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.)

Edited 5/25/20: Corrected the timestamp from 2019 to 2008.

The Invincible Whitley Schnee

Chapter 10: Under the Surface (Part 1/2)

Mantle, August 9th, 2008

Justin Hammer's Office, Justin Hammer's Penthouse

Hammer Building, Hammer Street

20:30 Hammer Time (8:30 PM)

If there was one thing that Justin Hammer II cannot tolerate, it was failure. His family did not get to where they were by being failures. He scoffed at the notion that "failure leads to success". To him, failure is failure and success is success. There are no in-betweens between mediocrity and perfection as far as he was concerned. But that did not mean he was delusional; failure, as loathe as he was to admit, failure was inevitable in everyday life, and it was important one knew how to deal with it. Thankfully, he had a surefire process that helped him in that regard. It was a philosophy that had served his grandfather and father well and helped build their multi-billion dollar enterprise.

And that secret was to always have someone to blame for any failure. When Rand Enterprises refused to sell their Solitas Assets to his company, he fired the incompetent executive who was brokering the deal. When the Council refused to outright sell the administrative rights of the MMPD to him, he instead opted to buyout only half of the precincts. A decision that the repercussions of which were not felt until three weeks ago.

"And with the police strike now entering its third week, the force has been forced to supplement its precincts with academy graduates and trainees, retirees, and civilian volunteers. It's expected that the overall effectiveness of the entire MMPD is expected to decline exponentially." His rather disinterested assistant reported to him.

Of course, this strike was the result he had desired.

His only regret was that the report was being delivered by someone who was more... enthusiastic. Her lack of enthusiasm did not compel him to even listen to her. He stopped listening immediately after mentioning the strike, which was more than aware of and was hoping to continue for months. Besides, he had a much more pressing matter to attend to at the moment.

"Justin, put the damn Rufik's cube down!" His irate assistant shouted.

With an irritated huff, he tossed the cube onto his desk and crossed his arms. He irritably grumbled, "You know, Sasha, if you weren't my cousin, I would have fired you for that."

Sasha sarcastically remarked, "Not like I've been trying to for years."

Hammer pressed his fist against his chest, acting as though he were clutching a knife. He spoke with a dramatic flair, "Oh, my bleeding heart! Oh, dear cousin, your words cut deeper than any blade!"

She sighed and asked, "Are you capable of taking anything seriously?

"Only if it's something I find interesting." He replied without a care, "For instance, if I thought this report was worth my time, then I'd be standing on my feet, rather than being suspended upside-down by them."

Justin Hammer was indeed hanging upside-down, his legs bound in rope tethered to the ceiling of his office. The rope had been a recent addition to the room, one that he had insisted on installing ever since Sasha took his bungee cord away. Without the thrill of bungee jumping off of his office balcony, he had to find some way to bring the excitement back into this life. Thrills like that were what he actually lived for.

The thing about him was that he was smart, insanely so. He had an intelligence that was far too vast for people to measure, even if they were using the most comprehensive IQ test ever devised. His genius was on the level of and often compared to the likes of Moira McTaggart, Reed Richards, Rufus Weller, and a certain Schnee brat who was better left unmentioned. His brilliant mind, which he considered the only good thing he inherited from his father, was his greatest asset.

It was also, unfortunately, his greatest curse.

The thing about being a genius was that it took the excitement out of life. If he had a problem, he'd think up a solution in a heartbeat. It had been like that his whole life. From talking down a schoolyard bully to fixing the latest processor put out by his company, his responses were quick, measured, and required the most minimal amount of effort.

It was boring.

Rendering an unintelligent brute to a blubbering mess using only his words? Anybody with a sharp wit and a silver tongue can do that.

Fixing a harmful software design flaw? He can do it in minutes, when a division of his company's programmers could struggle for hours at it.

Things that would be impressive to unremarkable people he considered to be completely dull, about as mundane as putting on a pair of pants. Things like that are too ordinary for an extraordinary mind like his. Unfortunately for him, he has to live a genius in a world where nearly 99% of the population just can't catch up to him.

And so he has dedicated his life to pursuing the most unorthodox means of emotional gratification. The act of bungee jumping from his office, just dangling in the air hundreds of feet from the ledge of his balcony and only inches away from impacting against fragile glass? That gave him a rush unlike any other. No matter how life-threatening or theoretically impossible, he would find a way to do it. Such thrills are the only things that mattered in his world.

Of course, there was also making money and the satisfying feeling of crushing his rivals under the heel of his custom-made baby seal leather loafers. One had to appreciate the small things like those in life.

But, for now, he had to act serious before Sasha considered taking the ropes away.

He snapped his fingers and called out, "Boris, come!"

The doors to his office opened, revealing a burly, muscular thirty-something tanned man in a finely pressed black business suit. The man was stone-faced with combed back curly black hair, with impressive looking green-tinted sunglasses obscuring his eyes. This was Boris Bullski, the long-serving bodyguard of Justin Hammer. He approached the dangling CEO and untied the binds on his ankles. Hammer didn't even scream when he fell, for Boris had gripped his ankles with his powerful hands and gently lowered him to the ground, allowing the CEO to do a quick handstand before somersaulting to his feet.

"Will that be all, Mr. Hammer?"

"No, Boris that will be all." Hammer told the giant with a dismissive wave. He turned to his assistant and ordered, "Sasha, thank the man on his way out for me."

Sasha rolled her eyes and spoke disinterestedly, "Thank you, Boris, from letting my cousin experiencing actual pain. Your services are indeed welcome."

"Just doing my job, Ms. Hammer," The Bodyguard said before asking, "We still on for later?"

Sasha nodded in affirmation, giving the man all he needed to know about their later plans. He left the office without another word. Now that they were alone, Sasha continued speaking to her cousin/boss. The young CEO walked to his office desk and sat down in his chair, clasping his hands together, ready to listen to the rest of today's report.

"Well," He said, "I believe you were saying something about the strike?"

"Ah, so you were listening?" She asked.

"Yes, I was... And I ask, what is the problem again?" He asked back.

"The strike is the problem, Justin..." She said before elaborating. "With many of the precincts we're administering losing half of their manpower, it will cause the crime rate to rise, which in turn will make the city start calling for heads... And I like my head where it is, Justin."

"Heh-heh-heh..." Justin chuckled, a wry grin on his face.

He then spoke, "I'm afraid you've already lost your head, dear cousin. I asked, what is the problem? I didn't ask about the strike. I see no problem at all. This strike has weeded out those who've placed their lives over those they're sworn to protect. When crime starts to rise, the public won't blame us. We don't pay the cops, the city does. Hammer Industries merely supplies and maintains the precincts to lessen the financial burden on the city. The only heads Mantle will be hunting for are the protestors and the politicians and lawyers who've sided with them. We are as much victims as they all are."

"That was... well explained. It's almost like you've put a lot of thought into..." Sasha froze and began to process what she had heard. Once she was finished, she asked her cousin, "Justin, were you planning for this strike to happen."

Justin said nothing as he rose from his seat and walked over to the glass doors to his balcony. He opened the doors, causing a gust of wind to blow into the room. He walked onto the balcony and leaned on the safety railing, his eyes looking over the city. Sasha, who had followed him, stood from behind, wondering what her employer/cousin was thinking.

"Sasha, do you know what the very last words Father ever said to me were?" He asked.

"I've always hated you, son?" She asked unsurely.

"Ha-ha... Well, he did say that, but he also told me a secret."

Sasha raised an inquisitive eyebrow at that, wondering where he was going with this story.

"He told me that he had a plan. A plan that has been in motion since before I was even born, that I will see come to fruition. This strike is part of that plan." He elaborated, a smug smirk stretching across his face.

"What is the plan, Justin?" Sasha asked, genuinely interested to hear the answer. "What's going to happen?"

He turned to face his cousin/assistant and proudly spoke, "Times are changing, Sasha. Big things are going to happen. Big things that'll bring bigger problems, and Mantle will be right in the center."

She then remarked, "It almost sounds like you want Mantle to be destroyed."

"Oh no, Sasha... I'm going to save Mantle." He countered, surprising her.

James Rhodes' Apartment, Mantle

10:30 PM

"Alright, that takes care of that." Rhodey said before hammering the last nail in.

Placing the hammer in his tool belt, he took both of his hands to adjust the picture frame. Once it was aligned perfectly, he stood back and observed the changes made to the room. Once this was the guest room, but now it was a bedroom for his godson, Whitley Schnee. Everything needed to make this place feel like a home away from home for the boy had already been put in place. He had a bed, a dresser, a television, and a desk for the boy to place his computer.

"It looks great, Rhodey!" He heard the boy exclaim.

He turned to see his godson standing in the open doorway, hefting a large cardboard box labeled "fragile". It honestly surprised the man when he saw that Whitley had gained muscle since the last time he saw him. The boy he was looking at did not resemble the thin, slender boy from months ago. He watched him enter the room, crouching down beside his new bed, and slid the box under it. The box was the last of a dozen, which Whitley had placed in the attic. Exhausted from all of the heavy lifting he had to do, the boy collapsed onto the bed with a dramatic sigh.

Rhodey chuckled at the overdramatic display. He oftentimes wondered if a flair for the dramatic was hereditary in the Schnee bloodline. Winter had it, Weiss certainly has it, and Whitley had it in spades. Hopefully, the boy will grow out of it.

"Okay, Whit, I wanna know, what do you think of your new room?" The man asked his young charge.

"It's small, cramped, and it needs a new paint job," The boy said before happily saying, "I love it!"

Rhodey couldn't help but smile nervously at that. On one hand, he was glad to see that Whitley was adjusting well to his new room. On the other, he was adjusting to everything too well. He was aware that the boy was suffering from some form of post-traumatic stress, yet he seemed to be handling it in stride.

That was worrying. Nobody should be that calm about mental trauma. He knew that from first-hand experience.

"Whitley, be honest with me. Is everything all right?" He asked in concern.

Whitley dropped the smile and replied, "What do you mean, Rhodey?"

"I mean, how are you feeling right now?" The man elaborated, "It's just... you're kind of taking this whole thing a little too well."

"Why wouldn't I be? I'm young, smart, and I'm finally striking out on my own! Albeit I'm staying with you, but I'm my own man now!"

Rhodey shook his head, "No. You are not a man. You are a boy. A boy, who's barely even sixteen, who has moved out of his parent's house, right after being held hostage by extremists for more than two months. Most kids your age would be too traumatized to even step out of their bedroom for months after that. Instead, you moved out of yours to here?"

"Maybe I'm just tougher than most people give me credit for." The boy argued, crossing his arms for good measure.

Rhodey frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose. He took a deep breath and spoke, "Whitley, take this from a man who's spent years fighting his own demons. Nobody is safe from mental trauma. It's not like a scratch on your wrist that you can put a Band-Aid on. No, it goes deeper than skin and muscle. And unlike a scratch, it doesn't heal up in days. It takes years, at best. So, I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me, Are you all right?"

Whitley uncrossed his arms, his self-assured confidence gone. He took a deep breath and clasped his hands together, hoping it will keep him composed. Once he was fully composed and found the words he wished to use. He looked up at his godfather and said, "Honestly, no, I'm not all right. I've been having nightmares, really bad ones, and sometimes I feel like I'm being watched. Whenever I feel like I'm getting better, it only gets worse... and my family wasn't helping matters, but that's painfully obvious. I thought moving here would help."

Rhodey listened and sighed, "That's all I needed to hear. Look, Whitley, I just want you to know that you don't have to feel ashamed about what you're going through. If you ever need someone to talk to about it, just come to me. But if you feel you need professional help, I know this great psychiatrist and she-"

"No. Rhodey, I appreciate the concern, but I don't need a shrink. I think all I need is some time away from the public life. You know, to find myself? See who Whitley Schnee really is?" The boy spoke adamantly.

"And who exactly are you?"

The boy replied, "We're going to have to wait and see."

Then he yawned, "But soul searching is going to have to wait. Who knew carrying boxes all day can wear people out?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna hit the hay, too. I do have a shop to open tomorrow." Rhodey said as he cracked his back. He then asked, "Are you sure you don't wanna work in the shop, after you turn sixteen? The pay's good, hours are short, and pocket money is not going to be easy to come by if you really have your heart set on this."

"I appreciate the offer, Rhodey, but I doubt I have the skills to work in your café and diner. Plus, having a Schnee in your employ won't do well for your business. My family's not exactly popular in this city." The boy said, "Speaking of, do you have the list I gave you, for the store?"

"I do, don't worry." His guardian replied, "But seriously, if you ever need someone to talk to, just come to me."

"I will, Rhodey. Oh, and thanks again for letting me stay here."

"It's nothing, kid." The man said before heading for the door. Before he closed the door, he said, "Night, Whit."

"Good night, Rhodey."

Rhodey shut the door behind him, leaving the boy in his new bedroom. Now alone, Whitley fell on his back onto the mattress, the soft surface cushioning the impact. He stared at the ceiling and said, "As if it'll be a good night's rest for me."

He had no plans of sleeping this night. He fished his Scroll out of his pocket and dialed in a number. He brought the device to his ear and heard the obnoxious ringing that signified the waiting call. The ringing ceased and a familiarly obnoxious voice answered, "Yeah, dude, this V.I.C- 555-V-I-C-K, diddley-doo- may ask who is callin'?"

He groaned, "V.I.C, you know who this is."

"Oh, I know, I just wanted some fun. It's been a little boring waiting around here. Plus, you could have picked a better hiding spot. I mean, a sewer hole, seriously?"

"Hey, it's inconspicuous and nobody can see you. Plus, you don't have a nose, so why are you getting so upset?"

The AI snapped, "Because I'm hiding in a damn sewer! I may not smell shit- which this place is flooded with, btw- but why a sewer, of all places?"

"Well, I'm sorry, it's not like I have some kind of hidden lair or something! Look, just get out of the sewer, just fly around for a bit, you know, to air the smell out- at least that's how I think it works- and then come pick me up. We've got somewhere to be."

"Yeah, about that, boss, it's kind of busy up there. I'm hearing cars, people, animals, and I think a concert- sounds like Allison Blaire- so it might be a while before I can get out."

Whitley groaned and said, "All right, just come like early in the morning, maybe like 3 AM. There can't be that many people out at that time. Until then, just sit back and enjoy those fresh beats. I'm gonna, oh, I don't know, watch Flixnet or something."

"Sounds like a plan. Alrighty, the Very Intelligent Computer is gonna catch some virtual z's in the meantime. Oh, and if you require further customer support, just remember... ⁓If you wanna talk, don't e-mail-"

Whitley ended the call right then and there. He had heard that damn jingle so many times that the lyrics have practically been seared into his memory. He laid his scroll on the nightstand and planted his head onto the pillow. He doesn't know when V.I.C. will bring the armor to Rhodey's apartment, but he hoped that the AI will use caution when approaching the building. The last thing he needed was for the neighborhood to be wakened up by the sound of a heavy metal armor floating in the air with loud Repulsor technology.

But that was the least of his worries. He hadn't known it until the afternoon, but his little act of heroism had been recorded last night. To his surprise, the store owners had uploaded the video to the internet, going viral by at least early morning. Most of the comments decried it as a hoax or some elaborate marketing campaign for a movie, but there was a small camp who rightly believed the video to be genuine.

Whitley couldn't help but lament that fact. He did not regret saving that old couple, but he didn't think they'd upload a video of him. All his plans to keep the armor from getting noticed until it was perfected had gone down the drain. What's more is that the couple had given their savior a name, one that the kingdom had adopted if the comments on the internet were anything to go by.

They were calling him "Iron Man". It was short, powerful, and rolled off the tongue.

But it's not totally accurate, since it's not made of iron. It's actually a steel-titanium alloy. The boy thought proudly only to deflate when he realized. Of course, Steel-Titanium Man is not as catchy.

He wondered what the AI's opinion on his newly obtained alias was. He'll have to ask for his simulated thoughts on the matter after he arrived in the neighborhood.

A very heavily-populated neighborhood...

Now that he thought about it, why should he have V.I.C. fly the armor right into the middle of a sleepy neighborhood? He should be the one sneaking out and making his way toward the armor. Sure, most of the neighborhood would be asleep, but he was more than aware that some people preferred the night. Not to mention that the armor's arrival might very well wake up the entire block.

Not unless I go get the armor myself... But do I really have it in me to sneak out into the city, from under the notice of my designated guardian, so late at night?

...

I mean, I'm already thinking it, so I might as well just do it. But only just this one time!

Atlas Academy, General Ironwood's Office

8:45 PM

Within his office, atop the highest tower of Atlas Academy, General James Ironwood contemplated the proposal that Jacques Schnee had offered him. It honestly surprised him that the man wanted another contract between the army and his company, considering the dozen that already existed between them. However, this proposal had come with a condition, one that was quite unorthodox to say the least. If he were being honest with himself, the businessman's favor shocked him more than the new contract.

In exchange for supplying newly refined Dust to the Academy, he asked that a team of young Hunters-in-training become his son's new security detail. Initially, he was going to deny the man's request, considering that his students were not mercenaries for hire. But then Jacques upped the ante by offering a special discount on all Schnee products for all current Academy students. Ironwood was flabbergasted to hear that, as the number one complaint of all his students was their inability to pay for certain amenities outside of campus.

Atlas Academy, unlike her sister schools, was funded partly by the kingdom, allowing their students to receive an education paid for by taxpayers' dollars. Unfortunately, this did not mean they got a free pass on everything, as many of his students often had to pay out of pocket for clothes, food, weapons maintenance, and their personal Dust supplies. Jacques' offer would go a long way in reducing the financial strain on his students, as well as raising morale.

With that in mind, he accepted the proposal, albeit with some measure of hesitance.

It had been two days and they have since signed the agreement. Jacques immediately honored his end of the deal, with the announcement of the deal being released today. Now it was time for him to honor his word and assign some of his students to serve as Whitley Schnee's bodyguards. He had to make good on his part, for the sake of his school. The General also hoped this act can make up for his part in covering up the boy's capture and his inability to rescue him.

But whom should I send? He mused, honestly at a loss.

He had made his decision in assigning first-year students to this task, feeling that it would make for great field experience. Of course, they will have a full Hunter to act as their supervisor. He already had someone in mind for that role. But he was not going to just pull a whole student team away from their studies, especially during the third week of the semester. And with the Vytal Festival coming up, he needed all of his newer teams building their skills for the tournament. He needed students who fit the criteria he was looking for.

They had to be a pair, worked well together, and had to be desperate to take part in the tournament. They also had be native Mantlians, as their knowledge of the city would give them the field advantage. Meaning he had to find two students who had found themselves in a situation that kept them from competing in the Vytal Tournament. If these two agreed to this assignment, then he will sign them up for the tournament. Of course, they had to agree to have a certain robot and her beleaguered attaché as temporary teammates.

It was then that he remembered that he did have two students who might meet those requirements.

He pressed the intercom on his desk and spoke into it. "Reggie?"

"Yes, General Ironwood, sir?" His assistant's voice cackled over the speaker.

"Can you send Team FNKI's file to me, along with each member's individual file?"

Reggie replied quickly, "Right away, sir."

A small ding on his computer alerted him that the files had been sent. He thanked his assistant and sat down and opened the digital folder on Team FNKI. If he was indeed going to send two of his students to protect the young Schnee, he had to be sure that they met the requirements for the task.

Team FNKI, one of the newer teams to have formed this year, led by one Flynt Coal, Jr. Each member has shown incredible promise in combat and strategy. Despite their short time together, they have become a tightly knit group. While such loyalty would usually be considered strength, it also became their greatest liability, as proven last week. Ironwood thought, remembering the incident that had to the temporary fracturing of the team.

Ivori and Kobalt's loyalty to their team was commendable, but what they did went against academy regulations. If they had simply reported the incident to me first, then perhaps they wouldn't be suspended. But I can't focus on what-ifs. I need to focus on what I know. He thought with a sigh.

He pulled up the file on Flynt Coal, Jr.

Flynt Coal, Jr., though he just prefers Flynt, is the son of a Mantle police office- formerly a Dust shop owner- and a concert trumpeter, and the fourth oldest among five siblings. Classmates have described him as being "cool", in the most complimentary sense of the word. He is noted for being level-headed during tense situations, though he tends to be quite opinionated and jump to conclusions when it comes to people. He is an impressive strategist, respects protocol, and inspires loyalty in his teammates. He sounds like officer material, maybe even Ace-Ops. His semblance, "Killer Quartet", grants him the ability to create solid projections of himself that are capable of independent movement.

Coal was definitely going to be guarding Whitley Schnee. He was aware that his father had once operated a Dust Shop that had been driven out of business by the SDC. He hoped that the young man won't hold the young Schnee accountable for the actions of his father. Children should not be held accountable for the sins of their parents, after all. He knew that from experience.

He pulled up the file on Neon Katt.

Neon Katt, one of the few Faunus to attend Atlas Academy; her father's an old war buddy of mine, who now works for the Atlas Intelligence Bureau. Her late mother was a huntress. She only has one sibling, a little brother. She and Flynt have known each since they were toddlers, as their families are good friends. While her grades in combat school were fairly average, her combat prowess and semblance impressed many former instructors in giving her enough recommendations to attend Atlas. She is described as erratic and impulsive, but also a very empathetic young woman. Her semblance, "Rush", gives her incredible speed.

Neon sounded promising, but her impulsive tendencies may be a liability. However, she was still Flynt's partner and this assignment needed two students. He can only hope that this assignment will help her mature. Of course, her being a Faunus might put the young Schnee on edge, considering he had recently spent months being held hostage by Faunus extremists.

And I'm definitely not telling Jacques, either. He concluded, as he was more than aware of the man's prejudiced views on Faunus.

The two had their flaws, but their skills and partnership more than made up for it. They were far from perfect, but they were the best that he can find for such an important task. Plus, they were some of the more promising students in this year's crop. There was really no need for them to sit out on the Vytal Tournament. This new assignment was right up their alley and it might help them improve as Hunters.

It was a stroke of genius, in his opinion.

Mantle Sewers

3:30 AM

"Great idea to hide the armor in the sewer, Whit; no, really, it was a pure stroke of genius!" Whitley sarcastically groused to himself as he pinched his nostrils with his right hand.

The other grasped a flashlight with a tight and firm grip, illuminating the path before him as he made his toward the armor.

He knew the sewer was literally the worst place to hide the armor, but it was the only place too. The Mantle Sewage System was underground, away from people, security cameras, and hardly anybody, save workers, ever travelled down there. And in his wisdom, he chose to sneak out of the apartment after midnight to retrieve the armor. Instead of sleeping in a clean, dry bedroom on a nice, comfy bed, he chose to spend the wee hours of the morning walking in a dank, humid sewer through filthy, grimy sewage.

At least he had the foresight to buy rubber boots and gloves, and to come at a time when the sewage water levels were at their lowest.

And he wasn't bothered by the smell. At least, it didn't bother him as much as it should have. The mixed odor of blood, vomit, and excrement was seared right into his mind, desensitizing his sense of smell to the point that anything short of a toxic dump can't disgust him. Honestly, that fact alone bothered him to no end.

Not even the sound of his boots splashing in contaminated swill fazed him. Still, he may have to consider setting up a better hiding place. Finding an entrance that wasn't within range of surveillance equipment was a challenge. Thankfully, he had found a hole about three blocks away from Rhodey's apartment, one located in an alleyway.

He hoped Rhodey was a heavy sleeper. It hadn't been easy sneaking out of the apartment.

And he doubted the man would fall for the old 'pillows under the blanket' trick. As befitting a former military pilot, Rhodey had eyes and like a hawk, sharply attuned and extremely difficult to evade.

I wonder if his niece had ever pulled a fast one on him. The boy thought.

He didn't know much about Rhodey's niece, Ciel, other than the fact that she was now attending Atlas Academy. He'll have to ask him about her some time. In fact, there are a lot of things he needed to ask a lot of people about.

But that's going to have to wait... I need to find the armor before these fumes get to me. He reminded himself.

He may be used to the smell, but he knew it was bad for his health. Who knew what sort of diseases and viruses were gestating in this toxic sludge? He'd rather not think about it.

Bracing himself for the coming bombardment of aerial filth into his nasal passages, Whitley released the hold on his nose and dug his hand into his jacket's pocket, to retrieve his scroll. He brought the small device out and immediately typed in V.I.C.'s personal number. But he did not use that damned jingle to remember it. Once the last number was entered, he was rewarded with the satisfying sound of a ringtone.

He shoved the Scroll to his ear and waited for the AI to answer. Seconds passed before the call went through.

"Hello⁓" V.I.C. sang as he answered.

"V, it's Whitley, I need you to pick me up now." He told his creation.

"Like, right now? I mean the concert's over, but they're still cleaning things up. You really want me to get you now?" The AI asked, no doubt wondering what possessed his creator to be so reckless.

"If you're worried about getting caught, then don't be. Nobody's going to see you anyway."

"Why's that?"

The boy replied, "Because I'm in the sewer right now."

"...Really? I mean, seriously?" The AI questioned, "You do realize that you're basically walking through a liquefied venereal disease, right?"

"Of course I do, V.I.C. That's why I'm wearing rubber boots!" He said defensively, "I am a scientist after all. I have a degree."

"Yeah, in engineering, not virology! It's just I don't think you put any thought into your little trip."

"I've been learning to be more spontaneous." He spoke curtly. "Look, just track my Scroll and come get me. I think the smell's starting to get to me."

"Alright, Alright, I got it. Heading your way now," V.I.C. said, "Be ready when I get there."

"I will. See you then." The boy said before ending the call.

Once again pocketing his scroll, he resumed pinching his nostrils. He was wrong about the smell. In his opinion, sewage water was the fourth worst smell after feces, vomit, and blood, in that order. The next time he chose to hide his armor, he'll make sure to keep it somewhere where it the water was clean and the air was fresh.

The sound of thrusters softly echoing in the distance shook him from his thought. He looked ahead, his eyes staring into the darkness, searching for the glow of repulsor gauntlets and boots. He raised his hand holding the flashlight, illuminating a short portion of the tunnel. He waited and listened as the echoes began to recede, which told him that the armor was getting close.

That's when he saw the warm glow of the repulsors and the sound of swishing water. He held his arm up, to keep the light shining forth. It was then that he caught a glimpse of silvery steel-titanium. He grinned as the armor steadied itself in the air, hovering inches above sewage water. The armor opened up, armor plating peeling back to reveal the exoskeletal frame.

Whitley took in the sight and smiled.

"Daddy's home," He said.

He leapt up into the armor. His feet landed in the boots, which closed up. He felt his hands become encased in steel as the gauntlets closed around his wrists. Quickly, the armor enveloped his whole body, the final piece being the face plate which slid over his own face.

He blinked as the HUD lit up, scanning his eyes and face. Once his identity was confirmed, the screen really came to life, flashing holographic readings, diagnostics, and the latest ATC and CCT reports.

"All right, first thing, bring up Arc Reactor readings." He ordered the onboard OS.

"Arc reactor output at roughly 71%." A computerized voice reported.

Al1 right, good, that's enough to last till the afternoon. Thank gods I had all that palladium for back-up cores.

He then addressed his artificial copilot, "V, take five, It's my show now."

"You got it, dude. I'm gonna shut off for now. All work and no play makes V.I.C. a dull program after all. See you then!"

The AI switched off, granting Whitley full control over the armor. In that instant, he ceased to be the youngest scion of the Schnee family. He was now the vigilante that the city now knew as Iron Man.

Iron Man pulled up a map of the sewage system and found a route that led to his desired destination. Flying through the night sky was not in the cards at this moment, so he decided to use the sewage system instead. He turned to his right and fired his repulsors, propelling him forward. For the next several minutes, he flew through the Mantle sewer system, the armor's operating system aiding him as he traversed the tunnels. It was going to be a while before he could fly the suit without its help. When he saw that he was now directly beneath 34 Downey Ave, he stopped and flew up to the metal plate that covered the entrance on the street. He flew up and lifted the metal covering, allowing him to exit the sewers. He hovered through the hole and landed on the street. He stood up and walked down the street. That's when he saw it. 39 Downey Ave. He was now standing in front of his grandmother's apartment.

As he stood before the abandoned building, Iron Man found him staring upon the ruin in a nostalgic trance. He hadn't seen his grandmother's home in years. And he did not like what had happened to it during those years.

The brick walls of the three-story building were grimy and layered with six years' worth of mold and fungus. The windows were shuttered by thick wooden boards, many of which seemed to be on the brink of falling off. The front door, once a richly varnished mahogany, was now chipped and starting to rot away. He considered it a genuine miracle that the door was still even attached to the frame.

And, of course, some punks just had to use it their own personal canvas. He groused internally, noting the gratuitous collection of graffiti upon the brick walls.

Most of the images were obscene, shoddy, and tasteless. To his disgust, quite a number of them were quite discriminatory against Faunus. Unsurprisingly, there were a few that were harshly critical of his family. He knew his family wasn't exactly popular in this city.

Still, he couldn't help but frown as he took in the sight. Once, this apartment had been a warm and inviting sanctuary for him and his sisters away from the cutthroat and merciless world their father brought them into. Now it lays ruined and abandoned, a hollow husk of a home ravaged and beaten by the uncaring hands of time. He shuddered to imagine what the interior looked like.

But he needed to know what was inside. He had to know why his grandmother had bequeathed to him some keys, three in total, and a flash drive. The truth behind these strange gifts, he knew, can only be found in her long abandoned home. Why else would she demand that he come to his address in her will?

He ordered the armor's operating system, "Armor, release."

Immediately, the armor opened up. Metal plates shifted outward and slid back, revealing Whitley Schnee to the world once more.

He stepped out of the armor, his back aching and sore. He stretched and cracked his back, his spine audibly cracking. Another flight in the suit had all but confirmed his need for some kind of padded under suit. His first order of business, after finishing this little adventure, is to search for the proper materials to use. Materials that he'll have to buy before his father froze his bank deposits.

Wow, I really have a lot on my plate. A whole buffet's worth. He realized. He shook his head and thought, Problems for later, what matters right now is finding what grandma left for me here.

But despite his urge to enter the building, that didn't mean he was going to throw caution into the wind. For all he knew, there could be squatters inside the building. While he knew his armor could protect him, he wasn't keen on breaking the bones of homeless people. But there was something wrong this neighborhood, and he didn't like it one bit.

"Hey, V, wake up, I need some help." He said as he snapped his fingers.

The armor once more whirred to life as the helmet's optics lit up, indicating that it was once more being controlled.

"What is it, now, boss? You need me to hold your hand walking in the dark?"

"Freaking smartass..." Whitley muttered under his breath before he spoke, "No, V.I.C., I don't need you to hold my hand. I need you to check something for me."

"Check what, exactly?"

The young man spoke, "This entire block. Do you notice anything odd about it?"

The AI moved the armor's helmet side to side, observing the buildings and the street. He then told his creator, "Yeah. It's quiet. Way too quiet. There isn't a single light on in the windows either. Not even the street lights are on. Creepy."

Whitley nodded, "Exactly. There should at least be two or three lights on, but there are none."

He quickly told the AI, "V.I.C., I want you to run a search on this particular city block. Cross check every known database. I want to know everything."

The AI nodded with the armor's helmet and immediately set about performing his task. Seconds passed as he combed through every known database within the kingdom. Whitley knew this when the helmet's optics began to flash erratically. The optics stopped flashing after several seconds had passed.

V.I.C. looked to his creator and told him, "It's empty. This entire block is completely uninhabited and has been for six years."

Whitley was honestly surprised to hear that. He had expected that perhaps a few people resided in this part of the city, or that there was some kind of power outage, but he couldn't have imagined that it was abandoned. It just didn't make to sense to him. His grandmother has been dead for five years, but the entire block had been empty for six years? He distinctly remembered this entire part of the city being full of people when he was younger, especially when his grandmother had been alive.

"V, are you absolutely certain of this?" He asked the AI.

V.I.C. replied, "About as certain as I am that the moon is totally busted. I checked over everything, rental records, electric company statements, even mail routes, the whole she-bang, and I found that nobody in the past six years owned or rented property in this neighborhood except for one person. That person was your own granny."

"Well, of course she did, we're standing in front of her apartment." Whitley spoke, gesturing to the building in question.

"Yes, boss, she owned that building, but she also owned the complex behind us." The AI pointed to the apartment complex across the street.

He pointed to the intersections leading to this street, "The buildings on those streets."

He spread his arms about, "Every building surrounding your grandma's home is listed as having been owned by her and no one has tried to buy any property since she died!"

Whitley stood there in silence as the words poured from V.I.C.s artificial voice. His grandmother owned practically an entire block for six years, and nobody had lived there during that entire time? That did not explain the number of people he had seen on the streets during that time. He had rightly thought that people would continue to live here, and yet the evidence to the contrary was right here in full view. What had his grandmother been doing with all these buildings? Who were those people he saw on the streets whenever he visited? And why was this entire block completely abandoned, even after five years?

He didn't know the answers to all of these questions. But he had a feeling that they lied in her apartment. He didn't what he'll find, and he can only wonder as to what was hidden within.

He took a deep breath and stepped forward, approaching the front door cautiously. He looked back to V.I.C, motioning for the AI to follow him. The artificial intelligence nodded and obeyed the command, standing closely behind in case the boy needed to don the armor again. Once they were within a few inches of the door, Whitley pulled out the ring of keys his grandmother had bequeathed to him and found the key he was sure would unlock the door. Now standing in front of the doorway, the boy raised his hand and thrust the key into the lock, which connected with a satisfying. He twisted the key, enabling the lock's release. Satisfied, he pressed his hand against the hard wooden door to open it. Applying as little force as he can, he slowly pushed the door forward.

CREE-ACK!

The door fell downward with a loud thud, ripping the door hinges right off of the doorway, with the key still in the lock. Five years of neglect had not been kind to the wooden frame of the entry. It only took the most minimum of force to break it. Whitley stared at the door with a puzzled expression; his eyes wide as saucers and his mouth completely slack-jawed. He hadn't expected that to happen.

His creation looked at the door and dumbly spoke, "Uhhh... Was that supposed to happen? I mean, I never used a door before, but I was under the impression they swing, not fall."

Whitley didn't answer him as he kneeled down to pry the ring of keys from the lock. Once he had secured the keys, he deposited them within his pocket. He told the sentient computer, "Let's go."

They walked over the fallen door, careful as to not break with their footsteps. They were now inside the derelict ruin of what was once Toni Schnee-Stark's home. Whitley pulled out his scroll and activated the flashlight function, which immediately lit his surroundings, giving him a clear view of what laid before within 20 inch radius. He wondered if he should have bought a flashlight when he bought the rubber boots. He walked forward, entering the main hallway.

V.I.C. followed closely behind, strolling without a care. The armor's optics had a night-vision function, allowing him a view of the area without any light. Whitley stopped and said, "Alright, it is 3 o'clock right now, meaning we only have about an hour and a half to search the place before I have to go back to Rhodey's. If we don't find anything, we'll come back again tomorrow."

He told his creation, "V, you check the floors above. The foundation might be crumbling, but with the Repulsors you can hover above the floor. I'll check this floor and the basement. We meet back here at 4:30. Understand?"

The AI nodded and gave a quick salute. He activated the thrusters on the armor's boots and gauntlets and hovered inches above the floor as he was ordered. He floated over to the staircase at the end of the hallway and ascended upward toward the second floor. Whitley heard the low whirring of the repulsors echoed throughout the empty domicile. The young man once more turned on the flashlight function on his scroll and entered the living room.

He felt strange standing in that room after so many years. The last time he had ever stepped foot in this room was when he was eleven, two weeks before his grandmother died. When he had last seen this room, everything within the room, from the walls and to the furniture, had looked bigger to him. It had also been pristine, cleaned to the point that it seemed more like a model home than a lived space. It felt like home to him.

But then five years passed. What was once looked like a home now resembled the set of a Midnight Zone episode. The once varnished wooden floors were chipped and slowly rotting away. The once clean, pristine blue wall paper was dirty, torn, and stripping away. Much of the furniture, which had been kept within the apartment, was now wrapped tightly in translucent, plastic coverings. It felt... disgusting, in his opinion, to see his beloved grandmother's home in such a sorry state.

He walked over to the wall on his left. Upon this wall, he saw various framed pictures. Somehow, despite everything that has happened to this place, the pictures were undamaged by the ravages of time, save for the thick sheets of dust that had accumulated over their surfaces. He swiped his hand across the glass of the first frame. He saw beneath the dust, a faded photo of his grandparents, young and newly married. His grandfather looked to be in his late twenties, tall, strong, handsome, and with the faintest signs of a growing beard upon his face. Rather than a pristine business suit, he was decked out in smudged-up and sooty grey coveralls, smiling despite how dirty he was. Standing next to him, wrapped lovingly within his left arm, was his grandmother, dressed in matching coveralls, equally as dirty, yet somehow quite beautiful. Her shoulder-length black hair was tied back into a ponytail, her dark blue eyes twinkling in amusement as she laughed at her husband.

Whitley wished he had known his grandfather. He had died months before Weiss was born, and what they knew about him was from stories their grandmother told them, as well as the few memories their older sister had of him. He had often been described as a kind and jolly man, with a mischievous side to him. Apparently it was this aspect of him that drew his grandmother to him.

He looked to the second photo and wiped the dust away. Again, he saw his grandparents, now in their early forties. His grandfather had finally grown out his signature beard and his grandmother's hair was shorter and starting to lose its luster. They were smiling, only not at each other, but at the three children standing with them.

Standing proudly in front of his grandfather was a black-haired, blue-eyed boy, about thirteen years of age, dressed in a finely pressed white tuxedo. Whitley recognized him as his Uncle William. He had died during the Faunus War. Standing in front of her mother none other than his own mother, Willow, aged 10, dressed in an extravagant white dress, smiling without a care in the world. It appeared that she had lost a tooth. Finally, he beheld the youngest of the children, his Uncle Wilt, only six years old at the time, dressed in a tuxedo matching his older brothers. He didn't know much about his Uncle Wilt, other than that he had health problems and disappeared months before Weiss was born. His last recorded location was in a village in Anima, working as a doctor.

As he looked upon this photo, Whitley couldn't help but draw comparisons to his own family's portrait. The children in the photo acted nothing like he and his sisters had. His mother and her brothers acted as any child would for a photo, with their parents all smiles at their antics. He and his siblings, on the other hand, acted as nothing more than props for their controlling father, to paint a picture of his power as the new Schnee patriarch. In this instance, he couldn't help but feel jealous of his mother for having a happier childhood, in spite of all the tragedy that would come her way later in life.

As he approached the third photo, he felt his scroll vibrate, signifying a call. Recognizing the caller, He pressed the answer button and put it on speaker, saying, "What is it, V.I.C.?"

"Just callin' to let you know I finished searching the second floor." The AI reported, "Nothing up here except bedrooms and bathrooms. Any explanation on why an old woman all on her lonesome would want extra bedrooms?"

"She gave us our own personal rooms to use whenever we stayed with her. They were smaller than what we were used to." The young man explained before chuckling, "Heh-heh, sometimes it felt like we were stepping into another world every time we stayed here."

"Okay, good to know. I'm gonna go check the third floor now. How are things on your end?"

"Got a little sidetracked with a trip down memory lane, but I'm going to check the rest of the room now," He said, "Call back if you find anything."

"Got it, boss... Oh, and one more thing before I check off," V.I.C. told the young man.

"What is it?"

"The suit's audio receptors are picking up a faint breeze in that room."

"Well, yeah, the front door's on the floor, of course we're gonna hear the wind." He replied incredulously.

"I don't think you were listening, dude. I said the breeze was coming from in the room, not from outside of it."

Whitley paused as he took in what V.I.C. had just told him. Somewhere in the living room, there was a small gust of wind blowing from within it. The strong winds of the cold Mantlian night were heard as clearly as one would hear thunder, yet the suit was able to pick up what his own ears hadn't. This required further investigation.

"Thanks for the heads up, V. I'll try and find whatever's causing it." He said before ending the call.

Stepping away from the pictures, Whitley set about searching for the source of the phantom breeze. He slowly walked about the room, methodical in his steps, treading lightly so as to not generate much noise with each step. He tried to filter out all other noise, hoping to tune his ears onto the sound he was searching for. Minutes passed as he listened and searched, slowly making his way across the entirety of the room.

But with each sluggish step he took, he felt his patience staring to run out on him. This tedious and admittedly aggravating task was honestly starting to grate on his nerves.

He wondered if this was just V.I.C. trying to mess with him, a sort of payback for making him wait all day within Mantle's sewers.

Maybe I should take away his cat video privileges again, He mused, as that was often the best way to enforce good behavior out of the childish AI. Of course, I can also rewrite his speech patterns. Heh, will he still be a smartass when he has the voice of a helium addicted mouse?

While considering his options regarding V.I.C.s punishment, he found that he was nearing the bookcase, which had long since been cleared. That's when he heard what sounded like a very soft whistle. He stopped in his tracks and turned to the bookcase. He listened intently and discovered that there was indeed a small and barely audible breeze blowing into the living room. V.I.C. hadn't been messing with him.

You know what? I take back everything I intended to do, V. He mentally apologized.

He faced the bookcase and began searching. He studied the piece of furniture, scrutinizing its features for anything out of the ordinary. All in all, it was a rather unimpressive bookcase, six feet tall and 2 feet wide, about as average as they come. And that was aroused his suspicions. This was not the same bookcase his grandmother had owned in life. Her bookcase had spanned the length of an entire wall. But the last time he had seen it was about a year before her death, during his last visit to her home. Yet, somehow, this bland piece of furniture had become the focus of his search, all because he heard a breeze.

Unless, what I'm really looking for is behind it.

He turned his attention away from the bookcase and onto the wall. He flashed his Scroll onto the wall, to inspect it for any peculiarities. He found nothing on the right side of the bookcase and immediately went to the left. It was then that he saw something in the wallpaper, a strange protrusion that ran up the wall. It almost resembled piping, albeit very small. His eyes followed the length of the pipe from where it edged the ceiling and downward. It was then that he saw that it led to and ended right at a light switch, which was covered by a switch plate. A plate that that was secured to the wall with only a single screw.

Curious, he pressed his hand on the switch plate. To his surprise, the plate somewhat slid.

That's not right...

He pressed his hand further and swiped it up, which in turn caused the plate to slide upward. That's when he saw it. Hidden beneath a nonfunctional light switch was a lock.

He dialed in V.I.C.'s number and called, "V, get down to the living room. I found something."

He ended the call. He fished the ring of keys from his pants pocket and immediately searched for a key. But just as he was about to, his gaze fell on the lock again. If the hidden lock surprised him, then what he saw next shocked him. Rather than having a small incision for a key, he saw what resembled more a USB port. He deposited the keys and pulled out the flash drive instead.

He stared at the small device and wondered aloud, "No way..."

Despite his skepticism, Whitley chose to insert the drive into the small port-like lock. The device inserted itself without much struggle. Seconds passed as he waited for something, anything, to happen. After a full minute passed, he realized what he had done wrong. The drive was the key. One has to turn the key to unlock the door. He twisted the flash drive.

KRE-KRE-KRALANK!

The sound of shifting gears was heard, causing Whitley to jump back in fright. He watched as the bookcase shook before sliding downward, as though it were melting into the floor. Where the bookcase once stood, he saw a hidden panel, which immediately slid back and to the right, retreating behind the wall. Behind this panel, he saw a dark abyss. The moment the panel slid back, a brief but powerful gust of wind shot out, blowing five years' worth of dust into the air. He stared in amazement as series of lights illuminated, revealing the dark chasm to be a hidden stairwell which led downward.

The gears ceased their shifting, leaving the apartment silent once more. Whitley stared at the stairwell with a look that was equal parts disbelief and awe. Many questions raced through his mind. Where did this stairwell lead to? How long had it been there? How had nobody noticed it?

But most of all, what in the name of Remnant on fucking roller skates had his Grandma been doing?

So shocked was he that he didn't even register V.I.C.s arrival. The AI looked at his creator, wondering why he was standing as still as a statue. Then he saw the hidden stairwell. His reaction was as such.

"Neat... So, did your grandma know about this?"

Whitley did not even respond.

Alright, I know many of you have been waiting for this chapter for months. I know many of you were probably anticipating the notification that this story had been updated on April 1st. Truthfully, I did intend to release a chapter on that day, but I was also busy at the time considering that I had been job searching. But then, more than four weeks ago, something monumentally catastrophic occurred.

This catastrophe was the outbreak of Covid-19, which is still ongoing. Thankfully, I was not infected and, as of this chapter's publication, still very healthy. Unfortunately, it had completely upended various aspects of my life. My job search was effectively put on hold and I had to sequester myself away from my apartment and to my parent's house, then my brother's, and finally, my grandparents (They're all fine, by the way). Then the governor of my state issued a stay-at-home order, meaning I can't travel unless it's absolutely necessary. Hell, I can't even go back to my apartment until the stay-at-home orders are finally lifted. Not that I could actually travel anywhere, since I don't have a car. As you can imagine, these circumstances pretty much dampened my ability to write. It's just my luck that the instant I graduate college, ready to start the rest of my life, a goddamn pandemic had to happen.

And when I finally got my act together, I took a look at the chapter and found it needed some more work. I also had to edit out Flynt and Neon's debut in this chapter, as their introductions felt a little out of character. They are definitely going to debut in the next chapter, this I swear, and it will be in a way that I feel is true to their characters and also much more organic than what was originally planned. And in the next chapter, you will that there is more secrets hidden under the surface, and not just Toni Stark's.

So to all my readers, I would like to apologize for failing to meet the deadline. I will endeavor to continue writing. I have also entertained the idea of writing small 500-1000 snippets in another fanfic so as to keep people entertained until the next chapter of this story is complete. I have also been trying to write a new story, which is a My Hero Academia x Batman story (No, Deku does not become Batman. Another character does, and you won't expect who it is.) I have also been entertaining the idea of writing a story where Whitley goes to Beacon in place of Weiss, which would have a sort of butterfly effect. Also, I will not set a release date for the next chapter of this story. All I can say is that the next chapter is coming and it will be published in the future.

And remember, this pandemic won't last forever. We are all going through a very dark tunnel and there will be light at the end of it, and it will be the brightest we'll ever see. We can only get out of this proverbial tunnel if we continue to practice social distancing and doing things like washing our hands, coughing into our elbows, and not touching our faces among other things. But above all else, just stay at home, with the people you love, either they be friends or family.

Thank you, and keep calm and steady.