The following is a non-profit, fan-made work of fiction. RWBY and Iron Man are the respective trademarked properties of Rooster Teeth Productions, LLC and Marvel Entertainment, LLC. Please support their respective franchises and releases. This means I own jack, so don't sue me, it's all for fun. (And practice, I just wanna be a better writer.)

The Invincible Whitley Schnee

Chapter Eight: Coming Home (Part 1)

Whitley had no idea how long he had been walking. He knew he had started early in the morning, but he had no idea if he had been taking his desert stroll for a few hours or several more. The sun hung high in the air, blasting wave after wave of solar radiation onto Remnant, which he took as a sign that it was nearly the afternoon. He supposed that it could be late morning, too.

After walking in the desert for a while, one tended to lose all sense of time.

Unfortunately, it doesn't make one lose their other senses.

He could feel the heat scorching his skin, roasting him like he was walking in an oven. If only he wasn't wearing fatigues. He can feel and hear the desert wind, which slammed into him like a tempest, picking up sand that clung to his now dirtier clothes. He was also feeling hungry, very hungry; so hungry that it felt like he was starving. He also smelled a rather foul odor, one that seemed a myriad of various odors that ranged from drying sweat to long-dried blood.

A shame he couldn't use the water bottles to clean himself up. He needed that water to live.

Of all the deserts for Whitley to be captured in, it just had to be the one without any source of water, not even an oasis. The thought of a nice, refreshing shower at the end of his journey was all the motivation the boy needed to continue his trek through the Atreides.

If only he had something to eat, though.

Sometimes, he wondered if it was his lot in life to suffer. Sure, he was the scion of one of the world's wealthiest families, but it just happened to be the most dysfunctional one as well; with an overachieving and perfectionist like his oldest sister, an entitled and arrogant know-it-all like Weiss, and an emotionally-distant and negligent drunk of a mother.

Not to mention the amoral, greedy, manipulative, racist, and sociopathic shit-bag of an asshole that was his father!

Augh, Do NOT open that can of worms, Whitley! The boy told himself, knowing where such thoughts would lead to.

Negative thoughts lead to negative emotions, which are basically attractant to Grimm. Even if he had a device that can ward them off. But he'd rather not test his luck should any actual Grimm appear. He doubted he can outrun whatever sort of monsters inhabited this damned desert.

Especially now, given that he lacked the energy to even run. He hadn't been able to get much sleep last night. Whenever he fell asleep, he'd have nightmares, the kind that made it all that much harder to fall asleep. If he had to hazard a guess, he had at least three hours of sleep. He knew that wasn't healthy.

Still, now wasn't the time to catch up on sleep, not while the sun was still out. He just had to keep walking. Even if it took days, he won't stop walking until he found civilization or until civilization found him. It didn't matter to him if it were a town or a village, so long as they had food and a shower, and a connection to Anima's CCT network.

"Yes, after two months of total information deprivation, I'll be connected to the wider world again!" Whitley cheered with a very tired grin.

That grin faltered when he realized, "And I'm talking to myself, again..."

He was now starting to reconsider taking a short break. Maybe a few minutes of rest can calm him down. It wasn't like he was going to take a nap in the desert. A desert that just happened to be home to a million things that can kill him in an instant, aside from the creatures of Grimm. Things like poisonous scorpions, ravenous jackals, and murderous bandits.

On second thought, I'm making such good time, no need to stop now. The boy reasoned to himself.

Actually, maybe I should pick up the pace. He thought before doing so.

Whitley picked up the pace, now walking at a speed faster than before. He didn't know if it'll accomplish much, but he knew it'll take his mind off of the million different ways to die in the desert. As he walked further and further into the seemingly endless desert, he found himself distracted by his power walk. He paid no attention to what laid before him other than the horizon.

This lapse in awareness would prove detrimental. His toes came into contact with something he had not expected, causing him to lose his center of gravity and stumble onto the ground. He landed face-first with a soft thud in the sand, dirtying himself even more. The boy pushed himself up and spat sand out of his mouth.

He then growled lowly, "I fucking hate the desert..."

He rose to his feet and turned on his heel. He saw, much to his surprise, a small glint in the sand. There was something underneath the sand. He crouched down and dusted off the grainy particulate, revealing a metal bar underneath, though he suspected it was much larger than it appeared. He jumped to his feet and started wiping sand away with his right foot, and then took a few steps back as he did so. Within a minute, he found himself staring at an elongated bar of metal, which was connected to two separate bars.

Are these railroad tracks? He wondered.

He looked to his left and noticed that there were several similar indentations stretching far into the desert. He saw the same to his right. He considered the significance of this discovery and a spark of hope ignited within him. The presence of railroad tracks in this part of the desert meant that there were settlements nearby. Of course, he also considered the possibility that whatever town or village these tracks led to were possibly ghost towns. But there were also plenty of settlements that have long stood the arduous dangers of the Atreides.

Not to mention that a wooden shack beats sleeping out in the open. The boy rationalize, having grown tired of nature.

With his mind made up, Whitley turned to his right and began following the railroad track. For hours, he trudged on, careful as to keep his attention on the tracks lest he lose his way. Eventually, the day wore on, the sun slowly made its ascent before steadily descending down onto the horizon. Even as the evening became night, the boy kept walking, in spite of his body trying to force him to stop. It was late at night when his body began to shut down, his willpower all but drained as his knees buckled beneath him. Eventually, he collapsed onto the cool desert sands.

As the dazed teen laid there in the sand, under the clear Animan night sky, he noticed something. Out in the distance, there was a small collection of lights. For an instant, he wondered if the stars had fallen onto the land. That speculation ended when a few of the lights began to grow, as though they were approaching him.

The last thing he saw, before sleep took him, was a brilliant and blinding light, with various shadowed figures approaching him.

And then there was darkness. For the young man, it was nothing but a single brief moment in the void, free of nightmares and completely vacant of dreams. In some respects, it was a welcome respite from the near-constant nightly terrors that had been plaguing his mind for months; a torturous mental experience that seemed to have been exacerbated by his recent escape.

But just as quickly as the darkness came, it soon dissipated, as the sounds of panicked voices shattered the silence like a hammer on glass.

But these voices were ones the boy did not recognize.

"Oh, my gods, he's moving again!"

"Hey, I think he's waking up!"

"Someone get the mayor!" Whitley heard an unfamiliar voice shout as he stirred from his slumber

He opened his eyes and saw, to his surprise, a wooden ceiling and walls. An ornate yet worn ceiling fan hung above, its blades spinning slowly, with three of its four light bulbs shining brightly. His head was rested on a pillow, and his body was tucked snugly into a bed. At the foot of the bed, he saw a lightly tanned woman dressed in casual clothing, over which she wore a white lab coat. She was also staring at him with an expression that was equal parts astonishment and, to his confusion, apprehension.

He moved slightly and tried to speak, but found that his throat was dry and scratchy. The woman moved over to his side and gently eased him back into bed.

"Don't speak just yet. I'll get you some water." She told him with a reassuring tone.

She walked over to a countertop at the back of the room and opened a cabinet, from which she pulled out a small plastic cup. She turned on a faucet, which spewed out a stream of water, which she then filled the cup with. She returned to his side and lifted his head.

"Open your mouth." She told him.

The boy opened his mouth, allowing the woman to pour the water into it.

Whitley felt the cold water impact his throat, which was both soothing and calming. After drinking lukewarm purified water from a bottle, cold tap water was a welcome change of pace. His throat now feeling better, the boy thanked the woman.

He then asked, "Where am I?"

The woman replied quickly, "I'm afraid I'm not the one to tell you that. Some of our people found you outside of the village and the mayor wants to speak to you first."

The boy raised a skeptical eyebrow and asked, "For what reason?"

"We just want to be sure you're not a danger to us." He heard an aged voice explain.

The woman and Whitley turned to an open doorway, where an elderly, dark-skinned man stood. He was dressed in loose-fitting robes, and he was supported by a wooden cane. He also had quite the beard in Whitley's opinion, a very long, white one that was neatly groomed. The boy assumed this man to be mayor of the village he now resided in. The elderly official walked in and looked to the woman.

"Thank you, doctor, I'll take it from here. Please, go see to your other patients." He told her.

The woman left without another word, but not before sending the boy a rather scrutinizing gaze. The man approached the side of the bed and pulled up a chair, which he then sat upon. The elderly man gazed upon the boy with a calculative stare, as though he were trying to ascertain whether he was a threat or not.

He asked with a very stern tone, "Who are you, boy?"

Unbothered by the man's tone and stare, Whitley replied, "Just a lone traveler who had lost his way."

"A traveler, you say? A woefully unprepared one, it would seem." The old man countered, "No one travels the desert without being fully prepared for it, which can mean that either you are a very suicidal idiot, or were you expecting someone to find you?"

Whitley was flabbergasted by the old man's words. He asked him, "What is it that you want from me?"

The old man raised a thick eyebrow and replied, "Oh, I just want to know who'd drifted into my home."

"Well, I wasn't lying when I said I'm lost. If you must know, I'm trying to find my way back home," Whitley told the man, careful to be as vague as possible.

He had to be sure that this man can be trusted before revealing his true identity.

"And where exactly is your home, young man?" The man inquired.

The bedridden boy replied, "Somewhere up north; very up north."

"Would you say, Atlas?"

Whitley felt his chest tighten at the mention of his home kingdom. He fought the urge to frown, trying to keep his face neutral and collected.

With an even tone, he replied, "Possibly."

"More probable than possible; you may have gotten a slight tan in the desert, but you're still paler than most people I know. Most people from Solitas have fairly pale complexions."

Whitley was starting to worry.

"What's more is that you have hair that's white as snow. There's only one family in all of Solitas with hair like that." The old man said.

Whitley felt his heart start to race as the man continued to connect the dots. He had no idea why the old man was stringing him along like this, as he obviously knew full well who he actually was. Which begged the question of what his intentions were? Did he intend to extort him? Ransom him?

His time with Yinsen might have taught him to be more trusting of people, but that didn't mean he should let his guard down.

The boy stared at the man and evenly asked, "You know who I am?"

The elderly official replied, "Yes. I do. We may be somewhat isolated from the rest of the world, but that doesn't make us ignorant. And speaking of the world... Tell me, Mr. Schnee, where in the world have you been... and how did you find yourself here, in Gulmira?"

Whitley sighed and replied, "I'm afraid it's a very long story... wait, did you just say 'Gulmira'?"

The man blinked and said, "Yes, this is Gulmira. I'm surprised you're even aware of our small village."

That can't be possible...

Whitley had been told by Yinsen that Gulmira was located in the Atreides desert, being a small, humble village that had survived longer than most settlements in the unforgiving region. The people that lived there were simple and kind, he had been told, and they were among the few places where humans and Faunus truly lived as equals. He had thought the village was far from Vryolak's camp, hundreds of miles and thousands of steps away.

Never did he consider that the first settlement he'd find would be the doctor's home, of all places.

He had promised the doctor, as he lied dying, that he would bury his wedding ring in the village, with his family.

That is, if the man's family were even buried in the cemetery.

"Is something the matter, Mr. Schnee?" The mayor asked, slightly perturbed by the boy's sudden silence.

Whitley shook his head and answered, "Sorry, It's just I wasn't expecting to be here so soon. I knew someone who lived in Gulmira."

The mayor was surprised and asked, "Really? Who was it?"

"Ho Yinsen..."

"Wait, Dr. Yinsen is alive!" The old man exclaimed, nearly dropping his cane from shock.

Whitley frowned and said, "Was alive..."

Upon hearing that statement, the old man deflated and sadly spoke, "I see... What happened to him?"

The boy hung his head low, gripped the hem of his blanket, and pitifully said, "He sacrificed himself for me... after saving my life..."

When he uttered those words, a flood of emotions rushed through the young Schnee; emotions that he had become quite familiar with in the desert, outside of his captor's camp.

It was the all too familiar mixture of shame, grief, disgust, and guilt.

"Are you sure you're alright, Mr. Schnee?" The mayor asked.

"Actually... Do you think I can some time to myself? I need to be alone right now." The boy implored.

The mayor frowned at seeing the boy so downtrodden. From how he heard the boy spoke of Yinsen, he and the doctor became close friends. He knew the boy needed time to grieve, to sort out his emotions. He can tell his story later.

For now, he'll let the boy be.

"Take all the time you need. Your belongings are located in the room next door, as is a shower. We have also set aside some clean clothes for you to wear. When you're ready, Doctor Drew will need to perform a check-up on you. For now, just rest." He told him.

He made his way to the door. The old man took one final glance at the boy, who had lowered his gaze onto his bed covers. He sighed and left the room, closing the door.

Now alone, Whitley gave fully gave into his grief. He cursed his inability to save the prisoners, who spent their last moments in agonizing pain. He was honestly disgusted with himself that he had been forced to take lives in his escape, even if they were violent extremists. But most of all, he grieved for the loss of his friend, Yinsen. The man had lost everything and he still went out of his way to help him. Yet, in spite of the brave face he kept up, the man was broken beyond all hope of recovery. Without his family, he had lost the will to live. And he still helped him.

He helped Whitley Schnee, an arrogant, boisterous, stubborn, and selfish brat who had spent most of his life disregarding the needs of other people, even his own friends and family; a family with a patriarch who has spent the better part of his adult life stomping on the rights of Faunus like Yinsen.

Yet, Yinsen still saved his life in spite of all that, despite having almost every reason to hate him. The doctor did something that his father had never done once in his life, protect him.

Now that I think about it, when has Father ever acted like one? Whitley realized as he tried to remember moments where Jacques Schnee had acted like a parent.

He found no such memories.

Who am I kidding? Happy, Rhodey, and Yinsen; each of them has been more a father to me than mine ever was... and now, I've lost one of them...

With that startling realization, hot tears began falling from Whitley's eyes, staining the white satin sheets below.

He didn't even realize he was crying.

"All right, I think that's the last of them." Sitwell called after pulling his knife out of the head of an evaporating Grimm Corpse.

Sitwell can't explain what he was looking at. Months ago, a patrol bullhead reported that there was no activity in this area. The crew even had the video and photo evidence to back up their claims. Yet, somehow, he found himself standing in what appeared to have been some kind of camp, one that had belonged to some sort of Faunus extremist group. Whether this group had any ties to the White Fang, Sitwell did not know.

But the one thing he did know was that the Grimm did not destroy this camp.

All around him and his team laid the decimated remains of said camp. Charred bodies littered the landscape, some crumpled over and others lying flat on their backs. The smell of ash, dust residue, and burning and rotting meat permeated the air. What remained of the campsite is now just burning wooden poles, the flames dancing wildly in the wind. There was also what seemed to be landing pads, the supports of which had collapsed.

Sitwell knew full well that all of this destruction was not the work of the Grimm. But something had definitely attacked this camp.

"Spread out, search for survivors. I'll call in for recovery teams." He told his team, who promptly set out to fulfill their orders.

He returned to the bullhead and entered the cockpit. He pulled out the radio, switched it on, and spoke into the mic, "This is Bloodhound-01. Encampment located in Atreides Desert. Possible lead on subject codenamed Prince; Need recovery teams, and I want a few units to perform a five-mile perimeter sweep, for possible hostiles or even the hostage."

[Acknowledged, Agent Sitwell, and sending orders now; Recovery Team's ETA, 30 minutes. Good luck. Out]

Sitwell replied, "Acknowledged; over and out."

He hung the mic and switched the radio. After exiting the cockpit, he joined his subordinates in searching for survivors. He stepped forward into what seemed to have been the center of the camp, where a large, strange machine was situated. It was burnt and heavily damaged, and there was a glass bowl at the top which had shattered, exposing a device that reminded the agent of a video projector.

Curious, he stepped over to the machine to inspect it further. Within seconds of his inspection, he found what appeared to be lettering on a metal panel, which had been covered over by a thin layer of soot. The agent wiped his hand across the panel to clear away the suit. When he saw what was buried under the soot, he felt his blood boil.

Painted on this metal panel was an acronym, one that he was quite familiar with.

"AIM..." He growled in anger.

It appeared that his informant was right; A.I.M. had indeed made a sale to an extremist group. It seemed that he had found the camp that had belonged to that group. All he needed to find out now was whether this was the same group that had kidnapped Whitley Schnee.

If that turned out to be the case, his main concern was whether the young man was still their captive or had escaped.

He just hoped the boy wasn't dead.

Whitley wondered if he had died and gone straight to heaven, because that shower was just so divine.

It may not have been the most luxurious shower in the world, nor the cleanest, but he found he didn't care once he felt the warm, running water upon his skin. As he scrubbed the muck, soot, and sand off of his body, he felt all the stress of the past few months slowly drip away and sink into the drain with the filth. It honestly surprised him that he missed taking showers as much as he did. But spending months cut off from the most basic of amenities tend to make one appreciate them more.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, as the old saying goes. The boy thought. Though, it also showed that I can actually take a shower with arc reactor.

After taking a 20 minute shower, the boy quickly dried himself off and dressed himself. Just as the mayor had told him, there was clean set of clothes for him to wear. To his surprise, it was just a plain white t-shirt and a pair of denim jeans. If he had been the same person he was months ago, he would have discarded them and asked for something better. But as he was now, he'll gladly wear them. Clothes are clothes, no matter how expensive they are. Their only purpose was to keep people from exposing themselves to the world.

After he put the t-shirt on, he sat down on a chair in the corner of the room. He allowed a moment to compose himself, to calm his nerves before he met with the doctor. As he tried to calm himself, he noticed a body mirror on the wall adjacent to him. Not only was this the first time in months he had taken a shower, he realized, but it was the first time he was able to look at himself in the mirror.

He rose from his seat and approached the mirror.

The second he stood before the mirror, he blinked and let out a rather subdued, "Whoa..."

Is that really me? He wondered in awe.

Whitley was aware that he had grown during his time in that cave, but he never thought he grew this much. For a moment, he actually thought he was looking at another person rather than his own reflection. His hair had grown out, no longer short and straight, but now it was longer, more shaggy and messy. His face had lost most of the baby fat, giving him a more defined and angular jawline. But those changes paled in comparison to his body.

He knew he had a growth spurt, but he never thought it was this dramatic. Before, he was taller than Weiss by a few good inches. Now, he was about a head taller than her, maybe even nearing Winter's height. He'll probably be taller than his father by the time he's twenty, he theorized.

But it was not only his height that had changed, but also his physique. He used to be a slender and very weak boy, but now his body was lean and fit. His arms, once thin and noodle-like, were now toned with small, compact muscles that rippled when he flexed his arms. His chest, to his shock, was so muscular that he could actually see the muscle through the thin white fabric of his shirt, with the bright blue light of the arc reactor shining through it.

Curious, he lifted his shirt slightly, to look at his stomach. His eyes nearly bugged out when he saw that his stomach was toned, having what looked to be the beginnings of a six-pack. Given time, it could become more pronounced.

Holy shit... I'm ripped! Whitley thought excitedly, a small, dumb grin on his face.

Whitley had never cared for physical exercise, preferring to build his brain than his muscles. Now that he saw himself in the mirror, he now understood why some people endure strenuous exercise, if this kind of body was the result.

Whitley took that moment to admire his new body, flexing his arms a bit and doing a few little poses. So lost he was in appreciating his new physique that he lost awareness of his surroundings. So focused he was on his own reflection that he didn't notice the doctor enter the room.

His reverie was cut short when he heard someone cough into their hand.

He nearly stumbled in fright when he heard that cough. He looked over and saw a woman, the doctor no bout. Realizing that she had watched him goof around, his face heated up in embarrassment.

He chuckled nervously before asking, "How long were you standing there?"

The doctor smiled and replied, "Since you started flexing like a circus strongman. Also, you do realize you're not quite as fit as you believe."

The boy blinked confusedly and looked again to the mirror. He frowned upon seeing that she was right. He was leaner and taller, and his arms indeed had developed. But he was also still somewhat of a string bean. He lifted his shirt again to see his stomach. To his disappointment, his stomach was flatter than a collapsed pie.

In his defense, he hadn't seen his reflection in months.

"Oh," The boy dumbly spoke before asking, "Uh, would you please not tell anyone about that?"

"Don't worry; you've got total doctor-patient confidentiality. Speaking of which, Mr. Schnee, I need to perform a physical on you, just to make sure that you're healthy and didn't suffer any long term physical effects from your captivity." She told him.

"If you'll follow me back to your bed, we can get the tests started... or would you rather just stay here and keep playing Remnant's Next Top Model?" She cheekily asked before walking away.

Seeing that he had no other choice, Whitley followed after his newest physician. Once he returned to the other room, he sat himself up on his bed. The doctor picked up a clipboard, before she took a seat and placed it next to him, which she sat upon. She then took out a pen from her lab coat and pressed it against the paper on her clipboard.

"Mr. Schnee, My name is Doctor Amy Drew, before we start these tests; I just want to reassure that you're perfectly safe. These tests are just meant to ensure that you haven't suffered any long-term effects of any physical and sexual abuse from your time as a captive."

The boy gagged, which Dr. Drew noticed, causing her to ask in concern, "Are you alright, son?"

Whitley nodded, "No, I'm fine, I just threw up a little when you mentioned sexual abuse. By the way, they didn't do anything remotely like that to me."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Schnee, but that is a mandatory part of the tests. Even if you weren't abused, I still have to be sure. If I simply took your word for it, then I wouldn't be doing my job right as a doctor."

The boy frowned, already uncomfortable with the prospect of answering questions like that. Drew saw his crestfallen expression and told him, "Don't worry, that part of the exam mainly involves answering a few questions and just taking a blood sample, so that we can test for any possible sexually transmitted infections. It's all routine, I assure you. Help me help you, do you understand?"

With a hesitant nod, Whitley responded, "Yes, I understand."

"Good. Let's get started with the most immediate and concerning question." She told him.

"Which is what, exactly?" He asked.

"What in the name of the gods is that bright light on your chest?!" She frantically asked, pointing her pen at the Arc Reactor.

Whitley looked down at his chest, right where the reactor was located. He probably should've told her about that first.

He told her, "Okay, fair enough. Well, it's a little something called the Arc Reactor."

"Okay... but what is an Arc Reactor, exactly?" She asked after writing that tidbit down on her clipboard.

"Well, it's what's keeping me alive right now." He answered.

"Yeah, but how, though?" She asked, as her eyes were still transfixed on the glowing circle.

The boy sighed and pinched his brow. He had had a feeling that this particular discussion was going to keep them here all day. He never imagined that a medical examination would be more uncomfortable than being an actual hostage.

Just bear with it, Whitley. You've literally gone through worse than this.

Sitwell pinched his nose in irritation as the last of the bodies were zipped up into body bags. As he feared, they have found no survivors. But as the bodies were those of Faunus, it appeared that this camp was indeed home to a group of Faunus extremists. Their Grimm-inspired masks nearly led him to assume they were White Fang, until he discovered that said masks were not covered in soot but were indeed black in color.

Given the facts, he can only conclude that they were possibly a group that had splintered off from the Fang.

What's more, they found more bodies in the labyrinthine caverns of the mine, and some of them appeared to have been prisoners. According to the team that found the corpses, they appeared to have been burnt alive in their cells, an act that disgusted the agent to his core. But what truly disturbed him was that most of the prisoners were Faunus.

Suddenly, the idea of a Fang splinter group was sounding less far-fetched.

Sitwell frowned and thought pitifully, If only we had known...

But despite all the horrors they've discovered, there was a silver lining to all of this tragedy. While many corpses have been found, none of them had been identified as Whitley Schnee, which gave the agent hope that the boy was still alive. Whether he had escaped or was still a captive he did not know, but the boy was most likely alive.

Now all they had to was find him.

Which is easier said than done. He thought morosely.

It took us more than two months to find this place, how long will it take until we find the kid.

"Agent Sitwell, sir, there's a call for you!"

The agent turned to see a younger agent, an anxious rookie named Blaine, sprinting towards him, running as though the Grimm were hot on his heels. When the man reached his superior he gave a very rushed salute, which Sitwell reciprocated with a crisp one of his own. The younger agent took a deep breath so that he may compose himself, and to bring air back into his lungs, and then told his commander.

"Sir, we just received a transmission. The speaker wanted to speak to you personally."

"Thank you, Blaine. I'll go and take the call. Go find Agent Buckland and tell her she's in charge until I get back."

Woo saluted Sitwell again before leaving to perform his new task.

Sitwell walked away from the camp and went to the small outpost the recovery teams had set up. He passed by dozens of agents as they scurried about from tent to tent, either completing different tasks or carrying bodies into the medical tent for identification. He eventually reached the main tent, where their communications equipment was located. He approached the table where the main radio was located, relieved the agent manning it, and took the mic.

"This is agent Sitwell, Mistral Special Intelligence Service. Identify yourself and state the purpose of your message." He commanded to the person on the other end of the line.

[Agent Sitwell, my name is Hyacinth, and I am the mayor of Gulmira. I was told by MSIS headquarters that you were the one I needed to contact, so they gave me the frequency for your team's radio channel. I have some news that you might find helpful to your mission.]

"All right, Mr. Mayor, you have my full attention. What information do you have for me?"

[Well, it's not information, but more a person-of-interest. Last night, some of our villagers found a person on the outskirts of Gulmira; A person that you have been spending the better part of two months looking for.]

Sitwell blinked and felt his voice die in his throat. After a few seconds to process what he had just heard, he found his voice again and asked in disbelief, "Um, sir, are you telling me that you found someone you believe to be Whitley Schnee?"

[No, Agent Sitwell, We know it's Whitley Schnee whom we found.]

It had been a day of many startling revelations for the man. In the span of just under ten hours, he had found a phantom camp littered with the corpses of terrorists, discovered evidence that a secretive international crime syndicate had supplied said terrorists, and now he had just been told that the boy he's been looking for had been found literally the night before. This was all just too perfect to be true, in his opinion.

But then again, I'm the absolute last person to complain about the absurdity of life...

With a resigned sigh, he asked, "Can you please tell me where I can find Gulmira on the map?"

"There, we're finished with your breathing. See that wasn't as hard as you thought, was it, Mr. Schnee?" Dr. Drew remarked as she placed the stethoscope back into her medical bag.

"I admit it was... tolerable." Whitley admitted, honestly surprised by how quick the physical was.

It was still awkward as all hell, especially the interview portion, but it wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. In fact, most of the questions he answered were mostly about the Arc Reactor, which the doctor kept gushing about. She likened it to one of the most significant medical and technological advancements in Remnant's history, and opinion that Whitley shared, in his humble opinion.

As for his cauterized wound, he was pleased to know that it had not been infected. In fact, the Doctor was impressed that he had been able to treat his own

"Okay, now that's out of the way, let's get that blood sample." Drew said before retrieving a sterile syringe and medical gloves from her bag, as well as a small gauze swab and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

Whitley held his forearm out to the doctor. She opened the bottle and placed the swab over it, which she then held upside down, dousing the small swab with alcohol. She dabbed the swab on the boy's forearm, leaving it clean for the syringe. She took hold of the syringe, tapped the needle with her fingers to test its sturdiness, and brought it to the prepared injection site on his forearm.

"All right, all you're gonna feel is a little prick." She calmly reassured the boy, who fought the urge to roll his eyes.

This wasn't the first time he's had a needle punctured into his skin and he doubted it'll be the last.

The doctor pressed the needle into the boy's skin, only to notice something odd.

"Okay..." She spoke in confusion.

"What is it?" He asked.

"It's nothing; you just have really thick skin is all." She replied as she applied more pressure into the injection.

He felt a short but slight pinch seconds later.

With the needle now puncturing the boy's surprisingly dense skin and muscle, the doctor pulled the syringe plunger back, filling the small vial with her patient's blood. She pulled out a small vial and pierced its plastic cap with the syringe. She then pressed down on the syringe plunger, pushing the blood through the needle and into the vial. She disposed of the needle in a nearby container marked for disposal.

But Whitley did not notice this. His interest was focused on his forearm, where the syringe had been injected. It took several seconds for the needle to pierce his skin, and according to the doctor, a considerable amount of her strength to do it. An act that should have taken but a second and the most minimal strength proved to be anything but.

It made the boy wonder if there was something different about him. He knew he had bulked up, but the needle should've pierced his skin in a second. He knew for a fact that he had no aura, as he never unlocked it. So what was it that made such an easy-to-perform task so hard to finish?

That's when he remembered his cauterized wound. While it was indeed a bullet that had grazed him, the wound itself was not as bad as it should have been. In fact, while the skin had been cut, it barely cut into his muscles. While still painful, it was still a relatively easy patch-up job.

But it was probably nothing. It was just his mind playing his tricks on him... a mind that went out of its way to torment him with every possible chance. Like when he tries to sleep, or when he thinks back to all the cruelty he witnessed in the cave, or all of the terrorists he probably killed, the people he was unable to save; or whenever he was reminded of his failure to save the life of the man who not only saved his life and soul, but became his greatest mentor...

After placing the vial into her medical bag, Doctor Drew returned her attention to her patient. But when she saw the boy, she immediately became concerned. The boy was simply staring off into space, his eyes blank, unfocused, and completely glazed over, as though his mind was somewhere else. She cautiously approached the boy and softly nudged him.

She softly spoke, "Mr. Schnee? Mr. Schnee?"

He continued to stare at nothing.

"Whitley," She said, using his first name.

And just like that, life returned to the boy's eyes.

He looked at the doctor saw she was staring at him with a concerned look.

He asked, "Is there something wrong?"

She blinked and asked, "Do you remember the last few seconds?"

"Yeah, I was watching you put all your equipment away. Why do you ask?"

She frowned and spoke, "No, it's nothing."

She was lying, of course. She may be a medical doctor, but she had some knowledge of psychology. She had seen that look before, in some of the hunters and ex-soldiers she had treated. The thousand-yard stare, one of the tell-tale signs of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. She knew that the boy was likely to develop the condition, given his situation and especially his age. But she was no psychiatrist, not like her late friend Cho. The boy needed help; the kind of help that was trained to deal with trauma.

I'll be making a note of that in the medical report... a very big one. She promised herself.

"All right, we're finished. Now, I believe the mayor wanted to speak with you. Go gather your belongings. The town hall is located in the center of the village. You can't miss it."

"Thank you, doctor." Whitley said, rising up from the bed.

Before he left the room, he asked the doctor. "Doctor, you wouldn't happen to know where the village cemetery is, do you."

"Yeah..." She unsurely replied, "It's on the right side of the village. Why do you ask?"

"It's not what you think," He said, "It's just I made a promise to a good friend to visit it, to pay my respects."

"Who is this friend?" She asked.

"His name was Yinsen." He replied, "Again, thank you, doctor."

He left the room without looking back.

If he had, he would have noticed the shocked look on the doctor's face.

After entering the clinic desperate and aimless, Whitley left the building with resolve and purpose. The knapsack which contained the journals, the Grimm Deterrent, and Yinsen's ring was slung over his shoulder, the bag swaying with every step he took. As he walked toward the center of the village, where the mayor waited for him, he took in the sight of the settlement. Suffice to say, he was a little disheartened by what he saw.

All throughout the neighborhood, dozens of people, human and Faunus scurried in and out of their homes. Many of these domiciles had holes in their walls, with many appearing to have been caused by explosives. When he really focused, he saw what appeared to be bullet holes, as well. It seemed that Vryolak and Savin were not content with just destroying Yinsen's life; they also had had to destroy the village the man had devoted himself to caring for.

The residents were piling up boxes, luggage, and even furniture on the dirt-covered road. Parked outside of each home were transports of varying design, most of which were horse drawn carts with a few trucks and cars here and there. Whitley wondered what was making these people leave their homes. Most of all, he wondered what Yinsen would think if he saw his home like this.

He knew what the doctor would have felt though; Devastation at seeing his beloved home becoming a ghost town.

"Hey, kid, watch where you're going!"

Whitley stopped dead in his tracks, nearly avoiding a passing horse carriage.

As the carriage wheeled away, its driver turned back in his seat and shook his fist at the boy, all while angrily shouting, "Look where you walking, jackass!"

Before Whitley was able to retort, he remembered he still had somewhere else to be. He resumed his journey to the Village square. But even as he walked, he was unable to keep his thoughts from returning to the village. It felt wrong, in his opinion. It was horrible that these people were being forced to flee from their homes, no doubt out of fear of Vryolak and Savin returning to finish the job.

He wondered if the people would stay if they knew what had happened to Vryolak. Savin may have escaped punishment, but he doubted the Snake Faunus was that petty to destroy a dead man's village. At least, Whitley hoped that was so. Of the two, Savin was the one whose actions were harder to predict.

Still, if they heard that Vryolak was dead, would that make them stay?

The better question is would they want to stay? He wondered.

Gulmira's fate ultimately became the only thing the boy thought about as he walked. With each house he passed, he saw each and every villagers resigned acceptance of their situation. Young and old, Faunus and human, each and every face he saw carried the same hopelessness. It was a feeling that he had become quite familiar with at some points during his captivity.

Eventually, he reached the town hall. As he expected, the building, which was three floors tall, was falling apart like the rest of the village. The walls were scarred with pockmarks and bullet holes, and the telltale sign of explosions were found everywhere. Many of the windows were shattered as well, the glass fragments littering the dried, sandy ground below. In fact, one of the walls had actually collapsed. The only part of the building that nearly undamaged was the stoop that led directly to the entrance where the main door was once located.

Just what the hell happened in this village? The boy couldn't help but wonder.

He walked up the steps and entered the building. Once he was inside, he frowned. He thought the building looked bad on the outside, but it was much worse on the inside. The main hallway was littered with debris, the carpet was torn in some places, and the walls looked close to collapsing any minute. The interior looked so fragile he was worried that the building might collapse on him if he took another step.

But he still had to meet with the mayor. With much hesitance, he strolled slowly through the hallway in search of the elected official. After the first few steps, he heard a faint voice that he recognized as the mayor's. Following the sound of man's voice, the boy found himself steadily reaching the source. With each step, the voice increased in volume, telling him he was getting closer.

Soon, he found himself standing before an open doorway, leading to a small, official-looking room. Sitting at a desk inside the room, engaging in a conversation on an old military transceiver radio, was the mayor. As he spoke, the mayor noticed the boy standing in the hallway.

"He's here." He said to the person on the other end.

The old man beckoned the Schnee to come inside and approach him. Whitley acquiesced to the man's demands and entered the room and quickly approached the antiquated, wooden desk. The old man retracted the receiver from his ear and held it out to the boy.

Whitley took the receiver and placed it against his ear. He spoke unsurely into it, "Hello?"

[Mr. Schnee, I'm Agent Jasper Sitwell, Mistral Special Intelligence Service.]

Despite himself, the Schnee inwardly snorted at the man's first name; Really, Jasper? And I thought my parents hated me...

Humor was quickly replaced by sudden realization. Wow, that sounded way sadder than it should have been.

Shaking those thoughts away, Whitley spoke again to the agent, "Agent Sitwell, to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?"

[Your return home, as it were. Mayor Hyacinth was kind enough to inform us of your arrival in Gulmira. I wanted to tell you that I will be arriving within the hour to pick you up.]

"Thank you, Agent Sitwell. I can't begin to tell you just how relieving it is to hear you say that." Whitley told him, though the agent's imminent arrival made him worried.

[You're very welcome, Mr. Schnee. Until then, just sit back and take it easy. You're coming home, son.]

Home...

Whitley fought the urge to frown at the mention of home.

"Thank you, sir. I look forward to your arrival." He coolly replied before ending the communication.

His tone was not missed by Hyacinth, who raised a concerned eyebrow.

The boy placed the receiver on the desk and took a seat. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair, his mind racing with a million thoughts.

The old man asked in concern, "Is everything all right, son? Are you feeling okay?"

"Honestly, I've no gods-damned idea what to feel. On one hand, I'm finally returning to Solitas. But on the other, well, I still have business I need to finish here, in Gulmira."

"And what business do you need to finish here, my boy?"

Whitley said nothing as he pulled up his knapsack, which he put on his lap. He opened it and reached inside. Seconds passed as he fished around for the one item that was the reason for his coming to Gulmira, albeit his arrival was much sooner than he expected. He smiled when his fist wrapped around it. He pulled his fist out of the bag, the small object fully secure in the palm of his hand. He reached over and gently placed the small golden ring on the table's hard wooden surface.

"A ring, that's what brings you to Gulmira?" The mayor asked in disbelief.

Whitley shook his head, "It's not just any ring. It was Yinsen's wedding band. Before he died, he gave it to me. He asked that I bury it with his family and I gave him my word."

Hyacinth's eyes lit up and he asked, "You're not pulling my leg, are you. Are you sure that Yinsen, with his dying breath, gave you his wedding ring, one of his most treasured possessions, and asked you to bury it?"

The boy blinked and confusedly replied, "That is what I said, yes."

The old man sighed and leaned back in his chair. He wiped his hand across his experienced brow and groaned, "Well, this just got more complicated..."

Hyacinth took the ring and pocketed it in his pants for safekeeping. He then rose up, his cane supporting him as he stood.

He told the boy, "Come with me. There's someone you need to meet."

The tone of his voice told Whitley there was no room for negotiation.

The old man walked, his legs moving as fast they can for a man of his age.

He rose from his own seat and joined the mayor for his sudden stroll. The two left the office and entered the hallway, where the old man motioned the younger one to follow him outside. They exited the town hall, their eyes greeted with the sight of the rapidly depopulating village. They walked down the steps and turned right onto a dirt road. As they walked, Whitley felt compelled to ask a question that had been bugging him since he saw the village.

"Sir... can you tell me why everyone is leaving the village?" He asked with some reluctance.

Hyacinth frowned and replied, "I'm afraid what you're seeing are the final moments of a dying village, my young friend."

"How do you mean?"

"After the attack, our village was besieged by the Grimm. We had Hunters for a while, but once the money stopped coming in, the younger ones left. The few that stayed were older and experienced enough, but they weren't invincible. The very last of them was killed two days ago, right after the village got spooked by a giant cloud of smoke."

Upon hearing about the smoke cloud, Whitley felt his heart drop, knowing full well he was responsible for that one. He didn't mean to put the people into such a panic that it attracted the Grimm.

"And now they're leaving for the safety of the big cities?" He assumed.

"That was happening long before the Grimm Attacks. Most of the young people left our village to work in the city. The last two months have simply nailed the final nail in the coffin for Gulmira. If anything, I'm glad many of our people have decided to move, if it means it'll save their lives as well as their families." Hyacinth said with a resigned tone.

"And what about you, Mr. Hyacinth, what will you do?" Whitley asked, genuinely concerned for the elderly mayor.

"I'm 80 years old, Mr. Schnee. I've lived a full life. I've lived here my whole life and I am going to die here, too... and nothing can change my mind."

Whitley knew that he had no chance in convincing the old man to move out. From the resolve in his voice, it was clear that he was dead-set on dying in his home. A home that is now beset by the Grimm and now has no hunters to defend said home. He thought back to the Grimm Deterrent Box he had in his knapsack.

Maybe I should give it to him; it might help buy him a few more years of peace...

It had served its purpose for him, and while he was tempted to try and have it mass-produced, especially since he had memorized the design. But its very existence has also created many potential problems. That first of these problems were the thousands of Hunters that said device would put out of work if everyone in Remnant had one...

Then again, considering the current crop of Hunters, it might not be so bad... No, my personal feelings have no say in the matter.

The second potential problem was his Father. Knowing Jacques Schnee, the man will no doubt try and have their R&D department tamper with the design; with the intention to make it more expensive and run mostly on dust, rather than solar and lunar energy. After all, what profits can a company like the SDC make with technology that can be powered by free, renewable energy for years?

Well, other than tech support, I can't think of anything.

The third potential problem was actually less severe in its ramifications. The problem was if people would actually believe someone built something that can actually keep the Grimm away. If anything, it sounded like the ramblings of a mad man. He wouldn't be surprised if people laughed right in his face at such a notion.

He looked at the old mayor and wondered if he'd believe him. He'll ask later, after the man had introduced him to whomever it was that he had to meet.

Curious, he asked Hyacinth, "Sir, this person we're meeting, who are they?"

"See for yourself, since we've arrived." The old man said before pointing ahead

Whitley followed the man's finger and saw, to his surprise, a small but very old playground. The miniature park had all the familiar trappings, such as slide, seesaws, a jungle gym, and a swing set. Shockingly, there were only two people present in the entire park. The first person was an elderly woman in casual clothes suitable for the desert, with wrinkly, tan skin and grey hair. The second figure, sitting in a swing set some distance away, was a small child, barely tall enough to go past his knee by his guess. The little girl was dressed in a white dress and had short black hair that reached all the way to her neck, and atop her head he saw two cat ears.

The woman noticed the two new arrivals and walked over to them.

"Mr. Mayor, are you here to pick her up?" She asked.

"Yes and no." He replied before motioning to the Schnee, "I've brought someone who I think she'd like to meet"

The woman looked the boy over and said incredulously, "Isn't he the boy we found yesterday? Why would she want to see him?"

"He knew Yinsen."

The woman's eyes nearly bulged for a second before relaxing.

"I see..." She breathed before telling the boy, "Well, go talk to her."

Whitley stared incredulously at the two senior citizens, wondering just why they had brought him to speak to a child. While he wanted to object, he was still indebted to these people and to rebuke their wishes would be disgraceful. Not to mention that the expressions on their faces showed that they won't take no for an answer. Without any other choice, he took a deep breath and stepped forth to meet with this child.

As he got closer, he noticed a few details that he had noticed before. The girl was quiet, not even letting out a small giggle or sniffle, and she wasn't even using the swing set, just sitting on it, with her feet dangling inches above the ground. But what shocked him most were her arms, which were both grasping the rope, and he saw that they were bandaged up. Had she been hurt in some way?

Once he was within a few inches of her, the little girl's cat ears twitched, indicating she had heard him. But she didn't turn to face him. He had no idea how to talk to children, so he opted to just open with a generic greeting.

"Hi," He greeted with a friendly tone, "My name is Whitley. What's yours?"

The girl answered in a hushed voice, "Toni..."

Whitley blinked at the answer and thought, Toni? Like my grandmother? I know she was a famed scientist, but who'd name their child...

That's when he remembered something. For the last two months, he had come to know a man who had been a great admirer of his grandmother. Yinsen, his friend and mentor, had told him that he was such a fan of his grandmother that he had named his daughter after her...

Whitley's eyes widened as he realized whom he was speaking to.

This girl was Yinsen's daughter.

He breathed in and exhaled. This wasn't going to be easy.

He affected a friendly tone again and replied, "It's nice to meet you, Toni..."

Now comes the hard part.

"I'm a friend of your dad."

The little girl tightened the grip on the swing ropes and started trembling. She turned her head to look at Whitley, revealing her light purple eyes to him. Whitley had to keep himself from frowning when he saw the look on her face. The look in her eyes, it was something that should not be seen on someone as young as her. Her eyes, which should be hopeful and curious, were dull, lifeless, and so icy cold that it felt like he was staring into a corpse's eyes.

"You know daddy?" She asked, her small voice shaking with desperate hope.

"Uh... yeah, I know him." Whitley answered, despite the hesitance he felt.

"Where is he?"

Whitley took a few seconds to form a response. "Well, he... he..."

There was now a sliver of hope in her eyes. Whitley saw this and cursed himself for having to tell this little girl that her father was dead.

With a shaky voice, he told her, "He, well... He had to go do something really special and he, uhm... he wanted me to come and check up on you."

"When is he coming back?"

Never before in his life had Whitley felt like such trash. Here he was, talking to this little girl who had lost everything and he was trying to lie right to her face; even if it was meant to spare her from a terrible and gut-wrenching truth. He was lower than trash.

"He..." He tried to find the right words.

He took one look and saw that the girl was now hanging onto his every word.

It'll hurt, but she deserves to know the truth.

"I'm sorry, Toni... but your dad's not coming back." He spoke.

"Is he dead?" She asked, more knowing than upset.

Whitley couldn't bring himself to say it. Instead, he nodded his head.

Toni looked at him for a few seconds, as though she were hoping he was lying. When she realized he was not, tears formed in her eyes. Her lip quivered, her hands shook, and then finally, the dam burst as hot tears poured down her cheeks. She lowered her head, not wanting to stare at the boy any longer.

As he cried, Whitley felt something tug at his heartstrings. For an instant, he saw another child in her place. A Child of about seven years of age, with white hair and tearful blue eyes; a little boy who had felt like his whole world had shattered and that he had been abandoned by the people he loved.

"Do you want me to stay and sit with you?" He asked.

The little girl didn't raise her head but nodded, nonetheless.

Whitley took hold of the other swing and sat on it; his feet planted firmly on the ground. The two sat there, on that swing set, for as long as the little girl cried. Whitley didn't know what he could do. He knew he still had business to attend to and that he had to explain his story to Sitwell when he arrived, but he didn't care how long he had to sit here, so long as his friend's daughter didn't feel alone in her grief.

Mayor Hyacinth watched the scene with a resigned sadness.

Poor Toni had lost so much at such a young age. Her mother was dead, killed by a fire started by extremists. Her brother too was dead, after he had carried her away from the fire despite being horribly burnt himself. Now, it was confirmed her father had passed as well, leaving her with no family left in the world.

That is, until the young Schnee came.

"Why did you bring him to see Toni?" His fellow elder asked.

"Yinsen imparted his wedding ring to him, to be buried with his family. It was his last will." He replied.

She gasped in shock and quietly exclaimed, "You mean Yinsen invoked that old tradition?"

"I doubt it was his intention, as he probably believed his whole family dead, but yes." Hyacinth replied.

There was an old custom in Gulmira, one that dated back to the village's founding. It had been long forgotten by the younger generations, but the town's older residents were well aware of it. As they weren't actually aligned with the Kingdom of Mistral, they were free to follow all their old laws and traditions.

One such custom was the one that Yinsen had invoked by passing his wedding ring to Whitley on his death bed. While he had not intended to do so, but by handing his most cherished possession to the boy, the doctor had essentially named him as the inheritor of his all his responsibilities. It didn't matter what the good doctor would have given the boy. Whitley could have been given the man's shoe and he'd still inherit the man's will.

There will be paperwork, of course, as was a common in every culture. He also knew that when Agent Sitwell arrived, he'd have to be informed of this sudden development, as well as the boy.

While not meaning to do so, Yinsen had essentially named Whitley Schnee as his daughter's legal guardian.

He may not be able to raise the girl herself, due to his age, but he was now responsible for her life.

He can only hope that he accepted such a responsibility.

Okay, it is now 2020! We have finally entered the third decade of the new millennium!

But that's not important. What's more important is that you probably want to hear more about this story. While I can't share any significant details that count as spoilers, I can confirm that Whitley is now, according to Gulmira's traditions, the legal guardian of young Toni. Obviously, he is too young to raise her himself, but he does know two very kind and compassionate people who have been trying to start a family... Oh, spoilers! Sorry.

Author's Note 12/7/2022: Rewrote some parts. Specifically, the Whitley Mirror scene and a bit of the swing set scene. Fun fact, the swing scene was inspired by a scene from Men in Black 3. I also took inspiration from Justice League Unlimited, when Ace was dying, and Batman sat with her. Those two scenes always tear me up.

Another thing I can give away is this: Next month, there will be two chapters. The first is the follow-up to this chapter, as well as the end of this story arc. The second chapter will feature a three week time-skip, in which we see Whitley's first days as the armored avenger.

I am going to try and increase the number of chapters released this year, so that this can catch up to Amazing Jaune Arc.

Oh, and in response to a question about my dog: His name is Hutch, and he's a mixed breed. Just don't know what a mix of, that is.

Anyway, see you all next month!