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 Nine: Setting Things Up

Mantle, August 8th, 2008 KC

12:30 AM

As he sat behind the wheel of his police cruiser, parked behind an ambulance, Detective Flynt Coal, Sr. adjusted the straps on his bulletproof vest. The vest was a little tight around the waist-his wife had told him he should be on a diet- but he had no choice but to wear it. He was, after all, a proud officer of the Mantle Metropolitan Police Department, literally the only police force in the world where bulletproof vests were mandatory equipment for all cops. Considering how dangerous the city's been getting recently, especially these last few months, the vest was a necessity. The only complaint he had was that it was manufactured by Hammer Industries, the newest "partner" of the MMPD.

Seriously, how the hell was Hammer able to do that? How is it that there is no law to prevent that sort of thing from happening? What is this, CyberCop or something?! He fumed, wondering just how bad things had gotten to this point.

He was referring to the recent buyout of the Mantle police by Hammer Industries. The force had been struggling with budgetary problems for years, as most of their funds went to the Atlas Police Force. For the longest time, they had to rely on weapons, equipment, and vehicles that were admittedly antiquated compared to what Atlas cops were using. But then Hammer swooped in and offered to become their primary supplier. Of course, they had to sign an agreement that pretty much split the administration of the force between the city and the company. It wasn't a hostile takeover, but it certainly felt like one.

Of course, the buyout brought more problems than solutions. The most troublesome of which was the ongoing police strike, which nearly half of the force was taking part in. His precinct was among the most affected, as many of the officers had walked out and joined the strike the minute it began. As of now, the 63rd precinct was mostly run by older officers like him, rookies fresh out of the academy, and whatever retirees they convinced to return. If he didn't have a family to care for, he would've joined his brothers and sisters-in-arms at the picket line.

Then again, Char is a grown man now and Junior's at Atlas now... No, I still have the twin's college tuition to worry about, not to mention that Gytta's only thirteen...

Shaking those thoughts away, Detective Coal exited the cruiser. The chilly Mantle night air brushed against his grizzled and bearded face. It didn't bother him one bit, being a native Mantlian. If one was born in the cold, they live with the cold, was their philosophy. He looked up and beheld the sign above the door, which read 'Lint Convenience'. According to the dispatch, the store was being robbed, as a silent alarm had been activated. He looked through the windows and saw EMT'S prepping somebody for transport.

He entered the store, a bell announcing his arrival. He strolled through the center aisle, his shoes clinking against the cold tiled floor, smashing scattered chips and candies under the weight of his heel. He looked about as he walked, taking note of the ripped bags and bullet holes in the cardboard signs. Whoever was trying to rob this place was either drunk or had insanely terrible aim. He approached the EMTs, who had waited for him, and flashed his badge at them.

He looked down at the man on the wheeled stretcher, winced at what he saw, and asked the first paramedic, "Is this the perp or the victim?"

"Not really much of a difference right now." The medic replied, "But, yes, this is the robber."

"What happened to him?" The detective asked as he eyed the brace fastened around the perp's neck.

"Well, according to the witnesses, this guy received an uppercut so fierce that it sent him flying right into the ceiling." The medic explained, "Apparently his head went straight through the tile and he hung there like a damn human piñata until the ceiling gave in."

"Will he be well enough to appear in court?" He asked, hoping that would be the case.

"Well, he won't be able to defend himself in court, since he'll need to get his jaw wired shut." The medic told him, "Excuse us, Detective, but scum or not, this man still needs to go to the hospital."

The old cop stepped aside and let the paramedics wheel the injured suspect outside. Once they had left, he looked back to the old couple who ran the store. They were no doubt still shaken from their recent ordeal. Coal empathized with their fear, having once owned a shop himself. One can never expect when their store will be robbed.

He approached them and calmly asked, "Mr. and Mrs. Lint, I'm detective Flynt Coal. I just want to assure you that everything's going to be fine. I just need to speak with you about what happened here. What you say can put that slime away for a while."

"We're willing to tell you everything, Det. Coal." Ms. Lint said, "It's just, well, my husband and I are still trying to figure out what... no, who? I'm sorry, but I can't really put into words what we just saw."

Coal replied, "If you need some time to sort yourselves, I can give you that. I know that what you went through was intense-"

"No, uh, it's just we're still trying to wrap our heads around the fact that our savior was..." Mr. Lint tried to speak, only to fumble with his words.

He sighed and told the cop, "Maybe it's best that we show you the security footage. Follow us back to our office and we'll show you."

The elderly couple walked to the back of the store, with the detective following after them. Once inside, they played back the footage showing the attempted robbery. Coal saw it all. He saw the suspect enter the store. He watched as he pulled out the gun and threatened the old woman. He seethed in anger as the criminal forced her husband to try and open the office door, all while aiming his weapon at the woman's head. This was all the evidence needed to secure that scumbag's sentence, in his opinion.

But then he saw him, the couple's mysterious savior. Despite the grainy black-and-white footage, he was able to see that the newcomer was a tall, metallic man. The perp panicked and fired his gun at the metal man, which had no effect. In fact, he noticed that some bags on the shelfs were exploding. Coal realized that it was the bullets bounding off of the man's metal body. The metal man took the gun and snapped it in half, as though it were a brittle twig. The robber, realizing his situation, made a move to escape. The metal man delivered a swift uppercut under the robber's jaw, launching the criminal into the ceiling. The video ended with the Metal Man exiting the store and the perp crashing back to the floor after dangling in the air.

Coal looked to the elderly couple, who regarded him with confused gazes.

Fully grasping the situation, he uttered the only intelligent response to such an amazing sight.

"Huh?"

SCHNEE MANOR, WHITLEY'S WORKSHOP

"No, seriously, V.I.C., just what part of that is confusing to you?"

"The part where you gave what's essentially a golden egg to the old man; I know you're trying to be nicer, but Whit, you do realize the Grimm Deterrent Box- great name by the way- would have made you a mint on the market? You could have built your own damn fortune with that thing!"

"Yeah, it could have. But Hyacinth had been nothing but courteous to me, so I thought it fair to reward his kindness. Plus, that Grimm Deterrent Box- Yeah, I admit it wasn't the best name- would have drawn a lot of unnecessary attention from the people who actually invented the damn thing. Seriously, these A.I.M. guys, whoever they are, sound like trouble and I don't need that right now."

"You don't want trouble? If you weren't looking for trouble then you wouldn't be wearing a suit that makes you fly through the air like some pimped-out projectile, especially after getting shot point-blank by some glorified mugger! You could've been killed!"

Whitley frowned as he thought over V.I.C.'s words. He knew there was a chance that he could have died. There were many possible scenarios that would have led to his death. Falling in mid-flight, extreme hypothermia, and of course, accidentally flying into a building at great speeds. He had calculated for every possibility and the probability of them happening, and he was satisfied with the results enough to fly out. But this was his choice.

He looked over at the assembled armor. It had been a surprise to him that the robber's gun had actually left a few dents in the metal. But it was nothing that he can't hammer and buff out. He still had enough metal left for repairs. But the AI, as irritating as he was, had a point about dents. If small arms can dent the armor, just what kind of damage can armor-piercing rounds wrought, or even a damn missile.

He'd rather not think about those outcomes.

He walked over to the armor and pulled off the helmet. He reached inside and pulled out a small chip. This chip contained all the data collected from the armor's test performance, containing readouts regarding things such as structural integrity, power output, and flight data. Everything concerning the performance of the armor, collected in terabytes of information, was stored on this singular chip that fit within the palm of his hand.

And it is with this data that he'll improve upon his newest passion project.

He walked over to a small desk and sat down, logging into the computer upon it. He then addressed his lab partner with a very stern tone.

"Alright, V, if you're done with your little rant, I'd like you to help me look over this data."

"Fine... Alright, lay it on me, Boss!" The AI said through the computer's speakers, "The Very Intelligent Computer wants a crack at this walnut!"

Whitley told the AI, "V.I.C, remember, you're my partner in this. I want you to take this as seriously as I am."

"I'm an artificial existence inhabiting a computer; going over your suit's data is the closest that I'll ever get to experiencing the real world! Of course I'm taking this seriously!"

Suddenly, the AI whined like a petulant child, "Besides, I had nothing better to do after your shit-heel of a dad decided to use caller ID on me; how am I supposed to get my kicks when he knows they're coming!?"

"Vic, please, not now! Just look over this data! We'll talk about your prank calls later!" He yelled, having lost his patience with AI.

"Well, alright-y then, this'll just take a second, dude! Until then, just sit back and relax."

With a press of a button, the data began uploading its contents into the computer. As the contents of the chip were compiling, Whitley leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms out. He heard and felt his spine crack, which made him wince. Who would have thought that soaring through the air in a metal power suit can give one a stiff back?

He most certainly didn't. Then again, soaring through the air entailed having hundreds of pounds of force crash into you. He also felt slightly cold. The armor was not temperature controlled.

Maybe I should make some kind of padded and temperature-controlling bodysuit, one I can wear under the armor? He wondered, as it appeared to be the best solution at the moment.

He knew this was still the testing stage. Slight adjustments will have to be made on the armor. The addition of the bodysuit might actually make wearing the metal suit more tolerable. It was honestly uncomfortable trying to move his limbs with all those wires and cold exoskeletal frames pressing against his skin. It made him wonder why he wore just a shirt and pants for this test.

Then again, the idea of using a flying, metal suit can make anyone forget certain things. Whitley mused.

Still, helping those people was worth it. Whitley thought with a growing grin.

He never imagined he'd commit his first act of vigilantism during the suit's inaugural flight. He had been flying over the neighborhood just as the suit's built-in police scanner picked up a dispatch about an armed robbery-in-progress. He flew to the store, stopped the robber with an uppercut-which he had shamelessly learned from a MeTube video- and then flew off.

Of course, he'd probably have to watch his own strength when using the armor. While he was finishing the flight test, the scanner picked up a dispatch from an Ambulance that had arrived at scene. Apparently, his punch had broken the robber's jaw, meaning that it'll have to be wired shut. Admittedly, he did feel somewhat guilty rendering a man incapable of chewing solid food.

Well, he felt guilty until he remembered that the man had tried to murder most murder an innocent elderly couple over some lien. Whatever sympathy he felt for the man died when he reminded himself of that fact.

Still, he had to limit the strength he put into his punches and kicks. If there had been a smidgen more strength behind that punch, the robber likely would have died of a broken neck. All he had to do was watch his strength when using the armor. He remembered what happened the last time he had overestimated the armor's strength...

NO! The past is the past, just keep moving forward! The boy fiercely reminded himself, not wanting to relive certain memories.

But the fact was that a suspect in police custody had been assaulted by a vigilante prior to his arrest. While he doubted the council will order for his head to be served on a silver platter for stopping one robbery, that didn't mean he wasn't on their radar. Right now he was barely a blip, as they had more important matters to deal with at the moment. The most pressing of which was the ongoing police strike in Mantle.

Seriously, how was Hammer able to buy out half of Mantle's police precincts? How is there not a law against that sort of thing? Has anybody actually seen CyberCop?! Whitley wondered, honestly befuddled by that fact.

"Okay, finished!"

Whitley looked at the computer and saw that all of the data had been collected. With a satisfied grin, he started the diagnostic program, and together with V.I.C, began examining each and every bit of information as it was presented to him. He took whatever problem was found by the data, performed a few test and simulations, and used the results to refine the armor's design. Eventually, he was able to rework the design to fit the specifications that would correct many of the performance problems of the suit.

With the finalized design in place, Whitley set about making the appropriate changes to the armor. For the boy, it was an intense process, one that was fueled by willpower, determination, and enough caffeine to give a senior citizen a heart attack. So focused was he on his task that he lost all sense of time. All that mattered was smoothing out the rougher edges of the prototype armor.

The armor itself, which was dubbed the Mark II, he considered to be his greatest innovation thus far. It was leaps and bounds ahead of whatever cutting-edge tech most companies were developing, even the SDC. The armor plating was composed of a light yet strong metal alloy, composed of chromium, steel, and titanium, 3 of the strongest metals found on Remnant. The strong metal plating protected the wearer from crashes, gunfire, and even powerful explosions. However, this did not make the suit invulnerable, as the plating will eventually wear out if dealt enough damage.

Much like its predecessor, the armor was capable of enhancing the wearer's strength beyond that of a normal person. Unlike the Mark I, however, the wearer's strength is enhanced to what can only be described as nearing superhuman. The heaviest weight ever lifted by a human being was recorded at nearly 2,475 pounds, which was half the weight of an average car. The Mark II, thus far, was shown to be capable of lifting nearly 15,000 pounds, roughly the weight of an average full-grown elephant!

However, Whitley was sure that the enhanced strength had a limit. Even if the suit made him stronger than the average man, he was still one man. He can lift an elephant, but he doubted that he can lift an entire Atlesian warship.

The Repulsor technology, which gave the suit its flight capabilities, had actually been an accidental stroke of genius. They had initially been designed as weapons for the gauntlets. During the first test, Whitley had discovered that the Repulsor rays can generate an impressive amount of thrust. He reworked the design of the boots to integrate the Repulsor technology, and using them in tandem with the gauntlets, found that he can actually fly.

Of course, he had accidently flown right into the wall on the first try.

V.I.C. had recorded the whole thing... for research purposes.

As for weapons, Whitley had only the Repulsor technology. As this was a prototype, he had not put any consideration into adding more firepower. Of course, he had no idea what can be fitted into the armors slick metal frame without adding more weight. For now, he'll have to rely on the palm rays, boot thrusters, and the Unibeam- a last minute addition - for defense. The flares, which had been part of the design from the suit's conception, will make for adequate distractions for enemies. He hoped to remedy this problem with future models.

Gods damn, I'm good! Whitley proudly thought with an equally proud smile.

With that reassuring thought, he took one final glance at the reworked prototype.

"Well, V.I.C., what do you think?" Whitley asked the AI.

"My honest opinion: I wish I had a body so I can try that bad boy out!" The sentient computer cried.

"No offense, V, but you'd probably crash it on your first try." The Schnee argued jokingly.

"True, but at least I'll go out looking good!" V.I.C. countered before adding, "And I'll be remembered for dying as I lived: Flaming and glorious!"

Whitley blinked and thought. Not exactly what I'd want on my own tombstone, but hey, you do you, V.I.C.

"All right, V, I'm gonna turn in for the night." He told the computer, "You know what to do next, right?"

"Yeah, dude, I know what I have to do. Just as you ordered, I'm going to fly the armor out and land it at the safe house in Mantle, where you'll pick it up."

Whitley nodded and said, "Very good. I'm going to upload you into the Armor's OS now, V.I.C. Remember: You're only flying the suit to the safe spot and nothing else."

Whitley went to the computer and began the process of transferring the AI into the armor.

As he did so, the AI childishly droned, "Yes, Dad!"

Whitley cringed and sternly replied, "Do not call me that again."

V.I.C. chuckled and said, "Doesn't mean it's not true!"

"Okay, into the armor you go!"

Whitley pressed a button and the AI was uploaded into the armor. He turned around and saw the Eyes of the helmet light up, showing that V.I.C. was now in control. The armor moved, as though a person was inside, and flexed its arms and legs. The mobile armor looked at the boy and spoke.

"You know, you really got to learn to take a joke." The AI said through the armor's speakers.

"Not the first time I heard that." Whitley commented, "Just follow the tunnel to the courtyard. Once you're there, fly to the spot marked on the map"

The Armor gave him a quick salute and then ran into the tunnel, one of many under the mansion. They had been built by his Grandmother to escape nosy guests during parties. Now they were being used by her grandson to smuggle a highly advanced, weaponized prosthesis out. After a few seconds, He closed the computer and shut down all power to the workshop. He exited the lab. After closing the door to his workshop, He entered his password into the door's electronic lock, which activated with a satisfying series of clicks. With the lock in place, he walked away, to retire to his bedroom.

His workshop was located underneath the manor, meaning that it will be a short but tiring walk, which entailed a short elevator ride, followed by a few stairwells and empty corridors. Considering that he had been awake for nearly 24 hours, it was probably better for him to stop. Now that he thought about it, ever since he returned to Solitas, he found that he wasn't as tired as he should be. While he may have... problems when sleeping, he understood the importance of sleep to the human body. It's just that he just had so much energy in him. It was as though his body was running on overtime, and he had to use most of his time performing strenuous activity before all that energy was spent.

Then again, that's not the only thing I've noticed... Maybe I should find somebody to run tests on me? Whitley mused, curious about what has been happening to him.

In the weeks since his escape, he had noticed that his body has been changing. While he may have gained some considerable muscle during his captivity- he had long accepted that he's not as well-built as he initially believed- that was mostly an outward and visible change. No, these changes were small and subtle, and he barely felt it. He knew it wasn't puberty, considering he was nearing the age when it ends. No, this was something new and ongoing.

He had first noticed back in Gulmira, when he had his blood taken for tests. It took some effort on the doctor's part to inject the needle into his arm. He hadn't thought much of it at first, having believed at the time that his thick muscles were making it hard for her to plunge the needle through. That illusion shattered, much like a sledgehammer on glass, when he was informed by other doctors that he wasn't as muscular as he thought. It still stung a little, knowing that.

But still, that incident was only the first indicator that his body has been changing. The second incident had occurred when he was assembling the Mark II. He had been using a blowtorch to cut up sheet metal for the smelter. The blow torch slipped from his grip and landed on his foot, c causing his shoe to catch aflame. He quickly stamped out the flames, which had nearly burnt his shoe to a crisp, and removed it. To his surprise, his foot was hardly burnt. It was then that he began suspecting that something was happening to his body.

The most recent incident fully confirmed his suspicions, and it had been the inaugural test of the Repulsor tech, the one that his obnoxious assistant had recorded. He had been testing the tech's thrust capacity at 10%; an output that he assumed would not generate enough force. Unfortunately, it created enough force that sent him hurtling into the wall. In all honesty, he should have broken his neck and died. Instead, the worst injury he received was a bloodied nose.

He had told everyone in the household he fell down a flight of stairs. It was the best he could come up with.

Still, that last incident confirmed his theory. The theory being that the Arc Reactor's energies had somehow enhanced the durability of his skin and muscles. The exact limits of this durability remained to be seen, but he doubted that he was invincible. The healed scar on his forearm was proof of that. He may be tougher, but he could still be hurt if dealt serious damage. Unfortunately, this energy did little to build up his muscles, meaning that he'd have to do it the old fashioned way. He wondered if the durability of his muscle tissue will increase with continued exercise.

Whitley frowned and depressingly thought. There's always a trade-off.

Of course, he wasn't surprised by this revelation. One of the first things he learned growing up was that the best things in life weren't free. He knew from an early age that life would be harder for him being the youngest of the Schnee children, especially when he didn't have the natural physical prowess that his sisters possessed, or their inborn attunement to their family semblance.

Then again, I got most of the brains. He proudly thought.

He may have learnt humility, but there was nothing wrong with acknowledging one's own skills.

He approached the elevator and pressed the button. The elevator doors slid open, allowing him entrance into the cabin. Once inside, he pressed the button for the ground floor, which closed the doors. The elevator lifted up, carrying him to his desired location. The doors slid back, revealing one of the many corridors within Schnee Manor. To his surprise, he found that someone had been waiting for him.

"Klein?" He addressed the butler, "How long were you standing there?"

"I have actually just arrived, Master Whitley. The elevator light was on, so I had decided to wait for you." Klein explained.

He then asked with a concerned tone, "Sir, pardon me for asking, but are you feeling well? You are aware that it is 4 in the morning?"

Whitley groaned and palmed his face. He had known it was early in the morning, but he hadn't been aware it was that early. He tiredly replied, "I got caught up on a project I've been working on. I guess I just lost track of time."

The servant raised a brow and said, "It must be some project."

"Probably the most important I'll ever work on." The boy spoke.

Klein let out a small chuckle before saying, "My, that's quite the declaration, sir; for as long as I've known you, you have never made such a claim."

"Well, what I meant was that it feels important to me. It gives me a sense of order in my life after the... incident." The Schnee glumly explained.

The butler's gaze softened as he considered the boy's circumstances. He recognized the signs of post-traumatic stress when he saw it. In the few weeks since his return, the young man had kept himself confined mostly to his workshop. The fact that he locked the elevator down once he entered his small lab was another point of concern. In the few moments when he was freely moving about the manor, the staff noted his quiet and alarmingly calm disposition. Yet, not once did the boy ever act out in anger or frustration.

In fact, there were even accounts that he actually helped the staff in a few instances. That honestly surprised the servant. For as long as he served the Schnee Family, which totaled thirty years, there had been only one period in which members of the family actually helped the help. When they were younger, mistress Willow and her two late brothers, William and Wilt, would often help the serving staff when they weren't busy. It seemed Whitley was intent on being as self-sufficient as they had been.

He wondered what his mentor, Jarvis, would think about this development.

A thought for later, though. The butler decided.

"Is there anything you need, sir?" He asked the young man.

"No, Klein. Is everything packed for the move?" The boy asked.

"Actually, your belongings have already been moved to Mr. Rhodes' residence."

Whitley was honestly surprised to hear this. When he had told the movers to transport his things to Rhodey's place, he had no idea that they would do it so soon. He thanked Klein and made his way to his bedroom. As he walked, he couldn't help but feel that he wasn't forgetting something.

It was probably something inconsequential.

Right now, all that mattered was getting as much sleep as he can before the move.

"Ring-a-ding-ding⁓ it's time to wake up and greet the day with a smile, dude!"

Whitley cracked his eyes open and growled. "Gods damn it, V.I.C..."

He rose up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He knew he had forgotten something last night. In his rush to reach his bedroom, he had deigned to change the time for the alarm. An alarm that happened to be the voice of an obnoxious AI that seemed to derive pleasure from belting out his nonexistent vocal chords in the most expressive way possible. He really needed to change the sound he used for his alarm.

He tossed the covers aside and got out of bed, rubbing the back of his head and stifling a yawn.

How long was I asleep? He wondered.

Light was piercing through the blinds of the windows, meaning it was now day. He looked at his scroll and immediately panicked.

He shouted in alarm, "THREE HOURS?!"

The best sleep I've had in weeks and it only lasted three hours?! Whitley thought irritably.

In all honesty, he wasn't even that surprised. Ever since his imprisonment, he has had trouble falling asleep. Ironically, sleep had become somewhat of a mental endurance test for him. It took all of his willpower to power on through the nightmares and most times, the nightmares won. When he began work on the armor, he found that his sleeping problem became more... manageable. He had nothing but a good night's rest for the past few days. Albeit, they were rather short rests, but still more pleasant than what he had become used to.

Whitley entered the bathroom and shut the door, locking it in place for good measure. Now standing in the bathroom, he looked to the mirror and beheld his reflection. It was still jarring seeing how much he had grown physically. Even when dressed in cotton pajamas, he found that his body frame somewhat stretched against the fabric. He was no bodybuilder, that was certain, but one can tell that he had muscles under the clothes. Yinsen's training regimen- as well as the diet of smuggled food- had certainly done wonders for his body.

Whitley shook his head and thought amusedly; and to think I thought I was ripped back in Gulmira... though that was the first time in months I actually saw my own reflection. Funny what tricks the human mind can play on you.

He may not be sculpted like a model, but he was getting there... eventually.

He approached the shower, twisted the knob, and hot water came spewing out of the shower head.

He can worry about building muscles later. All that mattered now was enjoying the nice, warm water.

There were four things that Jacques Schnee prided himself on. The first was his incredible business savvy, which helped propel his late father-in-law's company to heights unimagined. Second, he held enough influence in Atlesian society to shape public opinion in his favor. Thirdly, he had a magnificent and immaculately trimmed mustache. And finally, he took immense pride in having a great measure of control over the life of his youngest child.

Recently, however, he had lost two out of those four. His public image had taken a bit of a hit with that admittedly bogus cover story he concocted to hide his son's kidnapping. But all he needed was some time to repair his standing with the public. The second thing he had lost, arguably the most concerning of the two, was that whatever influence he had over his only son was rapidly diminishing.

Of course, I don't consider the boy who came back my son! The businessman inwardly fumed.

Whitley Schnee was a slender and weak-willed boy, physically weak and subsisting his existence on his father's approval. This stranger currently occupying his son's room, however, he was nothing like that. He was leaner and more confident, growing stronger every day and sneered at his very presence. He may have the face and his blood, but that boy was not his son.

But he will be again, If I play this right. He thought smugly, his mouth twisting into an arrogant smirk.

While the boy did indeed become stronger and more confident, he was still just a boy; a boy who had a lifestyle that was being paid for by his father. He will let the boy get his way for now, make him see just how hard life outside of the manor was, and just how fortunate he was to have such a generous father. And he will see what happens when one decides to bite the hand that feeds him. After a week, he'll cut the boy off from the family fortune. Once he realizes just how much he had to rely on him, Whitley will come crawling back, just as obedient as before. And given his rumored mental state, he calculated that his son will give up his unwise venture and return home.

Now that Weiss and Winter had left, Whitley was his last chance at molding the perfect heir. While he still preferred Weiss to inherit the company, and he was fully intent on making her see sense and return, it was in his best interests to keep Whitley, the backup, under his thumb.

Of course, He'll still need protection. Jacques remembered, knowing that his son would likely become a target.

While he certainly thought his son was being an ungrateful little brat, he wasn't going to just let the boy waltz right into Mantle unprotected. He was aware that the Schnee name was not held in high regard by the common rabble, and he wouldn't put it past them to try with Whitley. Especially after the boy's recent kidnapping had revealed that the Schnee were just as vulnerable as anyone. Hogan alone was not sufficient protection for the boy, so he had to hire more bodyguards.

But whom should I hire? The businessman thought deeply.

A team of bodyguards was expensive, especially if they were more experienced. He could hire a couple of Hunters to protect the son, but the thought of letting those barbarians anywhere near his flesh and blood made his own blood boil. Not to mention that the boy would doubtlessly feel uncomfortable under the watchful eye of people twice his age. Whitley needed bodyguards who were closer in age to him, people who can relate to him and put him at ease. By hiring such people, it would show both Whitley and the world that he cared about his son, which would raise his standing among the public.

Not to mention it'd be much cheaper... And I know someone who can get me bodyguards like that. Jacques realized with a devious chuckle.

He pulled out his scroll and quickly dialed in a number. Within seconds, the call was received.

"You've reached the office of General Ironwood, this is Chris, and how can I help you today?" A man's voice asked.

Jacques spoke with a casual and polite tone, "Yes, hello, this is Jacques Schnee. I'd like to schedule a meeting with the general. I have a proposal that I think he'd like to hear."

It was all coming together now. Whitley will get his bodyguards, he'll get to save some lien, and he'll be able to do it while securing a lucrative business deal with the military. It honestly scared Jacques just how much of a genius he was.

Who else would his children have gotten their intellect from?

To say Willow Schnee was not looking good would be an understatement. Her muscles ached and it stung whenever she moved. She was anxious and agitated, as though she were scared of and angry at everything. But most of all, her stomach felt like it was trying to kick itself out of her body. Yet despite it all, she had resisted the urge to drink.

In spite of everything, no matter how many times the urge reared its ugly head; she chose not to indulge her impulse. Though she would be lying if she said she missed the taste of alcohol on her tongue, the stinging yet oddly pleasant burn in her throat, and the feeling of euphoria that would wash over her...

No! No, do not let your mind wander into that place again, missy... She reprimanded herself for even relishing the memory of drinking.

All she had to do was stay the course and soon she'll complete her long and arduous journey to Sobriety. She had spent too many years drowning her sorrows in the brew, keeping herself submerged in a sea of alcohol induced apathy and self-pity. It was time to get out. She only wished that the withdrawal wasn't as... unpleasant as it was.

But she had to push through it. Her father had once said 'The road less traveled is often the hardest', and she was going to walk that road.

"Mother, what are you doing up so early?" She heard a voice behind her ask.

She turned and saw a teenaged boy, white haired and blue eyed, dressed in casual business attire staring at her with a gaze that was a strange mix of bewilderment, concern, and suspicion. She knew who this was and she could only stare back in amazement. It never occurred to her just how much Whitley had grown up. She hadn't even realized that he had graduated from college at an impressively young age. She can remember when he was the adorable little scamp who would often play around in the garden, covered in dirt and flashing a silly grin.

But seeing him now just reminded her on how much she had missed in the past seven years. Her little boy had grown up, and here he was standing before her and he felt like a stranger to her.

"Whitley..." She uncertainly said.

What can she say to him? She can't recall if they ever had a conversation. Her mind was a total blank as she tried to initiate a discussion.

"Are you feeling well, mother?" He asked with a slightly worrying tone.

"Of course I am. I was, uh, looking for... Klein. I've yet to have breakfast and I was hoping he could prepare something nice. A good breakfast is the start of a good day, you know, heh-heh-heh..." She spoke, a slight stiffness in her voice.

Whitley blinked and hesitantly replied, "Oh, well, I doubt he's in the kitchen, but perhaps another member of the staff can cook for you. You, uh, do remember the way, yes?"

Willow, her mind still in the painful throes of withdrawal, perceived the last comment as an insult and snapped, "Of course I do!"

Whitley nearly jumped back at her tone, which shook her from her anger. She quickly apologized, "I-I'm so sorry! I don't know why I said it like that! It's been a rough couple of days and I'm not exactly feeling well right now! Oh, gods..."

Whitley held up a hand and spoke, "Mother, it's fine. I know full well what it's like to be... tired."

She didn't like how he uttered that word. She knew that his capture had been a trying existence for him, but she wondered if it had affected him more than he let on. She can only hope that Rhodey, Pepper, and Hogan can keep an eye on him and help. She was in no capacity to help anyone, not when she can't even help herself.

"Mother, I know we haven't spoken since my return. But before I leave, I thought I should talk to you, at least." He said.

He then took a deep breath and spoke, "The truth is, Mother, well, I have a lot of things that I need to say to you, but I don't feel like now is the right time to share them. I have a lot of things I need to find out about myself, mostly where I fit in this world. I, uh, just want to let you know that, one day, maybe, we can discuss things. But right now, I need time."

Willow smiled weakly and said, "I understand, Whitley. I need some time to sort things out, too. Just promise me that you'll take care of yourself in Mantle, and that you don't get into too much trouble."

"I'll try the best I can, but I can't promise anything." Whitley said with a very nervous chuckle.

The mother and son watched the other for a few seconds. Neither knew what to do in regards to bidding farewell. Should they hug? Should they wave? Should they just say "good-bye" and go about their business? They may have been family, but the person standing before them was practically a stranger. They settled for a polite nod and walked away from each other.

For Willow, this encounter reminded her of her failure as a parent. Her baby boy was all grown up, and she missed out on so many important milestones in his life. And now he was leaving the nest earlier than expected. In her opinion, leaving the mansion was the best thing for her son. She had long accepted that she was nothing but a bird in a gilded cage.

There was no reason for her chicks to be trapped with her.

As Whitley walked to the lobby of the manor, he thought of the recent encounter he had with his mother. He had never imagined talking to his mother would have been so... awkward.

As he stood before her, he felt a myriad of emotions old and new. He felt the bitter, cold sting of resentment and the burning, raw anger that he had become long acquainted with. Yet, he also felt emotions he long thought had been forgotten, such as the warm, relieving hand of happiness and the strong, unconditional love a son would have for their mother. But in the end, what he truly felt was a feeling he had become quite familiar with for the past few months: Fear.

Yes, fear was what kept him from truly opening up to his mother. Fear of what he might say and how he would act. Fear of what she would say to him. But most of all, he was afraid of how she'd react if she learned of what he was doing and what he had already done. Would she react in horror or pity when she learned of his violent escape? Would she be proud or terrified of what he was planning to do? Would she even care?

Whitley understood machines. If they were broken, all he had to do was fix. But people, he honestly didn't know how to understand them. If he cannot understand his own emotions, then what hope had he in understanding those of others? Especially given his admittedly limited contact with people outside of his immediate circle of friends and family, which was smaller than he cared to admit.

Moving away from the mansion, from Atlas, was the first step in his journey for answers. He had lived long enough to know how the rich and powerful lived. It was time he understood what true hardship was. He needed to understand what motivated his grandfather to building his fortune and what motivated his grandmother in trying to build a better tomorrow. But most of all, he had to learn who he was away from the family fortune. He had to know just what kind of person Whitley Schnee really was.

He turned a corner and found himself in the corridor leading to the grand staircase. It was only a matter of seconds before he was out of this cold tomb that was once home.

Of course, there was another motive behind his decision to move out. He had no idea who he can trust in Atlas. His father had originally been intended to appear at that weapons demonstration, only for him, his own son, to go in his stead. While the demonstration was public knowledge, its actual location was a classified secret. The only people who had such knowledge were those in the upper echelons of the military and the Schnee Dust Company. To make a long story short: Someone had it out for his father and he got caught in the crosshairs.

And getting out of Atlas was the first part of his plan. He had to get away from the kingdom, away from prying eyes and nosy ears. Mantle, however, was the sort of city that anyone can disappear to. All he had to do, when he wasn't flying around in a metal suit, was stay out of the spotlight, so that he can investigate and discover who had tried to murder his father.

He found himself atop the grand staircase in the lobby. He looked down and saw that the vast room was nearly devoid of any life. Even the doorman wasn't present. The only other person present in the room was none other than Klein. He walked down the stairs and across the floor of the lobby, to approach the butler.

"Klein, does father wish to speak with me?" The boy asked, wondering what else his father will say to convince him to say.

"No, sir, actually I am simply here to open the door for you." The butler explained, "I'm afraid the regular doorman is currently taking his break."

He chuckled and said, "And not because you just wanted to say goodbye?"

"Well, that too." The butler replied with a grin.

Whitley would be lying if he said he wasn't going to miss the genial servant. Klein was reliable, loyal, and always looked out for the actual best interests of his family. Speaking of which...

"Klein, may I ask a favor of you?" The boy asked.

"What is it, sir?"

"Would you keep an eye on my mother?" He asked, "She's going to need someone to help her during her... situation."

"I will do everything within my power to aid Mistress Willow on the path to sobriety." Klein promised, fully intent on seeing this task through to the letter.

Whitley thanked the butler, whom opened the door for him.

The boy stepped through the open doorway with a smile. Once outside, he saw Happy standing next to his car. The bodyguard saw his young charge and opened the backseat door. Pepper, who was usually in the back seats, had stayed in Mantle, to help her new daughter adapt to their new home. Whitley had made a promise to visit them soon.

Whitley entered the car and sat down, firmly secured to his seat by the seat belt. What followed was an hour long journey to the airport, where the bullhead taking him to Mantle awaited him.

Once he arrived in the former capitol, he will move into Rhodey's apartment.

But first, he had a small bit of business to finish; one that he had put off for far too long.

Ferrari & Hindle Associates

11:30 AM

"And with that last bit of paperwork, you now have your Inheritance, Mr. Schnee." Connie Ferrari said as she filed the signed paperwork away.

After so many months, Whitley Schnee had finally gained the inheritance left for him by his grandmother. He had been expecting a rather substantial one, ranging from either money or even a car- of course, the legal driving age was 18, but that didn't matter. But Toni Schnee was an unpredictable woman. Knowing her, he didn't know what to expect.

The lawyer closed the filing cabinet and walked over to a safe. She entered the combination and opened the door. She then pulled out a small sealed envelope. She walked over to the young man and handed the letter to him. Wasting no time, he quickly opened it. He pulled out the envelope's contents and immediately found himself confused.

Resting the palm of his hand was flash drive and a set of keys.

He wasn't expecting that.

"Uh, is this everything?" He asked the lawyer.

"That is literally everything she left for you, Mr. Schnee." She replied. "Of course, the instructions also stated that you needed to go to 39 Downey Avenue."

Whitley recognized the address immediately. It was where his Grandmother's apartment flat was located. It had been empty for five years. What exactly was he going to find there?

"I'm aware that this wasn't what you expected, Mr. Schnee, but I was simply following her last will and testament. If there is anything else you need, don't hesitate to contact my office." Ferrari offered.

He replied, "Thank you, Ms. Ferrari."

He rose up from his seat and shook the lawyer's hand.

Stowing the drive and keys in his pocket, he exited the lawyer's office.

As he walked, he wondered what his grandmother had left him. Whatever awaited him at her old home, he had no idea.

What he did know, was that it was probably something mind-blowing.

Alright, people, Nacoma is going to level with you. This chapter and the last one, they were not my best. In my rush to meet a deadline, my writing suffered and I was left with two equally underwhelming chapters in my opinion. Many people have commented on it, and I fully agree with their criticism, and I would like to assure you all that I'm working to remedy this problem.

So, in order to improve the quality of the chapters, I have decided to release a chapter only once a month, so that I may have a whole month to write one out and refine it. I also need to take a bit of a breather so I don't burn out. I've also got a lot of important things I need to do in March.

Now onto the juicy bits!

Whitley is using the armor as a coping mechanism for his trauma. Like Tony, he will constantly upgrade the armor so that it may keep him focused. Though, should the armor fail, who knows what might happen...

Also, Detective Coal is indeed Flynt's Father. Flynt and Neon will make their debut in the next chapter, which will be released on either March 31st or April 1st (No, it is not an April Fools prank! Even I'm not that cruel!)

Excelsior, True Believers!