Chapter 49: Didn't see that coming, did ya?


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.


Mr. S had handled the news, and its subsequent appraisal... rather calmly.

And, calmly, he'd let Farbe know that, first of all, what she'd said wasn't true. And, secondly, that McGarnagle would be arriving tomorrow, and she would be in so much trouble when he got here.

Not in those words, but the meaning got across just the same as he loomed over the small woman and delivered the news.

Farbe laughed in his face.

This response did little to comfort him.

"And what do you find so funny?" Mr. S snapped, less calmly.

"You!" Farbe answered candidly. "The fact that you think you're getting any answers out of me!"

"Oh, believe me, you're quite mistaken if you think that you have any choice in the matter," Mr. S retorted, defaulting to the upper crust verbiage this body came pre-installed with

"Oh, I believe it is you that's 'mistaken', Schnee." Farbe said with a drunk attempt to mimic his upper class twang. "You don't know anything!" she finished off,

"That's what McGarnagle is for," Mr. S answered glibly, ignoring the gentle pressure on his arm as Schwarz tried to coax him out of the room and out of this argument.

"Oh, does McGarnagle know where Adam's body is, then?"

The pressure disappeared from his arm, as renewed curiosity distracted Schwarz from the effort. Ironwood and Zama, too, drew a little closer towards the glass.

"Didn't think I knew about that little fact, did ya!" Farbe laughed. "I know a lot of other things, too. Like, I know you're not getting any answers out of me, McGarnagle or no McGarnagle." Farbe sobered up, suddenly. "And I also know, that when you die, it's going to be alone, in bed, by the hand of the same person that granted me every access code in the palace."


Outside, Twilight, Ochre and Skye stood guard, blending into the little nooks and crannies of the outdoor café that bordered the Atlas police depot.

Looking at them, one would have had a tough time figuring out that they were guarding anything at all, much less that they were all working together to over watch the quiet outdoor table that was in their common center.

Mr. S had been worried that he'd attract attention in such a public location. And, given that everyone in a one square block radius was, at least discreetly, staring at him, he appeared to have done a good job of that. However, none approached, whether from star-truck disbelief or revulsion, he had no idea, and he didn't care, either. What mattered was that they stayed away, and that was good enough, as far Mr. S was concerned.

Because, you see, Mr. S was no longer very calm and, as soon as they had exited the police building, he insisted that Schwarz and he have a chat- immediately.

Claiming a café table for themselves, Mr. S waited as Schwarz sprinkled some ultrasonic grenades around them- a move he'd been assured would create an impenetrable sound pocket for their privacy. Of course the grenades did very little about the light escaping from their position, so the key of the deception lay in their outward disposition. They were to act as if they were conversing about some mundane matter. Personally, Mr. S had very little trouble acting calm, because, internally, he was panicking more than he'd ever remembered was even possible. And it was a curious habit of Mr. S's that, the higher stakes rose, and the more abjectly his heart protested, the calmer he grew.

In this concoction of concern and panic- everything became crystal clear. Realizations battered him and- by the time Schwarz had finished setting the grenades- so many conclusions had bottled themselves up inside, he was nearly shaking from the effort of holding them in.

So, when Schwarz activated the grenades and gave him the all clear, he hardly waited to relive himself of the burden.

"Ok," he began immediately, leaning forward on the table. "It seems clear that Farbe was telling the truth. It's also clear that she has an object to deceive us; in all probability, she only meant to tell us enough to draw us into a useless panic, but I believe she may have revealed more of her hand than she intended."

Schwarz remained silent, looking patiently at him for his next words.

"She's confirmed that you are not the traitor, for one. She has also confirmed that that there is only one traitor. This…. makes our job far easier. Can you pull up the relational map?"

Schwarz did as he asked.

"What's that?' he asked, pointing to the filter constant.

"It's a parameter to filter for who has enough security access to give Farbe the capabilities she displayed."

"That is a lot of people," Mr. S scowled at the display.

"I'm sorry sir, but it's unclear exactly how much direct access the conspirator had. They could simply have given her enough information to hack into the system herself. They could have also used their position to steal more sensitive codes. And, many people in the castle are in a position to do that, even if only irregularly."

"Such as?"

"Well, anyone with a level two access pass, sir," Schwarz answered.

Mr. S took a deep, frustrated breath as he brought his hands up to his nose. Unfortunately, he knew exactly what that meant, and it encompassed basically everyone he'd ever chanced to have a face to face conversation with: the head staff, the secondary head staff, the head of the night shift, the head of the skeletal crew, several dozen experts, many members of his extended in-laws.

In short, this would be attempting to find a silver hay-stalk in a box of needles, and the hay-stalk could lie about not being a needle.

All in all, not the best circumstances to find yourself in after finishing your 2 O'Clock.

Mr. S took a deep breath, and voluntarily shut down that antsy part of him that kept wanting to dig for solutions, to create elaborate plans to fix the situation. That wouldn't get him anywhere, now. He would just have to wait for McGarnagle to return to Atlas, and they'd make plans once they had the information. For now…

"Schwarz, I need you to put Zama on the security team," Mr. S said.

Schwarz immediately leapt to challenge, aghast.

Mr. S interrupted her: "I understand you have your objections, and I respect that, but whatever danger Zama represents, it isn't something I'm too worried about considering the circumstances," Mr. S gestured to the police station.

"Sir," Schwarz began strongly, " this isn't the time to introduce new people. In fact, this is exactly when we want to retreat to our core-"

"I'm not asking!" Mr. S snapped.

Schwarz became quiet, as if coming to a natural pause. He looked more surprised than her, Mr. S noted after some brief self analysis.

He quickly snapped back, however, speaking with terse admission. "Induct Zama into the new security procedures," Mr. S said. "If you can manage to do that without giving her a position on the security team, very well. Otherwise, give her whatever concessions she wants, just get on our side."


Ironwood stood apart from their table, scroll pressed against his ear, talking discreetly of sensitive matters.

"Yes, I'm certain she's the one behind this." he trailed a quiet look behind him for any potential eavesdroppers. "The testimony fits."

"You didn't tell them about her?"

"Of course I didn't," Ironwood denied, "though I have half a mind to."

"Ironwood, be reasonable," the voice soothed. "There's no reason to cause a panic."

"They're already panicked, Ozpin, and I fail to see how keeping them in the dark about this is helping anyone. You were the one who inducted the Schnees into our little group, and you told them about the Maidens all those years ago. Yet, you maintain that we keep Salem's existence from them, even as she sends assassins into Atlas?".

"There are different levels of trust I'm willing to extend, James," Ozpin answered. "The Schnees have always been valued allies, but Jacques is… well, he's always been a rather extreme person, more so recently. Don't worry about the assassins, I'm working on my end to take care of that situation, but now isn't the time to introduce unknown assets into our plans, General. You know this as well as I do. Just make sure the Fall Maiden remains safe in Atlas."

"I remember Nicholas calling you a friend," Ironwood said, "and he's acted as such- but he didn't even know your true name. did he?"

Ozpin replied, a bit of weary emotion crossing his voice. "I'm not in a position to reveal everything to everyone."

"Yes," Ironwood agreed, "though I've always wondered where I stood in that regard."

"I trusted you enough to guard the Fall Maiden. That should say enough."

"You trusted Jacques with that, too," Ironwood said.

"And here I thought my trust was too closely guarded," the voice rattled with old humor, interrupted when a distant voice called from the other line. "I must be off, now. Keep me updated."

"Of course."

Ozpin cut off, just in time for Schwarz to come within earshot.

Ironwood looked curiously around her figure. Behind her, Mr. S was sitting alone at a café table. Schwarz, with her scowling eyes, proved to be the more pertinent matter, however, and Ironwood refocused the bulk of his attention onto her, careful not to acknowledge her change of mood.

"Schwarz," Ironwood greeted.

"General," Schwarz nodded coolly.

Ironwood remained silent. Naturally, asking her why she'd approached him came to mind, but he felt that line of questioning led to whatever was so obviously ruining her day and, being ever the strategist, Ironwood swiftly deduced that nothing good lay down that path. So, he resolved to let her begin the conversation.

Schwarz obliged and started off with something they both already knew the answer to: "I trust you will be moving Farbe to a higher security cell?"

With Farbe already being held in custody in the heart of the police district, the precaution could rightly have been called overkill. And Ironwood was one hundred percent in favor.

"She's already been moved." Ironwood showed her the security footage on his scroll of Farbe, surrounded by a heavily armed guard, exiting the claustrophobic confines of the specialty elevator, and entering into her new cell- three-quarters of a kilometer underground.

Schwarz nodded appraisingly, as if the measure was only just secure enough.

Ironwood shrugged embarrassedly back at her, as if saying: "the council wouldn't pay for a full kilometer tunnel."

"Very well, thank you." Schwarz turned to leave- but then paused.

"Is… there something else you needed to go over?" Ironwood asked.

Schwarz turned to him with a displeased look, forcing herself to say the words: "please let Zama know that- if she still wishes it- she has been accepted into Schnee security."


Houses were an ancient thing. Entire lineages of nobles, engineers, maids, doctors and people could trace their ancestry back a thousand years with a particular house.

And the members of these houses, from the highest heir to the most junior maid, were all rabidly protective, fiercely loyal, and proud to the end.

This severe, almost overwhelming, level of loyalty,- well, it could also be an insecure and fragile beast, at times. And, right now, despite wanting oh-so-much to just run into his room and snort some books until he calmed down, Mr. S understood that that wasn't what the Manor needed to see right now.

Of course, he didn't understand this instinctually. He'd even almost told Schwarz that he didn't care about the speech- until he realized that Willow Schnee would also be Making an Appearance that was. And, if there was one thing that Mr. S understood, it was that- for Willow Schnee to come out of her room… well, suffice it to say, he didn't dare to mess with forces that could call upon such miracles.

Now if only Schwarz would just smile.

"You know,' Mr. S started, turning to Schwarz, "I think Zama's going to be a great addition to the castle staff."

Schwarz didn't answer, though, to tell by her look, she didn't seem to agree.

Mr. S charged on, openly testing her patience and looking to draw out some response.

"I mean, just imagine how much trouble we could have been saved if we'd done this earlier! She solved that poison case in seconds!"

"She happened to awaken on the day Farbe decided to plant a bomb in the mail room," Schwarz corrected. "We would have found her ourselves, given enough time. Farbe and her group had stopped receiving instructions from the One Ring after their initial plot failed; they were becoming reckless- all the more after we captured the majority of them."

"Still, the efficiency with which she found it out!"

"Yes, she does seem to be very efficient at hacking into our systems," Schwarz sniped.

Mr. S didn't have the opportunity to respond. They'd reached the procession of servants who were standing anxiously at the foot of the palace gates; after several minutes of uninterrupted wading, the last of the servants parted, and- lined up against the wall- the VIPs revealed themselves. Mrs. Schnee, Weiss and Whitely stood in line, dressed in stiff, formal clothes. Next to them, a line of chairs carried the heads of staff, several members of the Atlas council, as well as some other important individuals.

Mr. S made his way to his spot: the podium.

He coughed a bit into the mic, glancing subtly down at the script sheet laid out in front of him.

"Now, I'm likely not the first one to say this, but… has anyone else noticed the spies?" His voice came out, hesitant and booming, from the castle speakers.

Not missing a beat, the audience replied with their own uproarious laughter.

There, that was a good start to the proceedings.

The rest of the speech: a moving piece of rhetoric about the history and pride of the Schnee family, went equally smoothly.

To go over the highlights, the purpose of the speech was simply to convey three simple ideas:

One: That the security situation was now completely under control, and that something like this would never happen again.

Two: That Farbe had confessed everything, and that the One Ring, who were behind everything, were no longer a problem.

And the third point, Mr. S improvised. For, as his speech drew to a close, and Mr. S ran through the final acknowledgements and thanks- he came upon a bright idea when he noticed Zama sitting quietly by Ironwood and thought: 'hey, why not?'

"And, lastly," he spread his arm out to Zama, "I would like to introduce the newest member of our security team: Zama!"


Schwarz was not happy with the unplanned announcement.

"How could you make that announcement without telling me!?" Schwarz whispered, scowling and pointing fingers.

Around the corner of the Schnee manor, where none could see them, Schwarz was less restricted in her public actions- none of them congratulatory.

"You agreed she'd be allowed in!"

"Yes, but I'm the head of security! I'm the one who's supposed to make that announcement!" Schwarz said, with nervousness wracking her voice.

Immediately, a dawning expression of truth lit up Mr. S's features.

He'd… treated Schwarz too familiarly, he realized. In private, he counted her as a friend. In public, however, making the announcement for her? How would that look, especially after the recent breaches of security?

"Schwarz, you know that's not how I intended it," he started.

"The staff doesn't know that!" Schwarz whispered yet more expressively. "I'm not a Schnee! Do you have any idea how it looks when you take liberties like that!"

"The staff like you!" Mr. S promised, having heard as much from the heads.

"The staff likes me," Schwarz depressed abruptly, "but they'd love it if you'd hired a Schnee for the position. They hardly trust me, outside oof the security team… and I'm the one who hired them."

"Mr. S… knew that wasn't true. And he felt shocked into stillness by the revelation. He… hadn;t imagined that Schwarz would think of herself that way. Mr. S was never the best with emotions, and, at a loss for anything else to say, he defaulted to the truth.

"I trust you, Schwarz."

Schwarz laughed. "Well, I doubt I'd have gotten the job if you didn't."

Mr. S looked off to the side. "And, that's something I've been wanting to talk with you about, actually."

"What do you mean?"

Mr. S wasn't quite sure how to put it delicately, so he didn't. "I want you to be the new CEO, Schwarz.".

Schwarz, by her reaction, showed him that he could have afforded to put the matter a bit more delicately.

"What!?"

"Only for a short while!" Mr. S implored, making shushing motions with his hand as he looked over his shoulder. "And I'll be with you every step of the way."

"The board will never accept it!"

Mr. S sighed at that. "Schwarz, you know that I trust you."

"You've said that," Schwaz stated.

"I trust you," Mr. S repeated, "to act in this house's best interest. And, title or no, I'm calling on you to do just that."

Schwarz paused. "I don't understand." She shook her head.

"I'll still be the CEO in name," Mr. S explained, "but I need you to run things on my behalf for a while. I'll give you my access codes, my passwords, my word, everything."

"I'm not qualified!" Schwarz said, scrambling madly. "You've been the head for over two decades, sir! I wouldn't be half as good a CEO!"

"That's not true," Mr. S said, looking earnestly into her eyes.

"I don't know the first thing about running this company! What happens if I make a mistake?"

"I'll take the blame," Mr. S said, speaking with quiet surety. "The board doesn't need to know about this arrangement. Besides, I trust you; and you've been shadowing me for years. Besides, Schwarz, you're smart-" Mr. S said with an easy chuckle, "I think you can manage to play the part for several months."

Schwarz, seeing no way out, asked: "why are you doing this?" in a quiet voice. "Why now?"

"Because, Schwarz," Mr. S said, mirroring her silence, "I need to take on a project, a big one. I can't do that while I'm running the company, and I need someone I can trust at the helm while I'm away."

"But-"

"I'm not asking for miracles, Schwarz," Mr. S begged, taking her hands in his own, "I just need someone to hold it all together. Just keep it from falling apart. You don't need to raise the stock, you don't have to do anything, just keep everything steady. I need the time to focus on my project, and you're the one person I can trust to take this burden from me while I do that."

Schwarz looked down, taking a deep breath and exhaling frustrated through her nostrils. "I suppose I'm not in a position to say no, am I?"

Mr. S smiled. "Thank you, Schwarz."

Schwarz looked dejected. "I'll have Beryl take over your personal security," she said. "She's already experienced in managing the girls; she can be brought up to speed quickly enough."

"Actually, I was thinking Zama might be a more adequate replacement."

Schwarz abruptly straightened. "Sir-!"

"Schwarz"- Mr. S interrupted, putting a steadying hand on the woman's shoulder- "if anyone is going to waste their time following me around like a bodyguard, she's the one that can be spared. Besides, she's well suited to the task, if nothing else- nothing seems to get past her."

Schwarz bristled at the logic. "Be that as it may, I don't see why you are so eager to heap responsibility onto the girl."

"Zama has more than earned it; and with what Farbe's admitted to, this is no time to take Beryl or anyone in the security team off their regular duties. Their efforts are best devoted to the protection of the castle, and I won't see any one of them pulled away from that task for my sake."

"Sir-"

"I don't see why you're so resistant, Schwarz. I doubt you were planning to induct Zama into the essentials of castle security- and this way she never even has to touch the subject. She can guard me, and, fairly, she's better suited to that role than just about any hunter on Remnant.

"I'm not denying that." Schwarz looked down with a hard expression, "But it would be a dereliction of my duty if I didn't speak out-"

"I know, I know," Mr. S comforted, "but that's exactly the issue. You're duty bound to consider the worst case. Zama isn't that worst case, Schwarz. If she really wanted to harm me, she could have just stayed silent this morning, and we'd both be battling the police right now. She's proven herself to be a good person, both in this life and in her last, and I know she'll prove that to you, too."

Schwarz huffed, silent.

Mr. S smiled, "this isn't the first time an outsider has had to prove themselves in the Schnee Manor, you know."

"That is hardly the same," Schwarz crossed her arms and looked off to the side.

"Then I'll see you in the briefing room at lunch," Mr. S said cheerfully, patting the woman on the arm. "I'll give you my passcodes, then."

And all was good.


Mr. S was happy to make it to what was rapidly becoming his favorite part of the day- the end.

His schedule was run through, the checklist had been checked off, all the chaos of the morning was behind him, and all that was left to do now was to enjoy mid-evening break before the call to sleep.

Ah, yes, sleep, when reality shut up.

And, of course, Mr. S made sure to enjoy his free time, too, when he could get it. In the four hours before his designated bed time, Mr. S was often left alone in his office, at his request, and here he was free to study whatever eclectic topic his heart desired. Granted, as mentioned, most of his hearts desires recently had been mind-numbing financial papers recommended to him by Mr. Schnee, as well as the occasional history book and personal letter, but Mr. S had cleared through all of that crap just yesterday and finally, finally, he could actually get to the interesting stuff!

Oh, what to pick, what to pick! Perhaps a dust theory book? A selection on the history of Atlas? Or Maybe he could pick up a novel, see whatever they had bouncing around on this new world.

Here, during his break time, he was left alone, and therefore free to pick up any subject without fear of arousing suspicion.

A correction- it'd be more true to say that, up to this point, he had been left alone, because Schwarz had understood that concepts like personal space and privacy were things to be cherished, or at least not spat upon like they were the barnyard bitch.

Zama, despite his many explanations, didn't seem to be getting the point.

And so, for this evening's break time, Mr. S sat alone in his office, with Zama looming over him like a sentinel on guard.

And, dejectedly, he'd gone and picked out some more boring financial papers that Mr. S was more likely to have been reading.

About two seconds in, he gave up trying to play the act, and went over to one of the wall shelves to pick out a more interesting book. Ah, here was an interesting looking one: The book he picked out was small and light, and it's cover popped with the pulp colors he'd so often seen on the trash fantasy magazines that had seen him through his earlier days. "Grimm: A Hand Guide," the title read. On the cover, there was a monstrous looking wolf-creature snarling out at the reader.

Eh, why not, he'd sat through worse comics, Mr. S shrugged.

He carried the book back to his desk.

Flipping open the pulp cover, he was surprised to discover, on the first white page, a prominent prologue, with a stark and cryptic warning printed in bold ink.

The Grimm are the only creatures on remnant without a soul. They know nothing of suffering, of death. They are innocent of any intention. Gods have mercy on any who meet with them. Gods have mercy.

Now that, Mr. S had to admit, was a page turner.

And, upon turning to the rest of the pages, Mr. S was surprised to discover that it was fairly plainly laid out and, to be quite frank, boring. He'd read materials reference books that were more exciting.

Mr. S had been prepared to dismiss the work as a tasteless world building exercise but, to his credit, he had learned a bit more, now, about making assumptions. And Mr. S also remembered that the first reference to Grimm he'd seen had been in something that purported to be a history book. But… that hadn't been a history book, right? That was just a fantasy book… I mean, what kind of history book included pictures of Ravens larger than a Cessna!

Although, come to think of it, Mr. S had also remembered people making casual reference to Grimm in ordinary conversation. He never really thought to question it, so naturally had it been fit but…

Ok, Mr. S decided, pulling out his scroll and typing in the search terms, either this was a very, very, incredibly popular fantasy book that was influencing everybody or-

And then the first video of a Beowolf tearing through a village's defensive walls and snapping an Atlas robot apart at the torso came onto his screen. The Colossus Algorithm confirmed it wasn't a fake.

This… Mr. S realized, required more investigation.

...

Several minutes of investigation proved that this world was fucked.

Because, you see, it wasn't necessarily the horrible monsters covering eighty percent of this world's land area that had Mr. S worried. Rather, it was the blasé reaction this fancy seemed to be eliciting from all the crazy people around him.

'Oh, have you heard the stock-'

Who cares about the stock! Mr. S wanted to yell. And who keeps texting him about the dust palace. There are evidently bigger problems. Why did no one tell him!? He'd been called in here to investigate a terrorist organization for goodness's sake! What about the eldritch horrors with a weirdly particular hate for humanity knocking at your window Mr. Schnee!? Couldn't have mentioned that during your little pep talk? What the fuck! What the fuck!?

Ok, ok, he calmed, seeing the necessity to get his thoughts in order. The Grimm were obviously not natural; that was axiomatic. Now, as to who could have created them… perhaps the force that was also funding the white fang? There was little evidence of course, and the only connecting theme between the two mystery agents was hating humanity but it made him feel better to come to a conclusion, so he stuck with it.

Then again, he did have confirmation that at least two "gods" were behind his transportation to this world, perhaps another god was in the works? If not, perhaps one of the two gods themselves? That would certainly cast some doubt on the idea that they were working together; then again, if mythology was anything to go by, divine beings could be fickle at the best of times… aghhh! It could all be so confusing.

Mr. S resisted the urge to slam his head onto the tabletop below, barely. Instead he rammed his elbows onto the object, gripping his head in a tight embrace of fingers as he ran through the permutations.

Off to the side, while he was thinking, he noticed the evening light gave everything in his office a tinted, purple color, one which was promptly washed out in the sudden fluorescence that lit the space when the office lights, just on time, lit up.

The light caused him to blink, but it also revealed a fact that had been harder to notice in the muted light of the earlier window- namely that Zama was now standing at his office doors, locking them with his key which he didn't remember giving to her.

"Uh, hey Zama," Mr. S said, more out of politeness than any genuine caring. "What are you doing?"

"I'm locking the doors," Zama answered simply. "I felt it would be an improvement to security procedure to have more absolute control over who can enter uninvited."

Mr. S hardly gave her a second glance, mumbling out some accepting words as he looked back down at his desk, which was gleaming in the new fluorescent light, and went back to thinking over this new conundrum. It was perhaps strange of him to be so fixated on the object of Grimm, but the idea hit an emotional core that stung. The idea that monsters were real, actually real, and that they ate children's hearts out some nights.

Mr. S felt a cold shiver run through him. He turned and looked at the fifty foot window. The sudden lighting had created a backlight effect, and the picturesque evening scene out of the window was now replaced with a claustrophobic, tinted reflection of his own office. He could see himself easily, a white figure against the black- half mirrored view of the darkness outside. It was so dark outside now, and, Mr. S felt his gut falling out from underneath him as he contemplated the thoughts. He also noticed that Zama was, once again, at the doors, bending a steel bar around the handles like it was a pretzel.

Once she'd noticed him looking at her, Zama paused, and turned to him with a friendly smile. "Locks can be hacked, sir. A hardware solution is always preferable for security cases."

That… Mr. S decided after a moment of quiet deliberation, was within normal operating conditions for the strange girl, and swiftly endeavoured not to waste too much thought on the matter as he engaged with his existential crisis.

"Yes, uh, carry on," Mr. S mumbled, swiftly returning to his wallowing.

And, in the depths of horror that had taken him, the loud his of metal against metal struck him like lightning, and he sat up in his chair with a startle.

Standing before him, with her arms raised slightly about her, Zama was facing the window, which was swiftly being covered by two, twenty five foot long, velvet curtains that drew over it like the closing act of a play.

"What's going on?" Mr. S asked, a fearful, panicked note taking his voice as the hissing, ear ringing sound of metal on metal continued to play as the curtains closed. It sounded like some monstrous snake.

"I do not believe it is safe to have the curtains remain open in such conditions, sir," Zama answered earnestly. "Snipers are a primary danger when engaging inside of the castle exterior."

Awww… she was really trying to do her job, just like everyone else during their first two weeks. She really was a real girl.

And Mr. S had to admit, that expression of enthusiastic overpreparation on her part got to him. A short chuckle rose up in him, making him feel just a bit better after everything. Really, the mood lifted couldn't have come at a better time: he'd almost completely forgotten about his distant Grimm worries.

And then the lights suddenly went off. There was no warning flicker, or any other sign of failure, they'd gone off as surely as if Mr. S had flicked the power switch.

Mr. S stopped laughing. His first instinct had been to curse, as he'd just known that the backup power generators were unreliable. But, then he remembered that the manor wasn't running on backup power anymore. They'd reconnected to the city power supply this afternoon. Suddenly, his silence took on a more ominous turn. He looked around himself in the pitch darkness.

The wind touching his face was the only hint that his head was actually swiveling- the complete darkness gave him a sudden, senseless longing to open his eyes for a second time.

"Zama," he spoke simply, "did the power go out?"

"No sir," Zama's voice came from ahead of him. Strange, he was sure she'd been standing to his right earlier, must've lost his sense of direction with his sight.

"What happened?"

"I have shut off the lighting in this room. I have also blocked any warning transmissions from being sent out into the rest of the castle. I am even currently sending false footage through the security camera network. No one who is monitoring us will see anything strange."

"Zama, why did you turn off the lights," Mr. S answered, voice so cold and crisp he could have bitten into it.

"You can not see in the dark, can you?" Zama answered, and suddenly two, red eyes popped into existence before him, hovering in the air like glowing lanterns and approaching with soft, thudding footsteps that shook the floor.

"Most humans generally can't," Mr. S answered, keeping a deciduous sense of calm about himself.

"And you are human?"

"Yes," Mr. S answered.

"Who are you?" Zama asked.

Mr. S, despite everything, was surprised at that question. "I'm Mr. Schnee," he answered.

The lantern eyes tilted suddenly, one rising above the other with a questioning cant.

"Why do you not have a soul?" Zama's voice came out at last.

Immediately, the obvious conclusions stabbed into him with a terrible realization. He felt the sweat rising as an...unfairness twisted itself inside of him like a stabbed knife. He... didn't know what to do.

He would have held higher hopes, but he knew now that the only things on this world without an Aura were Grimm, and that would bring up questions he would be hard pressed to answer when people finally realized-

"Why do you not have a soul?" Zama insisted softly. By now, the soft thudding of her dense footsteps had ceased, and she was standing just two arm length's away from him, looking down at him with baleful impartiality.

"Would you believe that i-"

SCHING!

An explosion of sound, of shrieking metal cut through him, and interrupted his words. The sound reverberated in the cavernous room like twinkling razor blades, and set Mr. S's heart beating at record speed as he forced himself into a calm breath. Around the eyes, the glowing, red, markings of Zama's red swords unfurled themselves like a tail fan.

"Please, answer honestly;" Zama's said politely. "Your continued existence may depend on it."


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