Chapter 33

Incendium Magnum Romae

XXXXX

Winter's heart thumped as she left Ironwood's office. A heavy yellow packet labeled "confidential" was in her hands. She had already read it twice, carefully analyzing every last word, making sure she understood it perfectly. Even when Ironwood had already gone over it with her page by page, it was still hard to believe.

Considered for Winter Maiden candidacy.

There had been five files on Ironwood's desk when she had arrived. Each with a different name on it. Harriet Bree, Elm Ederne, Robyn Hill, May Marigold, and hers. The explanation was simple. The Winter Maiden was Atlas's Maiden, and she was getting old. The power was passed on when a Maiden died, and there was reason to believe either Caesar or Salem would try to steal it. So candidates for the inheritor were being considered.

She was one of the front runners.

The implication was a little overwhelming. She had always been proud that she was a trusted confidant of General Ironwood, but she didn't think that she of all people was being considered for such a responsibility. Even with the restriction that only younger women could become new Maidens, she had been picked from the innumerable mass of a nation with only four others being considered. And Hill and Marigold were labeled as runner-up options. Ironwood had been light on the details, but apparently, Hill had recently announced her intention to run for Council on a platform that was highly critical of the current administration, Marigold supporting her. General Ironwood needed someone he could trust without a doubt to wield the Winter Maiden's power. And at the moment, he had narrowed it down to her, and two members of the most decorated special forces unit in the kingdom.

This was a lot to take in.

Mercifully, her life had trained her well in maintaining composure. Despite her heartbeat thudding against her rib cage, her breath was steady, her back straight, and her stride purposeful. Even with the weight of the situation pressing down on her, she still had control of her actions and the dignity of a specialist of Atlas. It was an ability she took pride in. Losing that control had been a massive factor in why her encounter with Jacques had stung so badly. But that felt like it had occurred years ago with everything she had to deal with now.

Methodically, she traced the steps to the barracks that James's companions had been issued. He had invited her to join them when he was done, and right now she needed to talk to someone. Before too long, she came to the entrance. To her surprise, someone was standing outside. The man with sunglasses and a beret, Boone. His head jerked in her direction the second she rounded the corner. He was sharp if nothing else.

"Specialist," he said, giving a firm nod. "Good to see you. If you want James, he's inside." He was nursing a bottle of beer in his hand. Winter couldn't help but notice he had yet to open it, nor did he seem to be in any hurry to do so.

"And you…apologies, I didn't get your rank," Winter said, falling back on her professional disposition. In many ways, this was comfortable and easier.

Boone shook his head. "Don't have one, walked when I got my papers." Understandable. "Hey, by the way. Thank you." Winter blinked.

"For what?"

Boone stuck his thumb at the door behind him. "For keeping that one alive. When we're not around to keep an eye on him, he has a talent for getting himself into death traps that he only barely survives. And Remnant is one step beyond anything he ever could've handled by himself. He's missing half his face. But I'm willing to bet you're the reason he still has a face at all. So. Thank you."

"We both watched each other's backs," Winter said bluntly. It was the truth. That was simply what you did. James meant a lot to her, but you didn't play favorites in life-or-death situations, you gave 100% every time for everyone.

To her appreciation, Boone seemed to understand. "Still, thank you. We were worried that this might finally be what makes him bite it. Anyway, I won't hold you up anymore. Just…," he paused, his voice trailing.

"Just…be careful," Boone said. He wasn't quite looking at her as he spoke, more staring beyond her. This was feeling uncomfortably familiar. "The Legion is cruel. They think they're masters of others, that everyone beyond their borders is theirs to break, reshape, and torment as they see fit. They'd do unspeakable things, things no man has a right to do, to all of us. Our punishment for daring to defy them. Particularly if it meant it got to someone who pissed them off. No matter what they'd have to do." His jaw noticeably clenched.

Winter could tell there was more here. Not that it was any of her business. She barely knew Boone, and if he didn't want to share, that was his prerogative. Still, his advice had some merit. She couldn't help but wonder if she had earned the Legion's ire by this point. It was something to contemplate. "I will," Winter said.

"Pleasure to meet you," he said, stepping aside. Winter felt an odd sense of reassurance as she moved towards the door. James seemed to surround himself with good, reliable people.

"James you one-eyed fuck! If you marked these cards I swear to Christ!"

Right. Cass. Wincing, she shot a look at Boone. He shrugged. "I'm out here for a reason." Bracing herself, she walked in.

The room was packed in a way only a barracks could be. Winter has long since earned enough rank and prestige to be assigned private quarters, but she could never forget the years she had spent sharing. The way how half of those inside could be lying in their beds and yet there was maybe five square feet of ground free. And somehow that five square feet was expertly spread about to enable semi-effective, if cramped, travel. Calling upon old muscle memory, she slipped through the crowd, bypassing the blue giant Lily and the bespectacled blonde Arcade, she found herself in the middle of the room.

Cass was violently glaring at a smug-looking James over a cheap fold-out table covered in playing cards. His bandages had long since been taken off, revealing a face that was healed but covered with a mess of burn scars around his left eye. Bandages still covered where his ear had been. Talks were in place to get him a prosthetic.

A massive pile of bottle caps (Winter still had a hard time believing anything of the such could be considered money) was on James's end, while a comparatively tiny pile was on Cass's. Indeed, the game didn't even seem to be taking James's full attention. In addition to the almost empty beer bottle on his end, a sight Winter wasn't particularly fond of, he was sealing up a rusty tin can with duct tape. Now that Winter looked closer, she spotted an empty soda bottle by his feet, one she recalled him receiving from Ironwood. James had claimed the material was explosive, though she doubted he would get much out of a grenade made from old chemicals and a discarded soup can. Still, if he wanted to be resourceful she was hardly going to shame him.

"Veronica, this seal look good to you?" he asked, holding the crude grenade up and shaking it. On the far end of the room, Veronica was looking over the Hellfire armor that James had taken from the Scattered base. A set of tools was scattered around her as she carefully replaced armor plating. She idly nodded as she adjusted her shoulder, talking into a scroll.

"Look, don't overthink it," she said as she picked up a wrench to fasten the last plate. "Just talk to her. This is gonna be hard, but it'll be manageable if you start small. I know what it feels like to have someone you care about not be in your life; it can't be fixed in a day. Trying to rush it is just gonna make things worse." As she got the last plate affixed, she turned and noticed Winter for the first time. Her face turned red. "Uh, I'm going to have to call you back. You can do this, I know you can." With that, she ended the call.

Winter frowned as she slowly began to connect the dots. She was fairly certain she knew who Veronica had been talking to, a feeling that only intensified with the guilty smile she was given as a greeting. It was, however, very quickly pushed to the back of her mind. "What's up?" Now fully aware of her presence, James had risen to his feet, eyes focusing. "Everything ok?"

"Yes," she said. "I just need a word." Thankfully, this seemed to be all he needed. With that, he was out of his seat, a quick apology said to his friends, and they were out of the barracks. Without a word, Boone slipped back inside. Flicking the envelope open, she handed the contents to James and explained.

For the next ten minutes, he was silent as he read and listened. It almost felt off for him, James was normally the type who was very adept in informing others how he felt. But she appreciated it. When it was over, he handed the documents back. "Are you ok?"

There had been a dozen questions she had expected. This wasn't one of them. "I think I am," she said honestly.

However much he had drunk, his wits were about him, as his eyes watched hers carefully. "I saw how Pyrrha was when she got selected to carry on the Autumn Maiden. It was a lot on her." He frowned in frustration. "I can't say I fully understand it, I don't. But I know it's important. That it's a responsibility makes you a target. I don't doubt you're one of the best for the job. But is this what you want?"

What she wanted? She paused. This would be an order. An irreplaceable asset needed experienced hands to utilize and safeguard it. They had seen firsthand what it could do when stolen by the malicious. What she wanted didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. But then again, James wasn't asking that question on behalf of the grand scheme. So, is it what she wanted?

"I don't want it," Winter said, thinking out her answer as she gave it. "This isn't a lifelong dream or passion. But it's a duty. A duty I can do and do well. Has it been thrust upon me? Yes. So no. I don't want it. But I accept it. And that's good enough for me."

James nodded, understanding in his remaining eye. "If it's not too personal, can I ask what you do want?"

"To serve Atlas and assist General Ironwood as best I can," she said without hesitation.

A smile crossed James's lips. "The guy means a lot to you, doesn't he?"

She nodded. "When I left home, I was angry, directionless. He helped mold me into something better. He's not quite a father to me, our relationship is far too professional for that. But he is my inspiration. So. I'd gladly bear this responsibility for him."

James nodded. "Ok. That's good. Because with Pyrrha it wasn't this cut and dry. I don't think it's what she wanted to do with her life and it hit her pretty hard. I had to have a talk with her about it, try and tell her that your dreams not working out is part of life."

"Well look at you, imparting wisdom on the children. Ozpin was onto something when he hired you," she said playfully. It was sweet that he had bothered to check to make sure she was ok, even if it wasn't necessary.

James shrugged. "I was just telling them about what I've lived through. It's not sage wisdom, it's a fifty-year-old rambling about himself because it's the only subject I'm an expert on. And I've lived that. Sometimes there's a dream you have, that you dedicate your life to, and things just go wrong. It doesn't work out, something else takes your focus, and you have to deal with the cards life dealt you. Besides. Like I said."

Slowly, he lifted a hand. Rough leather pressed into her cheek as he gently caressed it. "You sometimes end up finding things along the way. Precious things. Things we would've missed."

Winter's face felt just a bit warmer as her heart skipped a bear. She had to admit, that had been rather suave. Letting everything go for the smallest of moments, she closed her eyes, enjoying the heat through his glove. A few seconds later, the hand lowered. "You're sweet," she said, opening her eyes. It was tempting to follow up on that and just let everything else slip away for a while. But she had work to do. "Is Pyrrha ok? What did you mean she was taking it hard?"

"I mean it looked like she was about to start crying," James said, a concerned frown seizing his lips. "It's disconcerting. She was such a solid rock both times she fought the Legion, it's easy to forget how young she is."

Winter nodded. "They all are, compared to us anyway. But this is the path they chose to walk, the path of the Huntress. These hardships were always in their future. Though this crisis has forced them to bear it far sooner than is ideal."

"But that's what they've got us for isn't it?" James said.

Winter thought of Weiss. Still struggling, still with so much to learn. But who had come so far and tried so hard. "For as long as we can," she agreed. There was a weirdly warm feeling in her chest. She thought of the students. Brimming with potential, Pyrrha downright overflowing with it, but only just now being tempered by the harshness of reality. They had come away wounded, physically and emotionally. But not one of them had made mention of giving up. Because of course they wouldn't. Of course Weiss wouldn't.

At that moment, her scroll buzzed. Opening it, she read the message. It was from General Ironwood. "Come quickly. Situation developing. Can't speak over open lines." She frowned.

"Everything ok?" James asked. He sounded worried.

"I don't know," she said truthfully. "The General needs me for something. I have to run, I'll let you know what's going on when I know more." With that, she was off. James half raised a hand as if to offer to come with her, but she was around the corner before he could say a word.

This was probably a minor incident. But she couldn't help but feel a vague sense of unease.

XXXXX

Han had to keep looking forward. The screams and sobs for mercy in Mandarin and broken English were coming from either side of him. Mom was gripping him tightly by the shoulders, whispering to him in Mandarin. "Keep moving. Keep moving."

Dad was ahead of them, stony-faced as they moved through the checkpoint. He was showing papers to a guard, speaking in English. "All right there, green card. My wife and I were asked to move from Taiwan to work for Raytheon. I do hardware, she does software." The guard looked at him with pure disgust, and Han was afraid he would hit Dad.

"I assume you want to get this done fast, don't you?" Dad asked when the guard didn't reply. "You wouldn't want the Department of Defense asking around because their missiles weren't designed properly, would you?" The guard slammed the papers back into Dad's hand and called him a word Han had never heard before. Dad didn't care. "Come on," he said, gesturing to him and Mom as he walked past the guard. The guard didn't stop him.

Mom didn't let him look at the pens off to the side.

Then he was somewhere else. "Boxing?" Dad was at the living room table, looking up from his baked wheat cake. "You want to waste your time on something that crude and vulgar? Can't you find someone to teach you Tai Chi?"

Han felt his face burn with embarrassment. Dad always made him feel like a foolish boy when he got like this. But he stood his ground. "I talked to the guidance counselor, they said if I want to get into a good college like MIT, I need extracurriculars."

"You're in the robot club, aren't you?" Dad asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, but they said the more the better, and it's the best I can find for a sport." He had to force himself not to swallow, Dad always noticed if he did and pounced on it. "There's an opening, Coach Robinson said he'd take me and they've got a carpool going on, I can get home by myself."

Dad grunted. "Fine," he said and went back to his breakfast. That was as good as it got with dad, a tone that just screamed "fine, waste your time, it isn't my problem." Forcing himself to stay calm, he walked out.

"I'd told you he'd say yes." Mom was waiting in the hallway, a bright smile on her face. He returned it weakly.

The scene changed again. He was tearing through letter after letter, frustration threatening to overtake him. "God damn it," he whispered. MIT graduate and no one was biting. He was lucky if he was even considered for an interview, ones that always seemed to go sour the second he saw his face. No one ever seemed interested in hearing that China and Taiwan were different countries.

Groaning, he leaned back into the living room chair. "So. Still no job?" He didn't need this right now, he really didn't. Straightening up, he looked at Dad. "You're 22 now, shouldn't you have something? Your mother and I had work lined up before we even got here. We-,"

"Crossed oceans, mountains, and languages to make a life for ourselves, I get it," he said dryly. He heard the speech every time the rejections came in. Dad's eyes furrowed.

"You watch your mouth," he said dangerously. "We risked everything coming here, we earned the respect that brought us a life here. You have to go out and earn that same respect."

Han wanted to shout something back, about how no one was offering to fly him across the world to work, when he spotted something on the bottom of the mail pile. A brochure. A recruitment brochure. And an idea struck him. One born out of spite and frustration, but still an idea.

Now he was in the mud, crawling under barbed wire and trying to keep his rifle dry while rounds flew overhead. "I said crawl, maggots! You aren't tender fucking the burly Texan in front of you, you're hauling your miserable asses to safety! Now move!"

Han tried not to think too hard about the implication that Drill Sergeant Rodríguez's screaming almost felt like white noise at this point. Forcing himself forwards, he cleared the last few feet of the exercise, pulling himself up. "Not fucking garbage Tsung, for goddamn once! Your mama must be so proud of your ability to crawl through shit!" Han had to try very hard not to crack a grin, he'd be due for getting his ear blown out if he did.

Deciding to take refuge in routine, he fell in with the others who had already finished, grumbling amongst themselves as Rodríguez went back to screaming at those still doing the exercise.

"I swear he tells the gunners to shave us," a tall man with dark skin said. Han stayed silent as he watched. He took the time to catch his breath, as well as wipe the mud off his face. The rest of his uniform was a mess, but that was a lost cause. Besides, this was the only time he could actively look like a slob without Rodríguez trying to shove his arm down his throat and throttle his soul. So he might as well enjoy it.

"Hey. But hey, it's what some of us need," a man behind Han whispered. "After all, how else are you supposed to shave a monkey? Right chink?" Han smiled.

Then he spun on the spot.

He had never let his jab get rusty. One quick blow and the little wise ass would be on the ground, clutching his nose. "PETERSON!" Han froze, fist only half raised, Rodríguez's voice having a Pavlovian effect on him. The little shit that had been goading Han nearly shrunk as the drill sergeant advanced on him. "With me! Now!"

Han barely noticed what happened next. Only Rodríguez marching by and an uncharacteristically gently whisper from him. "Control that temper of yours, son."

Now he was waist-deep in snow, crouching behind the burning remains of a tank. "Sarge! Reds moving up, they got more AT! At least two platoons!"

Han swore. He had ten men left against the forty Chinese advancing. Even with their defensive position, that number difference was more than enough to overwhelm them. Five years in Alaska had taught him hard lessons on numbers in war.

"Ok, pass it down, we're falling back to town," Han said. "Forget the land mines, just make sure the reds don't get them." The young private nodded, relaying his orders to the others, who were spread out over the other ruined vehicles. He saw one heave up the bag of mines they had been sent out here to plant.

He would explain why they had been forced to retreat later. Standing up from the mine he had just finished arming, he got to his feet. Then he heard the screaming coming over the hill. He was the only one in the squad who understood Mandarin, and he was grateful. The others didn't need to hear what was being said. "Light 'em up!"

They were lucky, it wasn't the full forty. The lead enemy squad had broken formation to reach them faster. Ten men were charging them across the tundra, firing as they went, bayonets at the ready. He and the others caught them in the crossfire, calling shots. Within half a minute, they had been decimated, most of them collapsing into the blankets of white beneath them, staining it red.

Han's rifle clicked empty as the soldier he had been aiming at went down. "Reloading!" And then it all went wrong. One of them had made it, bayonet aimed at his throat. Steely determination was in his eyes. He was going to gut Han even if it was the last thing he did

And he stepped on the mine.

Han was in a white room, on his back. Those were the only two things he knew for certain. There was pain, but it was dull, something was keeping him from feeling the full brunt. He tried to focus his eyes; it was so hard.

His legs still weren't there.

So many times he had prayed that it was a horrible nightmare, that he would wake up and find them back. But no. They were gone. But something was different this time. Someone was in the room with him, not a doctor or a nurse, bent over the bed. They were crying. "Mom?"

The figure jerked up. Han blinked. "Dad?" His father furiously wiped away his tears, looking away. "What?" He tried to say more, but his throat was weak and raspy. His father stayed silent, looking down at him. Han had never seen his father in this much pain before.

Now he was in an office, flanked on either side by his parents, wearing his dress uniform. The prosthetic legs were taking some getting used to, not a true replacement for his lost limbs, but they worked.

There was a sweating man behind a desk in front of the Tsung family. His mother was bawling into her hands while his father was giving the man a look of cold disapproval. "Mr. Tsung," the man said, wiping his brow. "I mean no disrespect to your son, but we have many more qualified applicants that-," his father interrupted.

"More qualified than a Summa Cum Laude MIT graduate who is also a combat veteran and a Purple Heart recipient? Army Combat Engineer if I recall correctly, meaning he has relevant work experience." His mother wailed particularly loudly at that point. "After everything my son has done for this country, that my family as a whole has done, I didn't think an entry-level position was asking for much."

"Mr. Tsung, that is a drastic oversimplification," the man said, not doing a good job of sounding convincing.

"Is it?" Father said, his voice icy. "Should I call my superiors at Raytheon? Let them know about the little problem we're having here? I'd be very surprised if they don't play golf with your boss at least twice a year."

"I…," the man sighed. "That will not be necessary." Slowly, he reached out his hand to Han. Han shook it. "Welcome to DARPA, Mr. Tsung."

Han felt a little dirty. His father was using his connections to get him a job. It wasn't entirely fair. Then again, being passed over with all of his qualifications, all because he was still ethnically Chinese Han, was unfair to begin with. He idly remembered what Father said before they had walked in.

"Life is unfair, so don't bother being fair back. We were given an opportunity and we took it. And now we're going to make one for you. It's not ideal but it's how this world works. Nearly every successful person had advantages they seized. Don't be a moron and pass yours up so that you don't feel guilty about some nobody who wouldn't have half your qualifications."

It was a gentle pep talk by Father's standards. And it brought an odd smile to his face. To his side, his "sobbing" mother flashed a grin of her own between her fingers.

The location charged.

Han was looking at a newspaper cover. "ANCHORAGE LIBERATED!" He was feeling smug. He was feeling very smug. His part in the T-51b design had been small, he had only done work on the knee actuators, but it still felt like a triumph.

"Damn it," a coworker across the cafeteria table said. "All before we got a chance to deploy Liberty Prime." Ah. There it was. The reason for Han's smugness. Far too many people had thought a single robot that was less a money sink and more a money black hole would be a theater changer. Because it had worked out so well with the Landkreuzer.

Anchorage hadn't been liberated by a wunderweapon. It had been liberated by men, men wearing the T-51b. Liberty Prime was, and continued to be, a vanity project that was fruitlessly trying to find a magic bullet to solve war. T-51b was a piece of military hardware that was now well into mass production, swarming into the frontlines and leaving the CCP forces scrambling to develop a counterattack.

And the true beauty was in simplicity. They had not reinvented the wheel, in many ways it was incremental on the T-45d design. They had taken the countless hours of combat records regarding the T-45d, studied them with the precision of an electron microscope, built on strengths, and shored up flaws. It wasn't the HMS Dreadnought of design, but it had just liberated a state that had been occupied for nearly a decade. At its core, it was good, reliable engineering. Not some wunderwaffe garbage.

Trying to hide his grin, he finished his lunch. As he made to get up, a hand tapped him on the back. A man in a black suit and tie was behind him. "Mr. Tsung," he said bluntly. "I'd like to speak with you about an experimental project."

He was now on an alien world. Truly alien in every sense of the word. His jaw loosened as he looked up. Above him, the moon was shattered, half of it splintered into a dozen large chunks and a myriad of splinters. Thousands of potential explanations ran through his head, the foremost being that it had been hit by an extinction event sized meteor, possibly saving the planet from an ice age. Maybe some of the fragments he was looking at were from the meteor.

Around him, a dozen other DARPA workers and an equal number of army troopers moved through knee-deep snow. "They couldn't plop us down somewhere tropical?" a researcher grumbled as he stoppered his freshly collected soil sample.

"Sometimes you just gotta embrace the suck," he said, earning him a laugh from one of the troopers. "The plan is to recalibrate the portal and try for other biomes once we've determined if this place is fit for human habitation. Just because we've established the air is safe to breathe, that doesn't mean we can start being tourists."

The researcher grumbled. Han couldn't help but smile.

Then the soldier carrying the radio spoke up. "Base? Please confirm that last one…no. No, confirm it again." Han paused, looking at the man. Panic was beginning to spread across his stern face. "That has to be a mistake, get someone back on Earth to-BULLSHIT no one is responding! Try harder!"

Han was in the base they had set up on this new world. He was alone.

Everything had gone to hell so fast. It was chaos on the other end of the portal, no radio transmissions aside from scattered cries for help. Those giant black animals had attacked in force and left barely any survivors. The few aside from him had charged back to Earth.

He stared at the portal. He felt dead inside. Gone. All gone. In many ways, America had been a hell hole. The country had not wanted him or anyone who looked like him. From the most frothing CCP supporter to the most disillusioned refugee, all were considered cast from the same cloth. The horror stories he had heard about anti-war protests and what had happened to those marching. People hospitalized, disappearing, or worse. The only reason he knew was because of an independent Dallas newspaper whose editor had been sued and harassed for "unpatriotic actions."

But it had been his home. He had no memory of Taiwan, America had been the only country he ever truly knew. Coach Robinson, Drill Sergeant Rodríguez, Mother, and Father, were all dead or worse. It was all gone. Nothing was left.

Would it be so wrong to just lie down and let the animals get him now?

"Han? Wake up." Han blinked. He was in the tundra of Solitas. The hovering city of Atlas was just barely visible over the horizon. Wiglaf was looking over him, gingerly handling a scroll in his massive hands.

"Róta used the digital dead drop," he said briskly. "Atlas is offering us reduced sentences if we turn ourselves in and provide info on our contacts. The human trafficking ones."

Han looked down at the powdery snow. He remembered the screams from the immigration pens. It wasn't possible to forget them. "They're useless to use now anyway, now that we've lost the base. Give Atlas all of them."

Wiglaf blinked in surprise. "Are we turning ourselves in?" Wiglaf has always been the most loyal of the Scattered. Róta had a conscience that sometimes got in the way and Anna had a chip on her shoulder. Even Jane would, on occasion, interject if she thought something was unreasonable. But Wiglaf? Han couldn't remember him ever questioning an order. If he said so, Wiglaf would obey and let himself be arrested.

He didn't deserve Wiglaf.

"No," Han said. "We never had any loyalty for people like Carmine Esclados. We tolerated her at best. Let her rot. But that doesn't mean we join her. Our mission isn't done yet. And we don't leave someone behind." That got a wide grin out of Wiglaf.

"Rescue op?"

"We don't leave people behind," Han said, getting to his feet. "We'll get close and do recon. See what the situation is and figure out where they're holding Róta. After that, we see what we can do about the portal. Ideally, we can capture it, but if we can't we destroy it."

"I'll wake up the ladies," Wiglaf said. As he turned and left, Han bit back a sigh. An ache in the leg he'd lost two centuries ago flared up. He wished they had managed to grab some of his marijuana before they had left. Marijuana. Father would've scalped him if he had seen Han smoking anything, even cigarettes.

It was too late to look back now. On anything. He had come too far to back out now. Regretfully, he was going to have to sever the connection between Earth and Remnant earlier than he had planned. The portal on this side and the other both had to go.

Any alternative was too horrible to consider.

XXXXX

Ozpin looked at Leo Lionheart on the video call, disappointment heavy in his heart. The man fidgeted as his eyes darted back and forth. It happened again. Salem had dug her claws into someone he had thought he could trust. "Ozpin, you can be serious. A terrorist tells you I'm a traitor and you believe him?"

"He knew everything Leo," Ozpin said, his attention only half on the man. "Salem, the Maidens, the Relics, that I reincarnate. How else could he have known?"

"Salem!" Leo shouted, half rising to his feet and his face nearly fully taking up the screen as he did. "Be sensible Ozpin! These Legion people must be her agents, not me. I mean think about it, who's more likely to work with her? The marauding warlords, or the man who stood by your side for years? They're trying to trick you! Be sensible!"

If he had been younger, more naive, he might've fallen for this. It was such a comforting thought; he was being tricked. Leo hadn't truly betrayed him, it was all a scheme by Salem to make him doubt his allies. The sweetest lie, after all, was the one you wanted to believe was true. But no. The falsehoods just didn't add up.

"Salem wanted Vale in ruins, Atlas machines turning on civilians, distrust between us all," Ozpin said. "The Legion has been sabotaging her plans every step of the way, stealing her pawns. Cinder wants them dead, she lost her chance at the other half of the Fall Maiden power because of them. All of that, so many lost opportunities, just for you?" It was a simple, pointed question. Leo's reaction spoke volumes.

He slumped back into his chair, gaunt-faced, a bead of sweat trickling down his face, with sunken, terrified eyes. This was the expression of a man who could feel the walls closing in on him. "Ozpin. Please. You have to believe me. I'd never betray you."

Desperation was taking hold, he knew his arguments had failed and was trying to appeal to emotions. It was as good as a confession in Ozpin's book. But there was one more thing he had to check on. "Leo? Where is the Spring Maiden? I would like to speak to her."

The reaction was instantaneous. Pure dread seized Leo. His eyes went wide, his body tensed, his jaw clamped like a sprung bear trap, and he shook like a leaf in the wind. So. Vulpes had told the truth on all accounts. Leo had sold him out to Salem and lost control of the Spring Maiden.

His avenues for recompense were limited. Only a select few knew of his shadow war with Salem, meaning he couldn't simply publicly accuse Leo of his crimes. And despite everything, he couldn't bring himself to stoop to Salem's level by having the man disposed of. But he couldn't let someone compromised by Salem move freely about, particularly when they were in a position of power.

"You weren't the first Leo. I doubt you'll be the last," Ozpin said sadly. "Which is why I informed the Council of Mistral that you have been leaking matters of state defense to the Legion." Silence filled the room. Leo gaped at him like a suffocating fish caught on a hook. In many ways he was.

"But-but I haven't!" he said. His eyes bulged in disbelief as he rose to his feet. It was the raw panic of a man realizing he was doomed, but still futilely struggling against it.

"Yes, you did," Ozpin said calmly. "We found classified papers on their agents regarding the Argus Military Base, papers only you, high-ranking Mistral officers, and General Ironwood would have access to." Ozpin felt dirty. By all rights, Leo deserved to be sentenced for crimes he had committed, not the falsehoods he had concocted. He was twisting the justice system to his own ends. But it was hardly the most egregious sin he had committed ever since he had been returned to life. In some ways, it was easier at this point after he had done it so much.

In other ways that made it worse.

"But, but you have no proof!" Leo blurted out.

Ozpin merely shook his head. Ironwood planting documents on a dead legionary wasn't the most ironclad of proof, but the words of two headmasters would support it. It would be enough. Hopefully.

"Goodbye Leo. I'm sorry it ended this way." With that, he moved to end the call. It took him long enough that he caught the doors behind Leo being kicked open, heavily armored police swarming in and ordering Leo to surrender. He didn't need to see what came next.

Getting to his feet, he reached for his mug, only to be reminded it was empty as it came away from the table. He was out of coco, when he desperately needed some. Biting back a sigh, he turned to look out the nearby window.

Despite the bitter cold of Solitas, people were walking about the streets of Atlas idly, dressed for early spring. From the room he had been given in Atlas Academy, he had an excellent view of the city. He saw students milling about the academy grounds, lounging under trees, gathering around concession stands, or heading back to dorms as the day shifted into evening.

Beyond the campus, he could see a commercial district. The workday had ended, and the citizens were seeking respite after a day of labor. Brightly colored signs of clubs were buzzing to life, lines stretched outside of elegant restaurants, and the tables outside of cafes were packed. Ozpin could just barely make out the details of one such cafe near the academy, catching the glimpse of a young couple. One was a short woman with bright white hair that was gesticulating wildly as she excitedly spoke. Her partner, a woman with long blue hair tied up in a wrapped ponytail that stretched beyond her waist merely stared at her, not a care in the world.

And then his scroll began to ring.

XXXXX

Servius wasn't sick only because his stomach was empty. Marie F. was cackling with glee, a horrific, inhuman noise. Caesar had just finished giving his orders for the attack on Atlas. And she was enjoying it. Every last horrible thing that happened was always true pleasure for her.

They were in Atlas. After all the struggle, getting into the city itself had been pitifully easy. Vulpes had blackmailed a lone pilot before his capture, one they had met at the city's outskirts. Most of them had used the portal to travel back to Legion territory on Earth, disassembled it, snuck it into Atlas via a VTOL, then assembled it in an abandoned warehouse. Hundreds of legionaries were assembled, maybe even a thousand, crammed into the baren building. All were freshly transported from Earth, the majority stepping foot on Remnant for the first time. The pilot had no clue what he had just permitted to enter his city.

They were a rowdy bunch, swinging weapons above their head, roaring in delight. Part of him was tense at the cacophony of noises, surely it would attract unwanted attention. But then again, in a few minutes, that would be a moot point.

"You all have your orders," Caesar said, the crowd of legionaries falling silent. All eyes were on him as he stood at the head of the throng. "We have little time. The Legion is at a precipice. Your actions here will push us to glories that we could've only dreamed of yesterday. The people of Atlas are detached from the reality of life, oblivious as they drift through the skies." A smile crossed his lips. A cruel smile that promised nothing but suffering. "Do as I bid, and we will rise as they fall. Now. Adesse finem belli ac laboris; in manibus esse praedam Carthaginis, reditum domum in patriam ad parentes liberos coniuges penatesque deos." The warehouse exploded with roses of approval

Servius tried to shove his blade above his head, he tried to roar in approval, but the cry that escaped his lips was weak and feeble. He couldn't shake the memories of the last few days. The joint force breaking down, the White Fang that had been butchered in the decimation, and worst of all, how he had reacted to it all. He had been disgusted, he had been sick. Even now, he burned with shame, at his weakness then and now.

He was supposed to be a legionary, a servant of Caesar's will. Caesar had honored him. In a campaign of setbacks, complications, and failures, he had helped bring Caesar a major victory. It was a status countless legionaries would kill for, when they returned to Earth he might very well be rewarded with veteran status. And yet his stomach was turning and his hand was shaking. When had he become so soft? He had desired nothing but vengeance on Barca and glory for the Legion when he had first entered Remnant. But now he just wished it would all end.

Even now, he could spot the remnants of the White Fang at the head of the mob. Not even twenty of them were left, a speck that the tidal wave of legionaries were threatening to swallow up. They were being watched. It was easy to miss if you weren't looking for it, but Servius could make out at least two men in Legion garb who were completely silent, staring unblinkingly at what was left of the Faunus. The majority of the former allies of the Legion were fidgeting in naked fear, frantically watching the crowd for additional observers.

But not Adam.

Servius had spent the majority of his time with the bull-horned man hating him, but now the anger was replaced by bafflement. His face was a mess of bruises and cuts, to the point where he resembled an abused and overripe fruit more than the human body. His burnt eye was swollen shut, and even the good one was barely visible, but it was still locked on Caesar in burning hatred.

Did he not see his men around him? Those who had followed him for so long and who clearly needed a leader in their darkest hour? No. Evidently not. His vendettas meant more to him.

At that moment, there was an awkward squelch in his stomach as he felt a surge of shame and guilt, unrelated to anything else. He tried to ignore it.

"One more thing," Caesar said. "Lanius? The boy's sword." Stepping from where he was next to Caesar, alongside Lucius, the Legate approached Adam. Roughly, he shoved the sheathed blade into the boy's arms. Adam didn't look at him as he buckled it to his side. "And a standing order to all legionaries. Should a single White Fang raise a blade against you? All of their lives of forfeit."

A deafening roar went up here, the remaining Faunus clumping together in terror. They still had their weapons, but what good was that when they were outnumbered thirty to one? "Now. Profligates Delenda Est!"

Servius had heard scattered rumors about Caesar's Semblance, but they all failed to convey how it felt. A wall of force descended upon him as if it were a tsunami, echoing throughout the building. But that didn't draw his attention as much as the cacophony of colors that exploded out of the assembled army, nearly every legionary enveloped in newly awakened Aura. It was enough to push them over the edge.

Those nearest the doors threw them open and poured out, weapons raised and war cries on their lips. The rest followed, quickly becoming a chaotic stampede that Servius could make neither head nor tails of.

"Well, buckle up boys and girl, we've got our little slice of action to get to." Marie F. was in front of him, clad in her stolen power armor. The fact that she had been chosen to lead his role in the attack made his stomach turn, but he swallowed down the bile.

Checking his revolver to make sure it was loaded, he looked at the others. Ancus was stony-faced and unreadable, a once unbreakable pillar of inspiration reduced to a statue. Ilia looked as if she wanted to crawl into a corner and die there, and Servius could not think of a single word to say to ease her torment. Frumentarii could be watching to see if the last Faunus in good graces was feeling sympathetic to Adam and his ilk. Tullus was the only one in good spirits, a smile on his lips. Somehow, that was the most upsetting out of everything.

The filing out was a mess of warriors cramming themselves through the door. In the chaos, he lost track of everyone else except for his team of Marie F., Tullus, Ancus, and Ilia. All he understood through the maelstrom of activity and his own treacherous thoughts was that within minutes, the warehouse was empty.

However, a handful remained behind. Fifty-odd legionaries had ducked into the still-active portal behind where Caesar had been standing. In some ways, Servius envied their duties.

They were merely ordered to corral the distraction.

XXXXX

Yang vaguely recalled what Lucius did to her. She remembered the pain as her arm withered away to nothing, the raw panic as a healthy limb transformed into that of a long-dead corpse. She remembered the horrific feeling of it being torn away, particularly how little resistance her mutilated body showed. But waking up to nothing, a piece of her body missing, felt like losing the arm all over again. There had been too much happening for it to finalize as real. Now it had.

The last few days had been a blur. She wasn't sure if she just couldn't remember or if she had been in and out of consciousness. A few things stood out. Her team. Others came and went, half-remembered faces all, but her team was always there.

It hurt. A lot. Her life had been turned upside down in ways she couldn't have imagined before, and she was about as far from ok as she had ever been. But somehow, they made it manageable. It was a ball and chain around her neck, but despite the strangling, she was able to keep breathing steadily. It didn't make sense, and she was afraid any second the balance would be upset and everything would come cascading down around her. But for now, she was on solid ground.

Looking down, her eyes focused on her arm. Her new arm. It felt like a costume she was wearing. Sterile gray, it didn't feel like an extension of her body, more like someone had slapped a Knight's arm on her. Had she been conscious, she couldn't say if she would have accepted the new limb. But she had been unconscious at the time; the choice had been made for her.

Yet, paradoxically, the thought of getting rid of it was unthinkable. As awkward as it felt, it functioned. It could keep up with her remaining flesh and blood arm and there wasn't anything truly wrong with it. It wasn't her arm, but it was an arm, and she didn't think she could handle going from two to one a second time.

Her feelings about the thing were a contradictory mess.

"Yang? You sure you wanna do this?" Yang blinked. Ruby was right at her side, staring up at her with big, worried eyes. Those shiny silver eyes. Sweet little Ruby. She had practically been mothering her the last few days, doting on her for every lucid second and constantly asking if she needed anything. In some ways it was humiliating, but back in the immediate aftermath, she had needed it. And today, when she had told Ruby there was something she needed to do, Ruby had done everything in her power to make it happen. This was the second time she had asked Yang if she was sure, but still. She had made the call without hesitation.

Yang nodded, smiling as best she could. She could tell by the way Ruby's eyes shimmered that it had to look pathetic and hollow. "Yeah. I do." Ruby looked like she wanted to just call it all off and go back to their rooms. Instead, she turned and spoke to the guard. "We're ready."

The guard to the brig of Ironwood's flagship nodded as he buzzed them in from behind the bulletproof glass. "Remain a minimum of five feet away from the prisoner's bars at all times. Do not attempt to pass anything through the bars or accept anything passed to you. If the prisoner attempts to escape or assault you, evacuate the area at once until guards give you the all-clear. Do you understand?" Yang nodded, despite only half listening.

As the door slid open, she walked through. Ruby was right next to her, Blake not far behind. Weiss was the last through, shooting an uncertain look at the door as it ground to a shut behind her. None of them wanted to be here; Ruby hid it well and Blake was making occasional nervous twitches, but Weiss's discomfort was naked for all to see. Her movements were practical jitters as she glanced about, using the exercise grip in her right hand as a stress toy. But she wasn't saying anything, still following along behind. Yang wanted to say something to thank them all but didn't think she could come up with anything to do it justice.

She needed this. She needed to take action that gave her some level of control back. And right now, this was the best option they had.

Creeping through the bowels of the ship, they passed cell after cell, nearly all of them empty. All except one. "You Vulpes?"

The man in the cell had been lying on his cot, his platinum hair disheveled and bags under his eyes. Stirring, he sat up, rubbed his eyes, and blinked as he stared at them. His mouth curled. "Ironwood sends children to interrogate me now? Is he incapable of speaking to me in person?"

Yang's temper flared. "We came here on our own!" she said, taking a step forward, only stopping when she felt two hands catch the back of her shirt. Both Blake and Ruby had grabbed at her, Blake's eyes wide with fear, Ruby's concern. Weiss's hands had covered her mouth as she looked on in shock.

Yang paused. She wanted to rip Vulpes out of his cell and beat him to a bloody pulp. To wipe that smug look off his face, to make him feel the same humiliation and hopelessness that she had felt when she had lost his arm. It didn't even matter that it hadn't been him, he was close enough. He was sitting there, thinking he was something special by implying they were beneath him, when he was the one in a cell. How long would that last when she had started to feed him his own teeth?

"Yang. Please," Blake whispered. Yang forced herself to breathe.

"You talk a lot of trash for someone in prison because of these 'children'," Yang spat out. "I thought you were all supposed to be great warriors or something?"

"An inconvenience," Vulpes said, rising to his feet and running his hand along one of the walls. "You think me an eternal prisoner, as you would lock away a common thief. Tell me, do you expect me to remain here until I shrivel and die? Do you expect Caesar to leave me here when he needs me?" That damned smug smile.

"And what, I suppose he's just going to sprout wings and fly up here to ferry you away?" Yang asked bitterly. "How are the people who think technology is 'corrupt and decrepit'," she made air quotes, "going to get up to a floating city? Face it dumbass, you lost. Your boss ditched you."

"And therein lies your arrogance," Vulpes said. "Because you have managed to make a rock float and live upon it, you think yourself invincible." Yang couldn't wrap her head around how someone could be this conceited, this in love with himself. "Tell me, when was the last time Atlas had to defend itself? When was the last time any of you had to defend yourself? You lack the strength we do, the strength that can only be formed by a crucible of fire and blood."

Anger flared in Yang as she opened her mouth, preparing to shout something to just get him to shut up. "You're wrong." Yang blinked. Ruby was staring at Vulpes, not glaring, but determined to meet his eye. "You're not strong. You're desperate. When we fought you, you sacrificed everyone just so you could run away. Sent them out to die, so you could save your own skin." There was a trembling anger in Ruby's voice, one Yang had never heard before. "How is that being strong?"

Vulpes's face curled in disgust as his attention turned to her. "War is the business of sending people to die, little girl. Every time a force is ordered to fight, you sentence men in it to die. If you cannot accept that, you have no business playing at war while we wage it."

"War? You weren't fighting a war, you were being stupid. You had an army and you just…let them all die." The stutter in Ruby's talk pierced Yang. She could see it in her eyes. Ruby couldn't understand, couldn't comprehend. "For nothing. You did it all to escape. And you couldn't even do that. You might as well have shot them all yourself and called it strength."

"And what do you know of strength, child?" Vulpes said, disdain dripping from every word. "You who grow fat and spoiled on excess, who have not fought anyone hardier than degenerates playing at revolution," he jabbed a finger at Blake, "her ilk if you'll recall. And she should be a shining example of the decrepit, rotten core of the White Fang. She who followed the word of a petulant child because of her loins."

Yang felt a white-hot rage as her muscles tensed. It would be easy, so easy, to grab him by the throat through the bars. But Ruby was still talking. And this new side of her sister, tired and worn, but still held aloft by a steely determination, held her attention.

"You're doing what's hard for others, not for you. My sister?" She pointed at Yang. "You hurt her. But she's still here. She's already getting better, she's strong enough to come here and look you in the eye. Because we won't ever give up on her." A throb of affection for her sister broke through the fog of exhaustion and hate filling Yang's mind.

"But you? You just left them all to die. Because you just decided they weren't worth it. Because you were too weak to try. Because trying, caring, treating people like they're more disposable, is more than you're capable of. And you pretend it's some display of strength because the weak like to pretend they're strong. We're fighting to protect people. We still have them. You're fighting because you think we're corrupt. Well. Why can't you beat us then?"

Vulpes went silent. His eyes narrowed. Minutes ticked by as the two stared at each other.

Then Yang heard the screams.

XXXXX

"Boone, catch!" James chucked the anti-material rifle at the sniper, who deftly caught it. "No more being stingy, I paid for that and I want you using it. Whatever's out there, .308 isn't gonna cut it." Boone didn't respond as he loaded and cocked the rifle.

The room they had been given was in an uproar as they scrambled about, donning armor, loading weapons, and gathering whatever supplies they would need. James himself had just finished sliding a fusion cell into the Hellfire armor he had stolen from The Scattered.

None of them had any idea what was going on, only that alerts were cropping up on every means of communication. Everything was vague, Atlas authorities were broadcasting orders to report to safe areas or to shelter in place if that was impossible. Naturally, none of them were obeying that order.

Cass had rigged up his scroll to have a live news feed playing. A woman in a power suit was speaking into a microphone from the confines of a VTOL soaring over the skyline of Atlas city. "Reports have been flooding in for the last five minutes of a crisis in uptown Atlas," she said, raising her voice to be heard over the roar of engines. "The exact nature of what is happening is unclear as of yet, but dozens of citizens have reported gunfire in the area. It is possible that this is an attack by the White Fang but we cannot confirm that at this time. We can confirm that both army and Huntsmen have

James was still learning the nature of Remnant politics, but he had talked to Sienna Khan and other members of the White Fang to know the ones who weren't following Adam weren't stupid enough to have done this. Adam's actions on Vale had inflamed tensions half a world away, a direct attack on a capital would only make things worse. So that left Adam, and the asshole pulling his strings.

"All right, we're not far from the shooting!" he called out. "We're gonna head to where Atlas forces are thinnest. Hit anything they missed and get civilians out of the crossfire." With a pull, the power armor opened for him. Stepping inside like it was an old suit, he let it close around him.

None of the others had Aura, but that hardly mattered. Between experience, firepower, and three suits of power armor, they were more than a match for anything short of Lanius himself. And even then, Lanius wasn't invincible. Hoisting his new Gauss rifle, he checked the room one last look. Nearly everyone was out of the room, ED-E being the last holdout hovering by the door. "You coming, grandpa?" he beeped.

James laughed, flipped ED-E off, and made to pick up his scroll. "We are now over what appears to be a firefight in progress between military and unknown forces. Please be advised, the following footage is graphic." And the picture changed, showing a handful of soldiers in blue and white trading fire with a force twice their size.

The second James saw the attackers, his blood went cold.

No. No. Men clad in the uniforms of both NCR and Legion, their skin raw red from the wind that tore flesh from bone. Their weapons ranged from crude and barely held together, to cutting-edge plasma weapons that liquidated unfortunate civilians that couldn't run fast enough. The appearance and temperament of Feral Ghouls, but far too coordinated.

The Marked Men.

Something inside him snapped.

"James? James! Where are you going!?" Someone was calling after him. They sounded so far away. The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. But it didn't matter. He was moving. He had the Hellfire armor on. He was out of the barracks and into the city, forcing his way through the screaming crowd, toward the sounds of echoing gunfire. He didn't know what he was heading for. It didn't matter.

Those animals.

Those fucking animals.

XXXXX

Author's Note: I'm not dead! I just have the attention span of a squirrel and low creative energy lately. But I'm not giving up on this story yet, so I hope 10k words were worth the wait. Because we're finally getting to something I've wanted to do for a very long time. The battle for Atlas and James's demons coming back to haunt him at the very worst time.

J.R.R Tolkien expressed an intense hatred for allegory. Now, I don't share that intense hatred, but I do understand how a work can feel cliche and like a hack job if it goes "oh, the ring of power is an atomic bomb!" At the same time, influence and inspiration was clearly a thing for him. As it was for me.

The past seven years of my life have been a roller coaster as I became more aware of the world and as it changed around me, changing past 2010 and 2013, when New Vegas and RWBY came out. I try and keep true to the energy and spirit of both, but it's clear the world has moved on and in some ways left them behind. I mean Vegas has commentary on Don't Ask, Don't Tell, which was repealed a year after the game came out.

So in the coming chapters, or even this one, if you find yourself thinking "was this influenced by current or not so recent events?" there's a non zero percent chance the answer is yes. Now, I'm gonna be doing my best to keep it inspired and influenced by, as opposed to going "oh, X is literally Putin!" I don't think a work truly isolated from the outside world exists, but it's up to me to not completely rewrite the worlds I'm working with. More just giving them light touches.

On a different note, it recently came to my attention that I might've completely butchered my attempt to give Han a proper Taiwanese name. I've seen one of two takes on it. That I either gave him a surname and not a given one, or just two surnames. Either way it's too late to fix it now. Oh well.