A/N: Things are looking up for some of our heroes. There's some backstory, too.
There's been some confusion in the reviews as to whether or not Semblances exist in this AU. To clarify, Semblances don't exist, but certain characters have abilities similar to their canonical semblances. For example, the Guides have pseudomagical illusion abilities (hence why characters with canonical illusion abilities are Guides). Hope that clears things up. Enjoy!
The Cities have been thrown into more confusion than Weiss has ever seen, and she doesn't know who to believe. Winter doesn't pick up her calls, and her father is determined not to mention the protests. Her father is set in his ways, and ignores what doesn't fit his ways. That strategy made him a titan of industry, but it makes conversation more than a little difficult. Even Klein tells her she's too young to be worrying about politics.
So Weiss goes to talk to Robyn again. Robyn may be a dangerous radical, but she tells Weiss the truth, and doesn't sugarcoat it. She never tells Weiss that she's too young to worry about her world.
Weiss stops by her campaign office, as Robyn likes to call a rented room in one of the cheaper areas of town that serves as her headquarters. Often, it's full of flyers being printed, or reporters demanding to know why an ex-scientist, stripped of her degrees for unethical experimentation, has chosen to run for office.
Robyn waves Weiss in and gestures to the rickety chair in front of her desk, which is piled high with papers and old coffee cups. Weis instinctively begins straightening some of the papers, because she doesn't like this level of disorder, and Robyn scowls at her.
"I know it looks like a mess, but I can find everything I need. Don't fuck up my filing system, kid."
Coming from Robyn, that's a cheery greeting, and Weiss opts to continue.
"Do you know who the people Winter found are?" she asks, determinedly ignoring the desk to stare Robyn in the eyes, because that's how she's been trained by her father and it's almost instinctive by now.
"I know one of them," Robyn mutters, taking a sip of coffee. Weiss waits, then prompts her,
"Who?"
"Watts," Robyn says curtly. "Arthur Watts. He used human subjects for his experiments on cyborgs, and got a little carried away. His creations were monstrous. Obviously, there was a trial, but he couldn't be sentenced to death because he was smart enough not to kill anyone. Atlas legal codes are very clear that only murder carries the death penalty. Instead of imprisonment, he got thrown down to the surface. Everyone assumed he'd be dead in days, but since a lot of people did survive down there, who knows."
Weiss was young when the trial happened, but she remembers bits and pieces.
"Isn't that why you were –" she begins, before realizing that it may not be the most tactful way to bring up Robyn's history.
Robyn sighs and aimlessly shuffles a few papers around her desk, before meeting Weiss's eyes for the first time. Weiss doesn't like when she does that; her eyes are too bright and unnatural, and her face is hard to read. Robyn scares Weiss, if she's being honest.
"We were assistants, working on the living side of things. None of it was our fault," she snaps. "I was the one who turned him in, when I realized what he'd done, and look what they did to me for it."
Robyn doesn't make a habit of using the royal "we" in conversation. Weiss wonders absently who the other people are.
"Well, maybe they assumed you were a willing participant in the experiments," Weiss offers. "You do have the eyes and the hair."
"The eyes and hair were an undergraduate genetic engineering project," she says. "I was thrown in with the criminals because your beloved sister wanted a scapegoat."
"Winter would never do that!"
Robyn chuckles, but there's no joy or humor behind it.
"I hate to break it to you, kid, but Winter would do anything to succeed. Back when we were friends I thought she had a heart, deep down, but now I'm not even sure."
Winter would never do something like that. Winter could never betray someone. Winter isn't –
"Whoa, don't cry over it. We all have family we hate."
Weiss pulls herself together long enough to storm out and catch a monorail back before her father notices she's been gone.
Her family has its fair share of skeletons in closets, but she never expected Winter to keep a secret like that from her. Weiss calls Winter again, and again, in hopes that if she picks up she'll explain, or reassure Weiss, or anything.
There's nothing. Weiss is still stuck between her own family and a choice she's beginning to regard as the more moral option.
…
Winter makes the call. She waits for far too long before Robyn Hill's face appears on her monitor.
"What do you want?" Robyn asks flatly. She's never been one for pleasantries.
Winter has the beginnings of a thousand sentences on the tip of her tongue, but no endings. She can't speak.
"I have nothing to say to you. If you're done wasting my time –"
The call ends and Winter stares at the blank screen, uselessly whispering the words she wishes she could have said.
…
Ruby isn't sure how far away is far enough, so they keep running. It takes them two days to get out into the scrublands, where the world is still flat and brown and dry, but there are plants hanging on, leeching what water they can from the cracked soil. Somewhere survivable.
The maps they have aren't much use for finding their team, Ruby realizes quickly. Out in the desert, the unpredictable terrain and mirages mean they could pass within miles, or less, without seeing each other. Ruby tries not to cry at that. They might be able to find a group, and if they get very lucky they might find their team someday.
Someday isn't a nice word. It's a fairy tale word, a vague little platitude. There's no real hope in it.
They're alive. That's the important part, Ruby reminds herself, so she sinks down in the dust with her team and unlaces her boots and makes a joke or two. They're free and alive, which is two steps in the right direction. Their team has to be somewhere, and there are only so many places the truck will go, when the toxic areas and the craters and the natural terrain are factored in.
They'll be all right, and for once, Ruby believes that with all her heart. She doesn't have to convince herself that things could be worse.
…
Ilia steps carefully between the tire tracks, trying to estimate when this camp was last occupied. The tracks are still visible, but there isn't much wind here, so it could be a week or so. The truck itself is one of the many repurposed fuel tankers drifting around the desert, tires obviously worn thin and patched with whatever material was available. Nothing identifying.
There is a mess of footprints visible in the dust, some already obscured by dust. It looks like they were made by a few different boots, but it's hard to tell when they overlap. The prints are clearest on the outside, and she migrates there, trying to pick out individual footprints. There's one with a pattern of hobnails still visible in the dust, another shorter and with a half-moon shaped heel. A few people were here, although they could be anyone.
The last footprint, half-erased by wind, has the unmistakable outline of a horseshoe embedded in the heel.
Blake always said that the horseshoes let her boots last longer, and gave her more traction, although Ilia thinks they're really just a superstition. Horseshoes for good luck.
Well, Ilia's certainly gotten a bit of good luck.
The tire tracks continue South, fading into the hills. Ilia follows them.