the lineup of people who stood formally behind him. She was surprised to find Ironwood among them, but ignored it for the moment.
"Then, I suppose you're free to go," Camilla said. "We'll still need access to the castle to finalize the investigation, but-" Camilla paused, again, and blinked incessantly.
"'Is something the matter?" Mr. S asked.
"Nothing," Camilla answered, "but, I'm just curious, why didn't you show us this footage before, when we first accused you?"
"Oh!" Mr. S answered sharply, "that was because Farbe had access to our systems and she'd hidden the footage in an encrypted subsystem. We only found out about it ourselves when she revealed the system password she used during our internal interrogation last night."
"She never mentioned that when we interrogated her," Camilla noted.
"Oh, really?" Mr. S said, surprised, nodding. "Well, we have video evidence of her confession, if you need it," he offered, looking intently over at Zama as he spoke.
"Right," Camilla said. "Although she did deny any conversation with you, really."
"That is interesting," Schwarz said, inserting herself into the conversation. "And, maybe we'll speak to her about it when we interrogate her again, but, for now, I believe we've complied more than satisfactorily with your demands. We have our own business to take care of."
"Oh, yes," Camilla said, with a hollow, lost tone of voice. "I… will leave you to that, then."
Camilla turned back to her team to resume what was left of the investigation, though with a little less fervor than she'd previously expressed.
And, with that marking the end of the ordeal, Mr. S had finished his One O'Clock: avoid jail time.
Schwarz then swiped a finger across her tablet, and brought up his Two O'Clock.
Mr. S wondered, at times, if sisyphus wasn't a metaphor for his daily life.
For, although they and the security camera footage said they'd already interrogated Farbe, they still felt the need to go check up on her… again.
Really though, this was, in truth, Schwarz's Two O'Clock. However, because she had deemed it necessary that Mr. S stay with her and the security team at all times until the castle could be repaired, it was fitted rather violently into his schedule as well.
Mr. S didn't mind the detour from his usual script, but it was cause for reflection on his part, about how he'd spent most of his days thus far on remnant: going where Schwarz told him to go and doing what the company procedures prescribed.
Go here, meet that, talk to them, it could all be so tiring.
Such a rigidly defined schedule, however, was a boon in one respect: it allowed him to play the part of Mr. S nearly perfectly.
Very few times during his brief stint as Mr. Schnee did Mr. S ever have to ask himself "what would Mr. Schnee do?" because, most of the time, it was evident: just do what Schwarz put on the schedule!
And it was telling how all of his recent controversies played out whenever he had the free time to make his own decisions…. Mr. S wasn't quite sure how to feel about that, but he did take some lessons from it. Namely, he learned that, if at all possible, he should reduce whatever free time he had.
So he threw himself into studying. It came naturally to him, and the added pressure of being discovered as a fraud was a great incentive in that regard.
However, even in these matters, Mr. S was hardly free to make his own choices. As of now, most of his readings consisted of the very extensive list of books Mr. Schnee had set out for him before their sudden disconnection.
The History of the Schnee Family, the Gale family legend, a transcript of Mr. Schnee's personal correspondences stretching back five years, everything about economics, management, security procedures, Schnee Manor SOP's. Every morning and every evening, whenever he found the time away from work, Mr. S soaked it all up like a sea sponge in freshwater. It invigorated him to do so, he felt as if he were doing something proactive; it beat aimlessly sitting about in the chaos that was his life, after all. And it had come in handy, too, whenever someone started up some small talk about something or other that Mr. Schnee should have known, and that Mr. S only barely did, by dint of his continuous studying.
Still, despite the benefits, Mr. S was glad to get away from his responsibilities for several hours, and was actually quite looking forward to the field trip to Farbe's cell. If nothing else, he was certain he could sneak a nap on the ride there.
f
And it was just as he was stepping into the flying transporter, with Schwarz and half of the security team standing guard around him, that a familiar voice called him back.
"Mr. Schnee!" an eager voice called." Sir!"
Mr. S, frozen with his head bowing under the transporter roof, looked back across the vast expanse of the Manor roof. Very quickly, Zama sprinted up one of the escalators into view. Behind her, Ironwood followed with an exasperated expression.
"Yes, Zama?" Mr. S turned back to look at the girl, having to peek around the wall of security figures in order to do so.
"I was told that I would not be receiving a post on your security team," she began, coming to a stop just before Twilight. "Is this true?"
"Uh," Mr. S looked very carefully at Schwarz, who was looking less carefully back at him, "we're still deliberating it."
"Oh! That's good!" Zama perked up with a smile, hopping up slightly onto her toes with uncharacteristic friendliness. "Because, I was going to suggest that I be allowed to join you when you interrogate Farbe!"
"Why?" Schwarz asked, immensely skeptical.
"I can see Aura," Zama explained cheerily. "I'm sure Beryl, by now, has made you aware of that."
"She mentioned it, yes," Schwarz said, still not sounding very convinced of the prospect.
"If I'm allowed close access to Farbe I can use that capability to detect any lies." Zama offered.
Farbe, in addition to having not slept for the past twenty-four hours, had also been offered a great deal of alcohol.
"Lie," Zama said for the twelfth time in a row..
Zama stood like a sentinel behind Schwarz, towering over the sitting figures, glimmering red eyes scanning over every minute shift in the suspect's features.
Farbe had hair that changed color with the light, and the velvety fur of her faunus ears seemed to shift like soapfilm with every change and angle of her head. More interesting, to Zama, however, was the complex of aura that swirled around the woman, contorting itself with her every lie and falsehood.
Schwarz's aura was far more calm. And the restraint was evident in the woman's voice when she spoke.
"I'll ask you again," Schwarz repeated. "Why did you place a dust explosive in the mailroom?"
"Because," Farbe said simply, smirking.
Schwarz didn't find it quite as funny, and she let out a very controlled breath before rising gently away from the desk.
Leaving the interrogation room, Schwarz navigated easily into the contained darkness of the observation space.
Ironwood and Mr. S stood against the back wall of the space, their features sparsely lit by the dim light that entered through the one way mirror. And Mr. S took great care in observing Farbe as she sat in profile on the other side of the window. Despite his earlier disinterest, she fascinated him greatly, more so than the last twelve assassins, in any case.
She was almost like a child in her ways, barely older than Weiss and her group of friends. Yet, it was apparently also her who had managed to mastermind the operations in his palace, her who had controlled, through letters and messages, the diverse cast of criminals who had been involved in the poisoning , who had planted that bomb in the mailroom.
Yet, here, she struck him by her characteristically immature stance on everything. She treated everything as if it were a game, and a decidedly expletive leaden game at that. And yet, she had yet to make a single strategic mistake over the course of the interrogation. Nothing, from her words to her expression gave away anything except perhaps an exasperating sense of smugness, to tell by Schwarz's expression as she stomped into the observation room.
"How long has she been awake?" Schwarz asked tersely.
"We've been flooding her room with light ever since she's been here," Ironwood answered, gestring to the over-bright room on the other side of the glass, where Farbe sat quietly back in her metal chair, arms crossed and head hanging.
"Well, is she capable of saying anything other than 'go fuck yourself?'" Schwarz sniped, letting through a little bit of her frustration.
"Not from my experience, no," Ironwood answered, stepping closer to the glass to get a better look at the woman.
Schwarz huffed.
"Don't be too hard on yourself," Ironwood consoled, "we didn't get much more out of her either. It's no matter in any case," he sighed,turning away from the mirror to look at Schwarz, "we've gotten everything we need to start tracking the "One Ring" from her accomplices, and McGarnagle is due to return tomorrow, so it's no great loss."
And, with uncanny timing, Farbe started laughing.
It was uncanny because she almost seemed to start laughing in response to Ironwood's words. And this was doubly uncanny because the observation room was soundproofed.
They all shot slightly concerned looks at one another. And these looks only grew more concerned when Farbe walked up to the mirror and swiveled her eyes to put Ironwood in her line of sight.
"Hey," she smiled. "You know, I've always hated you fucks. Especially you, you murderous bastard."
With uncanny precision, her bright eyes turned to look directly into Ironwood's.
Ironwood, for his part, was the least phased by this development.
"You can see us?" he stepped forward to fill more of her vision.
"Oh, I see you've brought Mr. Moneybags along, too," Farbe continued, turning her blood shot eyes, morphing them to a hateful expression.
"How can you see us?" Ironwood continued.
"You know my grandmother died in Arza," the wobble seemed to' go out of Farbe as she spoke. She stood straighter now, to look better into the General's eyes. "She died along with her whole load of children when you Atlesians went out on your extermination campaigns. You probably didn't know that, did you? Doesn't stick in the mind as much when you're bombing villages from the sky." Farber lifted up a finger to dig into her temple, as if to demonstrate the concept.
"How can you see us," Ironwood repeated.
"My semblance lets me see through mirrors," Farbe deadpanned.
"She's lying," Zama spoke up, suddenly drawing Farbe attention. An unkind look crossed the girl's face at the recognition.
"You're determined to be the bane of my existence, aren't you?" Farbe snarked.
"I am here to verify the truthfulness of your statements. If you're commenting about my actions that stopped your recent acts of terrorism, then you must understand, that was not personal," Zama answered, trying to be friendly.
"Whatever," Farbe shrugged at last. "Not like I cared about the Schnee job anyway."
"She's lying," Zama announced.
"Can you keep your mouth shut for two minutes-!" Farbe snapped.
"How is it you're able to see us?" Ironwood interjected again.
"Go on, ask me again," Farbe smirked.
Ironwood was unphased, but Schwarz, to tell by her tone, was rapidly losing interest in this conversation.
"I think this has gone on long enough," she said, coming to Ironwood's side. "We're wasting our time here. Let the police take care of her. We have our own business to attend to- hunting down whatever will be left of the One Ring in twenty four hours."
Schwarz spoke the words very seriously. And, the way she said them, it was easy to tell she wasn't bluffing. Because the One Ring, in particular, was concentrated very heavily in the Atllesian mainland, or, as military planners like to call it, within missile distance. And with the intel they'd gathered from Farbe's co-conspirators, and with the advantage of surprise, it wasn't surprising to hear that The One Ring was unlikely to be collecting on those fifty year bonds they'd acquired.
And, in particular, Farbe, who considered herself a good judge of truth- and who knew very well the strategic situation of the One Ring- believed every word and every intonation when Schwarz revealed that particular fact to her. And she laughed.
And Farbe seemed to be enjoying herself very much as she burst into giggles.
"Oh, this is precious," Farbe wiped at her eye with a finger. "You're really serious, aren;t you?"
"I fail to see what you find so funny."
"That you think I give a single shit about the "one ring"" Farbe said, putting overly dramatic air quotes around the phrase. "I couldn't care less if they disappeared off the face of the earth yesterday! And you shouldn't either, not when you've got far bigger problems to be dealing with!"
"She's telling the truth."
Immediately, every eye went to Zama.
"She believes she is telling the truth, anyway," Zama cushioned,, doing very little to relieve the extreme anxiety that had lifted up in the room.
Farbe seemed only to find this even more hilarious, and set up another uproarious fit of laughter.
Schwarz kept herself from asking the obvious question. It was apparent that Farbe took great joy in denying her answers. It was also apparent, however, that Farbe was impulsive, and, so it wasn't long before she started to grow annoyed with Schwarz's silence.
"You know what," Farbe said, after another moment of silence, still on the trailing edge of her laughter. "I'll tell you one thing." She turned suddenly to Mr. S to make the announcement. "You've got a traitor in your household."
"She's telling the truth."
Farbe quickly leapt back into the conversation to take advantage of the shock. "It's someone very close to you," Farbe answered. "Someone who you'd trust with your life, and with enough access keys to allow someone like me to hack into the security system," Farbe announced joyfully, hands held behind her back and hips swaying like a school girl.
Mr. S, along with Schwarz, turned to Zama with buggy eyes, hoping for a lie.
"Truth,' Zama said, focused intently on her observation of the girl.
"How else do you think we managed to mess with your cameras?" she asked obviously.
"Who is it?" Mr. S asked impulsively.
"Why, Schwarz, of course," Farbe answered, nearly sending him to arrhythmia.
"Lie," Zama said, very quickly bringing the energy back down to a manageable level.
Farbe, however, was content to raise the energy of her cell, and was currently drowning in the field of laughter she'd filled the empty space with.
"You didn't think I'd actually tell you, did you?" she said with obvious disdain, turning up a confident smirk in Mr. S's direction.
Mr. S only twitched his eye.
"Zama, what are the chances your truth telling is miscalibrated?" Mr. S asked.
"Ohhh! We can test that!" Farbe offered. "Just look!"' she started, clearing her throat and straightening up as if participating in a spelling bee.
"I am a four hundred foot, purple platypus with one horn and two wings," she commented leaning forward.
"Lie," Zama said intently.
"My name is Farbe!"
"True."
"And the One Ring doesn't mean anything. It never has, because you're dealing with things far beyond what you ever even imagined was even possible, Schnee. I know because I've seen it, because I've experienced it, and because it was enough to turn one of your closest allies against you!" Farbe said with an excited giggle.
Mr. S looked to Zama.
"True," Zama answered, eyes focused always on Zama's features.
"Who is it?" Mr. S asked, eyes narrowed, turning back to Farbe.
Farbe smirked. "I think it's better left as a surprise. She leant back coolly. "But hey, if you're really looking to get a head start on the situation, why not start by cutting down on your friends list? Maybe kill your wife while you're at it."
Mr. S turned again to Zama.
"That is not a statement of fact," Zama answered.
"Hahaha, you're still thinking there's a way out of this, don't you? Man, you really are delusional!" Farbe stifled her laughter suddenly, looking earnestly into Mr. S's eyes, and exposing the dark bags that stained her eyes. "You're so used to being in control, aren't you, big fish?" Farbe gathered. "Well, let me do you a favor and tell you this: there is no way out. Not for you, not for anyone working for you, not for anyone.
"Don't you understand?" Farbe paced, increasingly agitated. "This is bigger than you." She paused then, turning back to look at the mirror. Her reflection was flattering despite its apparent exhaustion, she decided. "You've still managed to catch the eye of someone very big, however," Farbe said, letting loose an excited chuckle.
"And, when they bring the hammer down... man," Farbe said, shaking her head almost with pity, "are you soooo fucked!"
"True." Zama interpreted.
