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 12/4/20: Had to fix a small mistake near the end of the chapter.)
The Invincible Whitley Schnee
Chapter 14: Warm Welcome (Part 1)
August 19th, 2008 KC
Mantle, Solitas
James Rhode's Apartment
12:34 AM
Rhodey stirred in bed as he woke from slumber. He groaned irritably as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He was having the most perfect dream involving a relaxing vacation in Menagerie when he was suddenly pulled back into reality. And upon returning to the real world, he was overcome with an overwhelming urge to use the restroom. It had been a long day at the café and he had little time to hydrate himself. He helped himself to a few bottles of water after closing the store, but exhaustion had forced him to retire early.
And now the time has come for him to relieve himself.
He threw the covers off of him and sat up on the mattress, before turning on the lamp on the nightstand. As usual, he had woken up with a stiff back. He quickly did his typical stretches, to work out the knots in his back. He heard the sound of crackling air pockets and felt his spine relax. Satisfied, he shot up to his feet, one of which he felt had fallen asleep. He looked down and saw that his artificial foot was locking up. It seemed that Whitley was not the only one due for a visit to Dr. Polendina.
Despite his prosthetic acting up, the retired pilot soldiered on, exiting his bedroom with a slight gait in his step. He closed the door behind him and found the light switch for the hallway, which he immediately flipped on. The hall was immediately flooded with fluorescent lighting, shining a path toward the bathroom for him. He walked on, careful as to not disturb the flat's other two occupants.
He neared the guest room, where Marrow had taken up residence, and saw that the door was open. He peeked inside and saw the young dog Faunus sprawled over the mattress, dressed in his green adult-sized footie pajamas. The young man let out a small chortle between snores, accentuated by his bushy dog tail wagging excitedly in the air. Rhodey reasoned he must be having a very pleasant dream. Not wanting to risk disturbing the specialist with his late night bathroom run, he slowly and quietly closed the door.
He continued onward, moving to the adjacent wall. He was now standing next to Whitley's door, which was closed shut. He had sent the boy to his room after dinner, in accordance with Pepper's wishes. It had been very disappointing for him learning how the boy acted at her home. Though he couldn't blame the boy for the way he acted, considering his circumstances. Still, a lesson had to be learned and Whitley was sent to his room to learn it.
He looked down and saw that light was peeking under the door. Whitley must still be awake, he reasoned.
He knocked on the door and spoke, "Hey, Whit, look, I know these last few days haven't been easy for you. Gods know that if I were in your shoes I'd be acting the same. You're probably sitting in there asking yourself if you could have been better or wondering if you're even a good person."
He heard no reply. Nonplussed, the man continued speaking, "I know that it sounds like I'm blowing hot air here, but I want you to know that I understand what you're going through. After the war, I was in a dark place for a very long time. I'd think about all the friends I lost, the people I killed, and sometimes wondered if living was either a blessing or a punishment. I can't even begin to tell you about how much sleep I lost or all the times I lashed out at people."
He wasn't exaggerating. Grief and guilt were a volatile combination, and they can exact a great toll on person. He spent many years wallowing in his own guilt, pushing away friends and family. It was only when his sister and brother-in-law died that he was forced to clean himself up for his niece's sake. And now, he needed to help Whitley through his own pain.
"I guess what I'm trying to say here is that the things you've done, or what you think you'd do, they don't make you a monster. You're punishing yourself for what you've done, and it shows you feel guilty about all of it. It means that despite what you may think, you are not some heartless monster. I've done just as much bad as you, but I don't let my demons keep me from trying to be the best person I can be. You, Whitley Schnee, are a good person, even if you don't believe it."
"Look, I got ahold of Pietro, and he's willing to meet you in the afternoon." He told the young man. "The snow might delay us for a bit, but he said we can take all the time we need. Despite what you think, things are getting better for you. I mean, after what I told you, don't you feel a little better?"
He waited for a reply, but heard only silence. Rhodey was starting to suspect something was off. The lights were on, but it seemed like nobody was home.
He knocked on the door again, expecting an answer. Like before, there was no response.
Rhodey unsurely asked, "Whitley?"
Again, he heard nothing from inside the room. Rhodey tried to open the door, only to find that it won't budge. He shook the knob, tried to ram through with his body, but the door stubbornly refused to open. It was at this moment did he realize that the door was locked. He quickly ran to fetch the key, and once he found it, returned to the door. He used the key and unlocked the door, granting him access to the boy's bedroom.
He entered the room and found, much to his shock, a distinct lack of Whitley Schnee. The boy was not in his bed sleeping. He wasn't sitting at his desk working the computer. The boy was simply nowhere in sight. Strangely, the young Schnee had left the ceiling fan on, its four lights shining brightly. He wondered if the boy had made a late-night bathroom run and had neglected to turn off the light in his rush.
With that in mind, he headed towards the bathroom, only to find its door open and the room itself empty. The man promptly exited the bathroom and began searching the entire apartment building. He didn't find the boy in the living room. He found no trace of the boy in the kitchen. He searched his private study, but the boy wasn't there. Minutes passed as he searched for the young man, looking behind every corner and between every nook and cranny. His search eventually led him to the attic, but all he found were discarded memories and forgotten possessions. This was the only other place the boy can hide, yet he was nowhere to be seen.
It was here that he finally suspected the boy had done something.
But as far as he can tell, Whitley Schnee had vanished into thin air.
With that horrifying prospect in mind, a slew of worrying scenarios started playing out in the man's head. Had the boy ran away, upset by recent events? If he had ran away, where would he run to? If he did have a destination, would he even make it? If he was still out there, could he be in danger? Could he be hurt, or worse, dead?!
The worried guardian was officially panicking now. It was late at night and his godson was somewhere out in Mantle, alone and in danger from either the blizzard, criminals, or worse, whatever Grimm had somehow slipped into the city. What was the boy thinking, he wondered, going out there with so many potential dangers out to get him? It wasn't like he still had the armor to use...
The Armor... Rhodey thought in realization.
He didn't want to believe the boy would ever dare to disobey him, but recent days have shown that the boy had problems respecting authority. But even if that were the case, he was sure that the armor couldn't work without the Arc reactor. Whitley had assured him of that. Unless, of course...
The man's face scrunched in anger as he realized the truth. OH, THAT LITTLE FIBBER!
Whitley was in the armor. He had summoned the armor to his apartment and flew off to who knows where. But why would he do this this? Did the runaway Schnee feel like he had something to prove? What had possessed Whitley to just flagrantly disobey him, all while executing his insubordinate act under his bodyguard's nose?
That was when he recalled what had happened earlier. The Mantle bank robber calling himself the Blizzard had called Iron Man out.
And Whitley, it seemed, was all too willing to oblige.
Rhodey knew in that instant exactly what he needed to do. He was going to change his clothes, get in his car, and search for the boy. He knew that the first place Whitley would go to would be his appropriated lair known as the "Forge". If the boy was in his right state of mind, the first thing he'd do would be to go there to repair the suit. Of course, that was what he wanted to believe. He can only hope the boy hadn't found trouble.
Oh, who was he kidding?
As far as he was concerned, Whitley Schnee was in a world of trouble.
Whitley Schnee was in a world of trouble.
And he had foolishly stumbled right into it.
After being bombarded with a blinding blast of ice and wind, A colossal fist slammed right into his faceplate, sending the armored vigilante crashing through a pile of empty crates that exploded in a shower of splintered wood and bent nails. His impromptu flight did not end there, as he crashed into one of the warehouse's thick walls. Disoriented, he collapsed face-first onto the flooded floor, his body nearly swallowed by the shallow water. The teen winced as he laid there, pain erupting all over his whole body.
"Boss, get up!" He heard V.I.C. cry. "Your ego's not worth it! Just get up and get out while you still can!"
Iron Man ignored the desperate pleas of his digital partner. He came here to mete out justice, and he fully intended to do so or die trying. Suddenly, he saw a flash of white light followed by an equally blinding beam passing over him. Worried that he may have been attacked, he tried pushing himself up with his arms, only to find that they were trapped in the now-frozen water. The same can be said for his legs, as he felt the stinging cold pierce his exposed knee. He budged with all of his might, but the ice was too thick to break through. He didn't understand why that was happening. He had been able push back a train engine, but now he can't break through some ice? It was almost like this fight was wearing the suit out...
Oh, Shit... His eyes widened in realization. Something's wrong with the armor!
His mind formulated many hypotheses on the suit's degraded performance, all while trying to find the best possible solution to his current predicament. As he did so, he felt the vibrations of heavy metal boots running across the ice. He craned his head upward and saw, to his horror, that Blizzard was heading his way. His brilliant mind now gripped by fear, the young man panicked and started budging once more. Unfortunately, his jerky and rough movements barely made his icy prison crack.
Desperate, he implored V.I.C., "V, Is it possible to use the repulsors to melt the ice?"
"I don't know, boss! That depends on how much-" The AI was cut off as a colossal hand gripped the vigilante's helmet, eliciting a surprised yelp from the boy.
The owner of the hand promptly slammed the vigilante's face into the frozen floor, shattering the ice. The young man's head slammed against the faceplate, cutting his lip and breaking his nose. The impact shattered the helmet right optical sensor, damaging its visual reception. In a desperate move, he pressed his hands against the floor, hoping to push himself up, but his attacker kept a fierce grip around his head. Unfortunately for him, Blizzard saw his frantic moves and lifted him by his head.
The vigilante felt helpless as his body was lifted from his freezing constraints, his already-damaged vision further impaired by the giant hand holding his head. Despite this, he knew he was now free to move his limbs, but he found that he was unable to wiggle his metallic fingers. It was as though they were locked in place. It only took a fraction of a second to realize that his gauntlets and boots were still encased in ice. His attacker was careful as to not shatter the ice as he plucked him from the frozen floor.
Got to break free! He mentally cried. If I can warm up the repulsors, maybe-
His line of though was cut off as the criminal slammed the back of his head into the wall. The impact stunned the young man, who let out a pained groan. A small part of him hoped that this was the end of this vicious beatdown.
The Blizzard had no such intentions.
The criminal tossed his disoriented opponent to the floor. Iron Man bounced and skidded across the frozen floor, his armor scraping and his icy restraints shattering with each impact. Eventually he started sliding slowly across the floor, stopping a few inches away from a support beam. Now free to move up, the vigilante tried to sit up, only for the criminal to plant a giant metallic boot on his chest, pinning him down.
Through his damaged HUD, the teenaged vigilante looked upon the Blizzard, who leered menacingly over him. The giant spoke derisively, "You know, I was expecting more from you."
"But I guess that you're not as big a threat as my boss thought." The bank robber raised his foot and stomped on the vigilante's chest, earning a pained wheeze from him.
Despite the pain, Iron Man retorted. "Boss, huh? I should have known someone had you on a leash!"
Unfortunately for him, that flippant remark only angered his attacker, who retracted his foot and knelt down to press a knee on the young man's armored stomach. Blizzard fiercely grasped his faceplate in and leaned his head close to his and threateningly intoned, "Say that again and I'll freeze your smartass mouth."
"Sorry to disappoint you, frosty..." The vigilante defiantly remarked before adding. "But I have just one more thing to say."
"Oh, and what's that?"
From behind his faceplate, the hero smirked and shouted, "FLARES!"
Surprised by the sudden shout, Blizzard quickly leapt away from the vigilante. Now fully free to move, Iron Man stood confidently as he waited for the fireworks. Time slowed down for the two opponents as they waited. Blizzard anticipated a blinding volley of lit flares and promptly shielded his eyes. The vigilante's smirk widened as the countdown ended, assured that his tactic would win.
To his surprise, he didn't hear sliding metal or the rattling of miniature flares launching into the air.
Surprise gave way to dread as he looked down at the flare pods, inspecting both sides of his pelvis. What he saw chilled him to the bone, metaphorically and literally from what can be seen. The pods had been frozen over, a thick sheet of frost coating them. The ice was blocking them from opening up and launching their ordinance. He didn't need to look at his own reflection to know that the rest of the armor had iced up. He was effectively a sitting duck.
Terrified, he stared dumbly at his opponent and uttered, "Uh..."
The criminal unshielded his face and mockingly asked, "Was something supposed to happen?"
Iron Man had no reply. His armor was damaged, frosted, and essentially useless in a prolonged fight. He knew this for a fact. He needed a new strategy, one that compensated for his handicaps and played to the few advantages he had left. As he pondered over different plans of attack, he noticed the distance between him and his attacker. In his haste to escape the unlaunched flares, Blizzard had leapt back far enough for the vigilante to stay out of his reach. Recognizing the opportunity that had been granted to him, the armored youth decided upon one course of action.
He quickly turned heel and ran, hoping to put as much distance between himself and the deceptively quick lumbering specter of death. The thick ice of the makeshift rink cracked under the weight of his metal feet, leaving a trail of cracks for the criminal to follow. But the young vigilante had planned for this. He soon found himself in a section of the warehouse where aisles upon aisles of stacked crates sat. He quickly turned a corner and climbed the aisle nearest to him, where he found a gap between two crates. It was in this hidden spot that he found a moment to re-strategize, as well as run a quick diagnostic on his armor.
He switched off the helmet's mic and frantically asked V.I.C., "V, what happened to the flares?"
"It's not just the flares, boss!" The AI yelled in alarm. "While you were getting tossed around like a ragdoll, the temperature in this warehouse was dropping! It is 20 degrees below zero now! Everything in this warehouse has been freezing over! Including your armor! Don't you remember? Extremely cold temperatures affect the performance of machines! You make machines; you're supposed to know this!"
"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking!" He snapped at the computer.
"And he finally admits it!" V.I.C. cheered before he scolded his creator. "Look, boss, you gotta face the facts! You can't win this fight, not as you are now. The armor's messed up, you're messed up, this whole damn situation is MESSED UP!"
"You think I don't know that!" The young man snapped. "Look, I just need to know what's still functional, so I can figure out a plan to get out of this alive. Computer, run quick diagnostic on armor systems, as well as power readings. "
The onboard OS immediately went to work, running through different software and maintenance checks. Seconds passed as the computer tabulated a list, with the young man trying to keep his cool. It was only when he heard the sound of thunderous footsteps tromping in the distance did he start panicking again. With each passing second, the footsteps got closer, along with the encroaching chill of Blizzard's freezing weapons.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are, little Iron Man⁓" The criminal tauntingly called out. "I know you're here, somewhere. It doesn't matter where you are, I'll find you soon."
Not if I get the drop on you first, bastard! The hidden hero confidently thought as he waited for the OS to finish its diagnostics. He looked and saw that HUD's progress bar was now at 58% completion.
The Blizzard continued with the taunts, "You know, when I first heard about you, I thought 'Wow, a real-life superhero!'. I immediately wanted to test my tech against yours. So imagine my surprise when you stopped that train my boss sabotaged."
The young man's eye's widened as that admission finally confirmed what he believed all along. The knife had indeed been a calling card. And said card had been left by Blizzard's employer, whoever they were. He kept his silence and watched as the progress bar filled up to 79%. It won't be long now before he can enact a new plan.
"Understandably, my boss was pissed that his plan was foiled by some punk cosplaying as one of Ironwood's little tinker toys. So he came to me and asked, 'Hey, you want a shot at the Iron Man?' well, I said yes before he even stopped talking. And now here we are. And from what I've seen so far, well, to put it simply... you ain't shit." The freezing felon mocked with a noticeable smugness in their voice.
The progress bar was at 95% now. The vigilante smirked as he waited for the systems analysis. The footsteps were getting closer. It was only a matter of time before Blizzard reached his position. He listened as the high tech robber continued with his incessant chatter.
"But, just so you know, there's nothing personal about this." He heard Blizzard speak with genuine affability. "It's just business. I've got debts to pay, and you're gonna be my biggest pay day yet."
I'm not the one that's gonna be paying, asshole! He thought with determined defiance.
He watched as the progress bar finally finished loading up, signaling the end of the armor diagnostics. He quickly assessed the readouts of his armor to see what he can still use. What he saw didn't do much to lift his hopes. The reactor had a power output of 43% and dropping, a result of the extremely cold indoor temperature. Much of his armor was icing up, affecting its performance and limiting his range of movement. His repulsors, while still functional, had lost most of their stopping power and were on the verge of breaking down from both the cold and damage by Blizzard. His right optic was thoroughly smashed, giving his HUD a blind spot. He still had his enhanced strength, though he knew using it consistently will drain the reactor. The flare pods, despite being frozen in place, were still usable, albeit if he removed them by hand.
Suffice to say, he was up the creek without a paddle.
But who needs paddles when one still had their hands?
He had an idea as to what he was capable of doing at this moment. Sure, the armor was mostly damaged and frozen, but he still had his brilliant mind. And that brilliant mind was already hard at work formulating a new plan of attack. As he pondered his strategy, he heard Blizzard calling out to him.
"Come on, this is getting ridiculous. Just come out and accept your death like a man... assuming that you are a man, though." The criminal spoke threateningly. "Doesn't really matter to me how you identify yourself. A corpse is still a corpse."
The criminal's threat didn't faze him. He had heard far worse in the caves.
Okay, Blizzard has the advantage in strength, and speed somehow. He surmised with a frown. Not to mention those freezing weapons of his, which are surprisingly effective in battle; I can't take him on in a drawn-out battle, and I don't have enough power to last that long.
It was then that he realized what his best option was.
I can't win this fight, but there are alternatives to fighting. And one such alternative is to make a tactical retreat. He thought, his plan finally taking form. Blizzard can win this fight, but I'll live to fight another day. But how exactly can I escape from this warehouse, especially with all the exits blocked?
As he pondered this conundrum, he had a realization. When Blizzard he tossed him into a wall, his body had left a small crater. With that epiphany, he recalled knowledge that he had gained in college. During his freshman year, he took an architectural class as an elective. His studies included the history of Solitan architecture and the methods and materials used in each time period.
And from what he saw of the warehouse, it appeared to be a Post-War design, given the concrete pillars and walls. After the Vytal Treaty had been signed, there was an agreement among the four kingdoms to use whatever excess military surplus remained for construction. Weapons, vehicles, and ships were stripped bare and their metals recycled to aid in the reconstruction of lost infrastructure. But the workers needed facilities to house these metals, as well as Dust. Warehouses like this one were built using metal gathered from Mantlian Battleships.
Obviously, the government didn't want to use so much precious metal to build warehouses to house said metals. But then someone had the brilliant idea to build these buildings using nothing but concrete, with excessively complex wooden constructs serving as the molds. These concrete facilities were held up with metal beams that were also layered over in cement. But the process was costly and too time-consuming, so only a few were built. But once the reconstruction period ended, warehouses like this one were abandoned and left to rot. But Blizzard found use for this one as a trap for him.
But this trap was built using concrete. Concrete that had withstood time and unforgiving winters. But concrete, as anyone and their grandmother knew, can be smashed easily using the perfect amount of force with the right tools. Luckily for him, his metal fists were perfect tools, and the armor gave him enough strength to break just about anything. But how can he do this while under Blizzard's notice?
"Alright, if you're just gonna hide, then I guess I'll leave." Blizzard said, surprising the vigilante.
For the first time since he arrived, Iron Man felt hope that he can escape with his life.
"Of course, I was on a time limit anyway. I told my crew that if I didn't kill you in no less than 10 minutes that they should blow up the warehouse." Blizzard freely admitted, shattering whatever hope the vigilante had in escaping mostly unscathed. "Oh, and I'll be watching from a safe distance. If by any chance you're still alive, well, I'll just come find you and finish the job. Enjoy the rest of your short life, 'hero'."
He listened as the lumbering ice villain picked up the pace in his stride, no doubt to make his way toward the warehouse doors. Wasting no time, Iron Man crawled out of his hiding place, with all the grace of an uncoordinated cockroach, and jumped back onto the frozen floor. The slippery ice nearly caused him to lose his balance, but he was able to keep it. He quickly gave chase after Blizzard, careful as to not slip on the ice, with the sounds of his opponent's heavy yet rapid footsteps guiding him. He exited the corridor of crates and saw the criminal running toward the large warehouse doors. His gait gave the vigilante a brief look at his heels and he saw that they had sharp metallic cleats.
Oh, that's just not fair! The young man bitterly thought. Still, he's distracted, all I have to do is make my way toward the wall and...
His thoughts were cut short as the sounds of metal gears echoed through the building. He looked ahead and saw that the warehouse door was starting to rise up. Blizzard had his own means of escape, and he had just given his would-be victim the chance to steal it.
Well, it looks like my luck's just starting. Iron Man thought with glee.
He wasted no time in chasing after Blizzard. Knowing that he wouldn't be able to walk that great a distance without slipping, Iron Man was left with no other choice but to fly his way out. He assumed the lift-off position, fired up the thrusters, and blasted off, soaring through the air like a bat out of hell. It was now a race for the exit and he had a late start. But he knew it in his bones that he was going to win, and that sweet prize of escape was his. Second by second, inch by inch, he flew toward the doors, which were now opening. Sweet freedom was within his grasp!
The doors were now open high enough for him to pass through. He was nearly a few feet away from it!
Suddenly, the exit was blocked off by a line of people dressed in heavy clothing and aiming automatic rifles at him. The line immediately separated into two groups, creating a large enough gap in their ranks for Blizzard to pass through. Iron Man, despite this unexpected surprise, stayed to his flight path and fired the repulsors at full strength.
But then he heard a rough voice shout, "OPEN FIRE!"
The blockade of bodies promptly fired their weapons, releasing a volley of Dust-propelled bullets upon the vigilante. Unfortunately for the young man, he had flown just close enough to be within a range that can be considered point blank. The bullets hit their marks, with sparks of ignited dust and metallic shrapnel rippling across Iron Man's armor. The force of their combined firepower was powerful enough to push the flying hero back and land roughly on his back on the frozen floor. Despite being grounded, the gunmen continued with their barrage, raining down Dust and metal death upon the helpless vigilante. The young man forced himself to his feet and scrambled to safety, even as bullets kept hitting him.
He took cover behind a nearby concrete pillar, standing stiff as a board as the face of the pillar took the full brunt of the barrage. Bullet after bullet pounded upon the old concrete beam, chipping away at its surface and kicking up dust, but Iron Man was safe. Soon, Blizzard's cronies spent their magazines, giving the vigilante the chance to fire back with this repulsors. Iron Man set his hand blasters to a non-lethal setting and jumped from cover, firing away at the criminals as they reloaded. To his satisfaction, he had been able to knock a few of them down. The blast won't kill them, but it will sting like a bad hangover. Now on the offensive, he took to the air and rocketed toward the enemy, his repulsors blasting away at them.
No matter what these bastards threw at him, he was going to go through that door!
Unable to take any more of his energy blasts, the gunmen retreated, disappearing behind the outer walls. The young man smirked confidently at their display and felt his spirits lift. He was just a few feet away from freedom now!
The vigilante was now only inches away from the door! He saw the falling snow, with the street lights shining in the darkness, and felt the harsh and unforgiving arctic wind blow through the door and pound on his armor. He didn't care in the slightest, the harsh winter storm was a welcome respite from the vicious beatdown he had been dealt. Nothing was going to stop him from escaping now!
He blasted through the open exit and... Screamed in terror as a gigantic and familiar fist caught him by the helmet!
Blizzard slammed the hero into the ground and picked him up by the neck. The vigilante choked and gasped, desperate for air. Blizzard raised the captive into the air and gloated, "Was that really the best you can do?"
Iron man sputtered a few hushed words. Blizzard brought him closer and sadistically asked, "I'm sorry, but can you speak up? I'm afraid I didn't quite catch that over your gasps for air!"
Blizzard's men laughed as they watched the life being choked out of their target. Iron Man, despite the pain and the humiliation, levelled his gaze at his would-be murder and flared his remaining functional optic in rage. Blizzard tightened his grip and watched as the light in his opponent's digital eye began to flicker and fade. The suit's pilot found that it was getting harder to breathe. As he struggled to keep his eyes open, his life flashed before his eyes, giving a final glimpse at all the choices that led him to this moment. The last thing he saw, before the darkness took him, was the furious face of his eldest sister.
The light in the helmet's optic got dimmer and dimmer, until finally, it disappeared. The vigilante's head slumped downward and his grip went lax. His limp arms fell to his sides, his unmoving hands dangling next to his pelvis. His feet twitched one last time and lost all movement, swaying with the wind.
Blizzard observed the limp metal body, shook it softly. Once he was sure there was no movement, Blizzard spoke, "I think he's dead."
"How can be sure, boss?" One of the gunmen asked. He then voiced his theory, "For all we know, it might be some kind of trick."
"True. But how can be sure that he really is dead?" Blizzard mused aloud.
The criminal looked past the seemingly-lifeless corpse and beheld the warehouse. That was Blizzard recalled the back-up plan. Iron Man was tossed back into the warehouse, his body landing ungracefully in a crumpled heap on the floor. Blizzard reached up and brought the warehouse door down with his hands. With the doors now closed, the criminal addressed the goons, "Did you place the bombs exactly where I wanted them?"
The goons nodded in affirmation. Satisfied with the answer, Blizzard gave them the order, "Good. Once we get to a safe enough distance, blow the place up sky high. If he's not dead now, he will be then."
*Line Break*
Inside the warehouse, the body of Iron Man lays lifeless on the floor. His metallic carcass, covered in still-growing layers of ice, was riddled with bullet holes. Each hole varied in width and had differing levels of damage. Much of the plating that formed his metal skin was bent, with very noticeable dents across their surface. His damaged optics, once a brilliant rich azure, was now dull and lifeless. Iron Man, by all appearances, was dead to the world.
But within, Whitley Schnee lived. The young man felt stiff and sore, and he was sure that he had a few bruises. Despite the pain, he stirred and sat up, the light returning to his sole working optical sensor. He looked and saw that the HUD's visual display was a cracked and blurry mess, with brief flashes of static marring his view. Many of the apps and readouts on the screen were out-of-focus and flickering, but he was able to see he still had 25% power left in the reactor.
He got to his feet, staggering somewhat, and asked, "V, you still there?"
There was no response. He tried to hail his digital partner again, only to be answered with more silence.
The young man cursed coarsely, "Shit!"
He surmised that Blizzard's last attack had done something to V.I.C.'s server. Now truly alone, the vigilante cursed his severe turn in fortune. He had a way out, but Blizzard had kept him from taking it. He'd have to use his original plan now. Iron Man fired his boot thrusters, which sputtered and spat out sparks, and took to hovering above the ice. Knowing he had precious little time, he quickly flew his way toward the wall he had crashed into. Within seconds, he found himself standing before the crater in the wall, a web of cracks and fractures stretching out from the impact zone.
Iron Man approached the crater, and using the remainder of his enhanced strength, and started punching at its epicenter. He punched hard and fast, his metal fists burrowing deeper into the concrete wall, weakening its integrity. Once he was sure he had a deep enough hole, he pried the flare pods from his armor and planted them inside. He took a few steps back, measured just how safe a distance he needed to be, and aimed his gauntlet repulsors right on the flares. It was now a waiting game, as he waited for the first bomb to go off.
He needed to fire his blasts at the right moment. If he was going to escape with his life, then he needed to make Blizzard think that he had taken it.
The palms of his hands lit up as they built up energy, humming fiercely despite the damage dealt to them.
The old man shivered as the freezing winds assailed his wrinkled, bearded face. With his window shattered, he had tried to nail a sheet (an unclean one, of course) over the offending hole. Unfortunately for him, tonight's blizzard had brought with it the worst winds recorded this year. The flimsy cotton covering didn't stand a chance. The bed sheet now hung precariously next to the window, wafting wildly in the breeze like a ratty, flea-infested flag.
He turned away from the window, keeping a fierce grip on his blanket. He only had the one and he'll be damned before he let the wind steal it from him. He did not spend a week doing the most degrading work to earn laundry money, only to have his one good bedsheet stolen from him by Mother Nature. Of course, having no mattress made the bedsheet redundant. No, he had to sleep on a cot. An old, worn-out cot that had seen better days, and even then it didn't have any good days.
But for the people living in the crater, they had to make do with whatever.
A blast of cold air rushes in, crashing into his exposed neck. It felt like a million tiny ice cubes were poking into his exposed skin. The old man recoiled at the sensation and buried himself deeper into his blanket. As he hid under the sheets, he cursed the harsh and unforgiving gods for once again unleashing this arctic calamity on the slums.
Is it too much to ask for a little heat right now?! He pleaded with Remnant's many deities.
Like so many prayers before, this one went unheard by the divine beings.
BREUGH-KHOOM!
"AH!" The old man screamed in terror.
But apparently, someone else had been listening.
The sudden noise sent the elderly fellow jumping up in fright. He landed back on the cot, only for the springs to send him back up. This time, he landed on the cold hard floor. The shaken man, recognizing the noise as an explosion, got to his knees and crawled like a hungry mouse toward a nearby table for cover. Once he was under the table, he placed his hands over his head and kept low to the ground as he awaited the coming aftershock.
As he expected, a powerful blast of hot air shook the shack. He gritted his teeth and gripped his hair as the walls shook from the blast, knocking down what few picture frames and knick-knacks he had. When the shaking stopped, he crawled from out of cover and stood up. He took a few deep breaths to calm his raging heart and wondered about the explosion.
What in the name of the brothers just happened?! It couldn't have been from the mines, they're closed for the night! And it felt really close, maybe just down the way!
He shambled over to the window. He looked outside and saw smoke and fire just a block away, right in the spot where the old warehouse was located. He also saw that he wasn't the only one to be disturbed by the explosion, as he saw many of his neighbors leaving their homes to investigate what had happened. He turned away from the sight and moved to get his coat.
They needed to put out the fire before it spread to other houses and induced a panic. Unlike the more well-off neighborhoods in Mantle, the people of the crater were at greater risk from the Grimm. Just a few people giving in to hysteria was enough to attract a beowolf or two.
The old man fastened the last button on his coat. He walked to the door, picked up his hat from the rack next to it, and exited the shack.
He hoped nobody had been hurt, or worse.
Pain.
Pain was what the young man felt.
And yet he was nothing but relieved. The thing about pain was that it was only experienced by the living.
Laying just a few feet away from the fiery mess that was once a warehouse, Iron Man felt the exhilarating rush of joy pulse through his being. His muscles ached, his scar stung, and his bruises smart, but he was still alive! He pushed himself up from the snow and turned himself onto his back. He took one of his hands and forced his face mask to open. The face of one relieved Whitley Schnee revealed itself to world, his cold blue eyes bloodshot and his nose broken and bleeding. He gazed up at the sky, taking in the dark and cloudy mess that it was, and watched millions of snowflakes fall upon him and the world. Just hours ago, he though it an ugly sight.
Now, it was the most beautiful thing he had even seen.
But he didn't have to marvel at the beauty of nature. He was lying in the snow next to a demolished and burning warehouse, and Blizzard and his crew were doubtlessly still in the area. He'd rather not give them the chance to finish the job. Despite all the pain he felt, with wounds that ranged from irritating to excruciating in intensity, the young genius stood up. He noticed that the armor felt heavier and warmer than before. The explosion must have dealt more damage to it than he thought. He closed his face mask down and waited for the HUD to load back up.
The visual display lit to life, but appeared as the same blurry and cracked mess it had been moments before. He saw still that the only clear reading he can make out was reactor's output. It was now operating at 10% power; just enough to fly back to the forge. At least something was finally going his way tonight.
"Hey, I think I hear something over here!" He heard a voice shout.
And that's my cue to fly! The panicking vigilante thought.
He quickly assumed the usual take-off stance and fired up the repulsors. For a moment, he panicked when he heard the thrusters groan and sputter. As he waited for lift-off, his audio receptors, which were thankfully operational, picked up a chorus of excited voices combined with crumpling snow. In a panic, he made a run for it. Unfortunately for him, it was that exact moment did the repulsors finally worked. Iron Man thrusted into the air, arms flailing and mouth screaming.
It wasn't the most dignified of exits. But as far he knew there were no witnesses to his shameful display.
Oh, how wrong he was.
From within their disguised getaway truck, the triumphant criminals watched the scene unfold, and there were conflicting responses. The more foolhardy goons cheered at having dealt such a crushing defeat to a self-righteous fool in a fancy metal suit, considering it a testament to their skills; and to Blizzard's adept leadership and cunning. But the more level-headed among were equally wary, as they had failed to achieve their primary objective. Sure, Iron Man had been defeated, but he was also still very much alive.
"I think we're in trouble." One of the worried goons spoke aloud.
Blizzard could not help but agree with the goon as they watched their target ascend the heavens in a jagged streak of blue light. The Mandarin was not going to be pleased. After a week of meticulous planning, they thought that they could have killed the vigilante off without any trouble. They had studied his abilities, his limitations, and used that knowledge to concoct the perfect trap. It was the perfect plan. They had the whole warehouse locked down, placed enough Dust bombs to destroy a battleship, and yet the metal man somehow survived.
We underestimated him. Blizzard realized in subdued anger. There's more to Iron Man than I thought.
Clearly, they had not seen what the armored vigilante was truly capable of. They thought they had all the information they needed. Clearly, they needed to learn more about this Iron Man. Only then will they have the perfect strategy to defeat and terminate him. The Mandarin had asked this of them, and they shall deliver. They can't fail this mission. They all had too much to lose.
Especially me... Blizzard worriedly thought.
Saving the worrying for later, Blizzard called out to the driver. "Move out. The longer we stay here, the more likely the civvies are to find us."
"You got it, boss." The vehicle operator replied.
The sound of an engine roaring to life echoed through the trailer, silencing the henchmen and forcing them to buckle up. The trailer rocked as the truck moved, jostling them in their seats. Blizzard sat silently in contemplation, wondering just what to tell the Mandarin. It was to be quiet ride back to the hideout.
And so, under the cover of heavy snow and smoke, the criminals escaped in their disguised truck. Had any of the spectators turned their eyes away from the destroyed warehouse, they'd have noticed a box truck belonging to "Frost Bros. Repair" driving away.
But they wouldn't have thought anything of it.
They had a fire to put out.
As he flew through the thick and heavy snowfall, unseen by all, Iron Man searched desperately for the tunnel that served as the entrance to his makeshift headquarters. Without the computer's navigation software, he had been forced to fly blind through the blizzard, forcing himself to rely on his memory as a guide. He had thought that he had the tunnel's exact location memorized and that he'd be within the workshop in under a minute.
It had been close to 10 minutes since he started flying. At least, he assumed it's been 10 minutes.
He really needed to find a way to install a clock in the suits system. He had so many applications installed into the suit's server, and yet he couldn't find enough space for a clock. And V.I.C. had no such function in his code. The thought of his currently offline digital pal caused intense feelings of guilt to swell in the boy. If he had just listened to the AI, he wouldn't be in his current predicament.
But he didn't, and his arrogance had cost him dearly. He had been beaten and humiliated by a common criminal, albeit one packing impressive technology. He underestimated his opponent and found himself on the defensive. It was just as the old saying went, "Pride cometh before the fall". He was too proud to admit he was in over his head and he fell.
And the impact had been brutal, harsh, and he deserved it, in his opinion.
I should have stayed at the apartment. Whitley scolded himself.
I should have ignored Blizzard's taunt, stayed in my room like a good boy, and wait out my punishment. Instead, here I am flying above the crater in a battered metal coffin, freezing my ass off, likely to die from either the cold, power loss, or simply plummeting to the earth below. He lambasted himself for his reckless actions.
And why did do it, he asked himself. Did he do this to prove his sister was wrong about him, to show that he was nothing like their bastard of a father? If he wanted to show everyone he wasn't another Jacques Schnee in the making, he could've just help people, give to charity out of pocket, or just try not to grow a stupid mustache! Or maybe it was his pride and ego that fueled his decision? Was it that pathological need to flaunt his intelligence that overridden what little common sense he had? Did he even have a reason to explain his actions?
Just what was he doing all of this for? Why did he think this would be a good idea?
As he questioned his reasons for creating the armor, a terrible memory from the past played back in his mind. As his body flew hundreds of feet in the air, his mind was forced back to the ground, back to an abandoned mine shaft in Anima. Like a video stuck in a loop, he watched a good man lay dying on blood-stained rice bags. He listened to the man's final words to him, his dying wish, and remembered the promise he made to the old doctor.
Don't waste it... don't waste your life, Schnee...
Whitley blinked and depressingly thought. Oh... because of that.
So wrapped up he was in his introspective musings that he didn't notice he was flying into some turbulent wind. The strong and violent winds gnashed at the armor, rupturing loose plating and shaking the distracted pilot inside. Now aware that he was experiencing turbulence, the young man fought to maintain altitude, all while trying to keep his damaged suit from breaking apart any further. He shivered as the cold wind blew into the bullet holes and impacted upon his skin. He winced when the cold passed over his wounds, of which he hoped there were few. It was only when the repulsors began to hack and sputter the genius realized the trouble he was in.
He was flying blind through a blizzard, his armor damaged by another Blizzard, and now his repulsors were giving up on him. With all that taken to account, he understood that there was a snowball's chance in hell that he'll stay in the air until he reaching the Forge. Left with no other options, the vigilante reversed course and returned to the ground. The moment his feet touched land, the young man forced the faceplate to open up. His eyes squinted as cold air and snow blasted into them, slightly obscuring his vision. Despite the snow obscuring much of his view, he was able to make out flames in the distance, no doubt from the destroyed warehouse. It seemed that he had been flying in circles.
Shit, I'm in deeper than I thought. Whitley lamented, now fully regretting his choice in fighting Blizzard. Alright, Whit, get it together. You're almost out of fuel, stranded in the slums, and got your ass handed to you by a freakin' giant. You are not going to go out like a punk!
The young man thought over his options, of which there were few. He knew that his family had many facilities in the crater. He remembered that the control center for the pneumatic delivery tube system was nearby. He wondered if he could hitch a ride in one of the tubes, and then sneak his way to his old workshop to make some light repairs.
Oh, who am I kidding? He thought derisively, rejecting the idea. The control center is usually closed whenever the weather gets this bad. Even then, I doubt security would let people in and hijack the tubes for a ride. Not to mention the chance I'd just end up in a military base.
He'd rather not run the risk of getting caught and spending the rest of his life in a military stockade.
Now back to square one, Whitley was forced to think up another plan. If he can't sneak his way back into the family mansion, he'll just have to figure out a way back to the Forge. But with V.I.C. and the suit's operating system offline, he had no access to a map. And he had already tried to fly his way through a snowstorm, which he had no intention of trying again in his current state. And of course, the suit's visual sensors were damaged.
Okay, now I'm starting to panic! The young genius worriedly thought. I mean, seriously, can things get any worse than they are now?
Just as he decided to tempt fate, he heard something ringing. He immediately recognized it as the built-in Scroll feature in the helmet. Whitley smiled at this fortuitous turn of events, immensely relieved to know that at least one of the suit's apps still worked. He closed the faceplate once more and booted up the HUD. He frowned when he saw that he couldn't make out the caller's ID when it showed on screen, appearing as a jumbled mess of pixelated and illegible letters. There were six letters in total.
He knew of only one person with six letters in their name. But Pepper didn't know he was Iron Man.
Upon acknowledging that fact, he realized something. There was only person who knew he was the armored vigilante. And this person had a nickname that contained six letters.
With much hesitance, he answered the call. "Hi, Rhodey..."
"WHITLEY SCHNEE, YOU ARE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE!" The shopkeeper screamed, causing the boy to wince at the volume of the man's voice.
Whitley frowned, Yeah, really starting to regret everything right now.
"Look, Rhodey, I know you're pissed, but hear me out, first?" He impatiently asked the man, not in the mood for getting lectured. "I'm out in the cold and I can't see shit. I got my ass handed to me by a walking refrigerator that tried to blow me up. I'm running low on energy and time, and all I want to do is take a nice, warm shower. So, before you start popping blood vessels, can you please help me find a way back to the forge?"
The boy heard no retort from the man, but was able to make out a few disgruntled grunts and muffled curses. This brief and hushed swear session ended with an audible and exasperated sigh. The man spoke up again, this time calmly yet tersely. "Alright, I'll help you with that. But after you're out of that armor, we're going to be having a very long discussion on why you should respect your elders."
"And I look forward to it." Whitley replied sarcastically. Whether Rhodey picked up on his sarcasm, he did not know.
"So am I... now, how exactly am I going to help you? I'm already at the Forge, but I don't know how I can help you get here." The shopkeeper spoke, at a loss as to what he can do.
Whitley immediately put his mind to work at formulating a plan. He took into account current weather conditions, as he had done many times this night, and pondered how he can work his way around them. He knew it was next to impossible to see through the thick snowfall, and he was definitely not going to fly at high altitude like last time. As he went through various scenarios, he wondered just how he'll find the tunnel leading to the Forge. It wasn't like there was an obnoxiously bright neon sign leading to said tunnel.
Wait... that's it, LIGHTS! The boy's eyes widened in realization. All I need is a bright source of light to serve as a beacon. But what can be bright enough to be seen through all this mess?
Just as he asked himself that question, Whitley remembered something he had done only an hour ago. He recalled how he had used one of Rhodey's road flares to guide V.I.C. to him. From his recollection, the man had two spare flares left in his car, which he had obviously used to get to his grandmother's apartment.
And like that, a plan formulated within the boy's mind. All Rhodey had to do was to travel to the tunnel's exit and stand there with a lit flare in his hand, acting as a human lighthouse to guide him. His mind set on this course of action, the boy told the man, "Rhodey, go get a road flare, I've got an idea."
He heard the man let out an exhausted sigh. He told the boy, "Considering your track record, I've got a feeling I'm not gonna like what I hear."
"Oh, Rhodey, why must ye be of so little faith?" Whitley asked playfully. "Trust me; unlike most of the ideas I've had today, this one is arguably the best."
"That doesn't really fill me with confidence." Was the man's sardonic reply.
"Oh, don't be like that." The young genius replied. "Hurry and go get the flare, I'll fill you in on the way."
He listened as Rhodey let out a resigned sigh and ended the call, no doubt acquiescing to the boy's request. Now unencumbered by a conversation, the boy chose that moment to seek shelter from the blizzard as waited for Rhodey. He looked about his surroundings and found much to his relief that he had landed next to a couple of derelict houses. At least, that was what he hoped. With the state that the slums were in, an abandoned and decaying building might actually be home to someone, the most probable occupants being squatters. But it wasn't like he had any better options. Bunkering up in a rotting ruin was far more probable than freezing to death in the open.
With much hesitance, the young vigilante walked toward the nearest house, his movements slow and slightly restrictive. Whitley scowled in irritation. It appeared that his fight with Blizzard, as well as his foray through the literal blizzard, had frozen much of the armor's servos. Despite this setback, he soldiered on and soon entered the decrepit structure.
The boy smiled, glad to be free from exposure to the elements, and immediately began searching for a spot to hunker down. But the moment he pressed his leading metal foot on the wooden floorboards, a loud and audible creak echoed through the building. Whitley winced as he heard the board creak from the weight of his foot. He froze and kept silent; worried he might disturb any possible squatters. When it became clear that there were no people coming to investigate the noise, he let out a relieved sigh and resumed walking.
Unfortunately for him, the creak would soon prove to be the least of his worries. The instant he moved his other foot, he heard the rotting wooden boards groan from the weight of his metal feet. Suddenly, he felt the boards shake, followed by the sounds of wood slowly splintering.
Knowing what was coming, Whitley let out a hushed, "Oh, shit..."
The wooden floor collapsed and to the basement below, with the vigilante falling through the newly formed hole. His body hit the concrete floor below, landing on a bed of splintered wood and rusted nails. Now lying on his back, the armored youth stared angrily at the hole that he had fallen through. He said nothing as he lay there, listening to the wind as it whistled outside of the house. Inwardly, he reprimanded himself for not taking into account the aged foundation of the abandoned abode, which could not support his weight.
Suddenly, he heard his helmet ring from an incoming call. He allowed it to go through.
"Whit," He heard Rhodey speak, "I'm walking through the tunnel right now! When can I expect you to arrive?"
The young genius groaned and answered, "As soon as I get off of the floor."
Upon hearing that comment, the man confusedly asked, "What do you mean by that?"
Whitley didn't bother replying.
As far as he was concerned, he was done with just about everything tonight.
Dressed comfortably in heavy clothing, James Rhodes stood silently in the tunnel, at the border between indoors and outdoors. The snow had yet to let up, and the ferocity of the wind had increased. Such horrible weather made him worry, not for his wellbeing, but for that of his young friend. A small part of him wanted nothing more than to chew Whitley out on his reckless actions, but overall, he just wanted to ensure that the boy was alive. He can't bear the thought of telling Willow her little boy was dead and that he had died under his protection. The woman, despite her current state, had suffered enough in life.
Suddenly, he felt a vibration in his coat's breast pocket. He quickly pulled the vibrating scroll out of it and answered the call. "Whitley, I'm right at the end of the tunnel, you in the air yet?"
"Yeah, I'm up here already. Light the flares and guide me home, Rhodey."
The man stated his affirmation and ended the call. He reached into his coat and pulled out two road flares. He had three in his car, but found just the two. He had a suspicion that Whitley had something to do with the third's disappearance. He planned on having a long discussion with the boy about that. He twisted the caps off of the flares, igniting them. The bright obnoxious red sparks lit up the area around and Rhodey held them aloft and swung them back and forth. He hoped against hope that the flares could be seen by his young ward through all this mess.
Minutes passed as he waited for the boy's arrival. He waved his arms about, the flares becoming streaks of red light and smoke. Just as his arms were beginning to tire, he caught sight of a faint blue light in the distance. He focused his eyes on this mysterious object, which gradually got closer. Eventually, he made out the form of a person flying through the air, a trail of dissipating blue light following it. The figure descended toward the tunnel, having seen the shopkeeper, and landed roughly on the rusty train tracks with a metallic clank.
Under the light of the flares, Rhodey beheld the armored form of Iron Man, his silver body bathed in red light. But that was not the only thing he saw. As Iron Man approached him, the man saw the damage dealt to his armor. It had already been damaged, but it had been largely cosmetics, with some scratches and scrapes marring the metal plating.
The armor now resembled a walking metallic corpse, walking slowly with a noticeable limp in its right leg. Much of the plating had been scratched, dented, warped, and frozen over. To his horror, he saw bullet holes scattered across much of the upper body. The helmet's faceplate had nearly been caved in, and its right optic dead and the left flickering on and off. Once he was a foot away from the man, Iron Man peeled his metal face off, revealing the fleshy visage of his godson.
Rhodey winced once he saw Whitley's face. The boy had a black eye, a broken and bleeding nose, a cut lip, and his skin was paler than its normal complexion. He shuddered to imagine what other injuries the boy had received from the Blizzard.
Whitley stared at his guardian and stated with a matter-of-fact tone, "I lost."
Rhodey, whose anger had turned to concern, calmly asked. "Do you need help getting back to the Forge?"
"No," The boy replied. "But I'd appreciate you walking with me."
The man gave an affirming nod, to which the teenager gave a thankful smile. The two began walking through the tunnel, the flares lighting the path. Whitley opted to walk a few inches ahead of Rhodey, too ashamed to look the man in the eyes. Rhodey, for his part, watched the boy trudge his way back to the workshop, his head hung low and his shoulders slumped. He had never seen the boy look so defeated. He wondered if he should say something. Ultimately, he decided against it.
He doubted anything he'd say would help the boy.
How could it all have gone so wrong?
That was the one defining thought in Winter Schnee's mind.
But such a thought kept her from falling asleep. As she laid there in bed, staring at the ceiling fan as it spun, she thought about everything that happened yesterday. Especially in regards to how she had treated her little brother. She had thought a simple apology would have been enough to bury the hatchet between them. But she realized too late that it had been a foolish endeavor, a meaningless gesture that only a child thought could work. And she indeed had acted like a child. When Whitley had pressed all her buttons, she unwisely equated him to their father, an act that ignited the simmering tensions between them.
But despite what happened, there was one thing that stood out to her. Before they had their verbal spat, he had accused her of being incapable of making her own decisions, as well as lacking the responsibility to answer for whatever mistakes she made. Such accusations had been enough to set her off.
And yet, she didn't deny them.
Even as she hurled insult after insult at her brother, she never denied being a follower or a coward. Why did she fail to do so, if one were to ask her?
Because some small part of her mind knew that he was right. She abandoned her siblings to the mercy of their father. Not once in her life did she make a decision that was solely her own, save for joining the military. She had always favored Weiss over Whitley, and only fueled her sister's ego. And she never took the time to make amends for her mistakes, always finding a perfect excuse to free herself from this responsibility.
She inhaled and lamented. I thought I grew up, but I'm still that scared little girl.
Suddenly, she heard the sound of soft knocking on her door. She quickly got up and opened the door, to see who was there. The moment the door opened, she saw nobody standing there in the hallway. It wasn't until she heard a soft sniffle that she directed her head downward. Standing in her pajamas, with a small blanket clutched in her tiny hands, was Toni Ho. The girl was shaking and had tears in her eyes. The specialist's eyes softened as they took in the child's appearance.
She knelt down and kindly asked, "What's wrong, Toni? Did you have a nightmare?"
"No... I heard loud bumps! I tried to get Peppa and Happy, but the bumps were there too!" The girl cried. "I heard screaming too! I think bad people are hurting them!"
Winter blinked and thought over the girl's words; Loud bumps? Screaming? But it's late at night, why would...
Her eyes widened in realization and a deep blush dusted her cheeks. Ooh...
"What's wrong?" Toni asked, having noticed the blush.
Winter coughed into one of her fists and calmed herself. "There's nothing wrong, Toni. Nobody's hurting Pepper and Happy, they're the ones making the bumps."
The child innocently asked, "Why?"
"Uh... they're, well, uhm..." The woman struggled in answering the girl. Without thinking, she spoke. "They're playing a game!"
The child cutely tilted her head, "A game? Is it a fun one?
Oh, it is, indeed... Nope, keep your mind out of the gutter! You must preserve this child's innocence at all costs!
"Yes, it's fun. But it's a game only grown-ups can play." Winter quickly answered, getting a little uncomfortable with the subject. "And you're not supposed to know about it until you're older."
Toni said, "Really? 'Cause Happy's shouting-"
"WHEN. YOU'RE. OLDER!" Winter stressed, hoping to dissuade the child from asking any further questions.
The child flinched at her tone. The woman quickly apologized, not wanting to hurt the poor girl's feelings. Toni accepted the apology and chose not push the subject, which was relieving for the Schnee. Winter hoped that she won't ask about sex again until she was at least a teenager. She can't begin to imagine how Happy and Pepper were going to approach that particular subject when the time comes.
Because she sure as hell wasn't going to give the girl the talk; she had already taught her sister about the birds and the bees. Once had been enough for her.
Knowing that the little girl was still too nervous to return to her room, Winter asked her. "Would you like to stay in here for a bit?"
The child nodded vigorously, clutching the blanket to her chest. Winter gave her a soft smile and scooped her up into her arms. She placed the toddler on her bed and pulled up a chair next to it, where she will sit. She asked the child, "Would you like a story?"
"Yes." Toni meekly replied.
The Specialist smiled, "Alright. I think I have quite the story for you. I used to read it to Whitley and Weiss when they were your age, and you might like it."
She rose from her seat and approached the bookshelf located on the far side of her room. She took a moment to find the book she was searching for and once she did, she returned to girl's bedside. She told the girl, "This is an old story, so you probably never heard of it. It's about a brave boy who grew up to become a great hero. It's called the Iron Knight."
The little girl's eyes lit up in excitement as Winter opened the book.
The woman cleared her throat and began, "Once, in a kingdom long forgotten to time, there was a young boy whose heart yearned for justice..."
Whitley said nothing as he removed the gauntlet for his right arm. After returning to the Forge, the boy immediately began freeing himself from the suit, which proved to be far more difficult than expected. The damage had been too severe for it to free him from the metal contraption. He had to use a screwdriver, hammer, crowbar, blowtorch, and Rhodey's strength to peel the armor off of him piece by piece.
With his right hand free, he tossed the gauntlet aside, which joined the pile of ruined junk that was once Iron Man.
Upon looking at his destroyed masterpiece, The boy felt his heart break.
To see his baby in such a sorry state was a tragedy. It felt like someone had taken a knife and stabbed him in his very soul. He had spent weeks building the armor, testing and fine-tuning it, and improving upon its superstructure. Three weeks it took him to build this incredible piece of machinery. It took only thirty for a refrigerated mecha-gorilla to completely trash it.
He had only himself to blame.
"How are you feeling?" He heard Rhodey inquire with a scolding tone.
Whitley didn't dare look him in the eye. "I think it's obvious how I feel right now, Rhodey."
"Right, stupid question," Rhodey spoke embarrassingly. "Come sit down and let me get a look at you."
Whitley quietly complied with the request, not even bothering to give a sarcastic remark. He sat on the chair the man pulled up. Rhodey immediately inspected the boy's face, looking over his facial injuries. Once he was satisfied, he pulled up a first aid kit, which he had the foresight to bring, and began treating the boy's wounds. Whitley winced as the man dabbed a wipe of stinging alcohol on his bruised right eye, causing him to unconsciously move his head away. Rhodey saw this and frowned, "Hold still. You don't have aura, and that thing in your chest is almost out of juice. You've gotta grin and bear it for now."
Whitley took the man's words to heart and steeled himself for his treatment. Minutes passed as the shopkeeper tended to the boy's injuries, of which there were thankfully few. Most of the injuries were mostly on the boy's face. There were some slight bruises on the boy's torso, likely caused by the bullets. Thankfully, the reactor had enough energy to mitigate the damage to his skin. Once he was finished patching the boy up, he handed the boy a mirror, so that he can inspect his face.
Whitley glowered upon seeing his reflection. How exactly was he going to explain these injuries to his bodyguards?
He turned to Rhodey and asked, "Be honest with me... Did I fuck up?"
While aghast to hear such vulgar language from the boy, Rhodey still answered. "Yes... You really did eff up this time."
"Well... I just wanted to make sure." The boy said. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and sighed. "I really made a mess of things this time."
"That's an understatement." The man spoke plainly. His tone became stern as he continued. "Whitley, just what in the hell were you thinking? The train thing was bad enough, but this time you nearly did lose your life! Do you have some kind of death wish or something?!"
The boy didn't answer, but gripped his knees. Rhodey saw this and inhaled. Once he was calmer, he spoke. "This only proves my point. You can't do this, Whit. Clearly, no matter what I say, you're gonna continue this vigilante nonsense. Well, I'm putting a stop to it."
He moved toward the armor and picked up one of the gauntlets. He was fully intent on destroying the damn thing once and for all. So long as this armor existed, Whitley was going to rush into danger and risk his life.
Just as he was about to reach for the blowtorch, he heard the boy say, "No."
He faced the sitting genius, who held a defiant look on his face, staring him down. The boy stood up, straightened himself, and spoke curtly. "Drop it. Now."
Rhodey's face scrunched up in anger. "What did you just say?"
"You heard me." The boy replied. "I said drop it. I built it. I can fix it."
"No, you're not going to do anything. It's over, Whitley! This damn foolish crusade of yours ends now!" Rhodey roared in outrage.
The Schnee held his ground and argued. "No. I'm only getting started! What do you expect me to do, Rhodes? Do you expect me to live a quiet, safe life while all the scum of the world go about hurting people?! Well, guess what, a quiet and safe life is not an option for me, not anymore! Not since I got blown out of the sky and had my chest ripped open by a bunch of lunatics!"
"Then let the huntsmen and huntresses do your work for you! Unlike you, they're trained to do this kind of work! I'm just trying to do what's right for you!" Rhodey shouted, concern fueling his outrage.
Whitley growled at the mention of his sisters and snapped. "What's right for me? Do I get any say in that? What, just because I'm young doesn't mean I have a choice? All my life, people have been feeding the same bullshit. 'Whitley, do this', 'Whitley, do that'! Over and over again, like godsdamn clockwork! And I went along with it because I thought it'd get me everything I wanted. I finally made a choice for myself, to do some real good for once, and you want to take that from me?! You can talk about how it's for my own good, but the truth is you can't stand to see me be my own person!"
"That's not true!" Rhodey argued, his grip tightening on the gauntlet.
"Then why are you trying to control my life!" The boy fired back. "A lot of people have no Aura, but that hasn't stopped them from fighting the Grimm. A lot of people have gotten into a few scraps and came out on top without any training whatsoever. And I know full well what I'm getting myself into! So, tell me, Rhodey, why can't you me let have this one thing? Why are you trying to keep me under your thumb? WHY!?"
"BECAUSE I CAN'T BEAR TO WATCH ANOTHER SCHNEE DIE!"
Whitley was taken aback by the declaration, whatever retort he had prepared dying in his throat. Rhodey, realizing what he had just shouted, lost all sense of restraint on his emotions. So fierce was this sudden rush of emotion that his grip on the gauntlet slackened, until he finally dropped it. To the boy's shock, the man started to tear up. In all his life, he had never seen the retired military man cry.
The man spoke with a voice strained by grief, "Whitley, I've known your family for a long time. I've seen two generations of Schnees buried already. I don't want to see a third. Whether it's you, Winter, or Weiss, I don't wanna watch you die. And I'm sure Pepper and Happy feel the same. So, please, I beg you, give up Iron Man, and live a long and happy life."
Whitley said nothing as he stared at his despondent guardian. A small part of him felt guilty for putting the old man through so much. For a moment, he was tempted to acquiesce to the man's desperate pleadings. But then he remembered the cave, his escape, as well as Yinsen's death. And then he recalled the nightmares that haunted him as he slept. It was then that he found his response. He knew Rhodey won't like what he was about to hear, but he had to speak from the heart.
"I'm sorry, Rhodey. But I can't do that." He began. Rhodey stared at the boy, wondering what he was going to say next. "Any chance at living a long and happy life vanished the minute I donned my first armor. I didn't tell you this, because I was too proud to admit it, but the nightmares came back. Every night since you forced me to hide the armor, I had to relive every horrific moment in that cave. I'd see the faces of all the people I couldn't save, their eyes pleading and desperate for salvation, but they'd always die in the end."
Rhodey kept silent as the boy bared his soul.
"And then I'd see all the terrorists I killed during my escape, accusing me of being every bit as bad as them. That I'm a monster and a murderer with a seat reserved in hell. You once asked me what my reason for creating Iron Man was, and I didn't have an answer. Well, now I do. Atonement; For every 100 lives I save, I forgive myself for taking one. For every person I help, the pride I feel in being a Schnee is restored. And if I can help keep families together, then maybe, just maybe, I can find a way to reconnect with my own. Rhodey, it doesn't matter how many times you try to stop me, I'll always find a way to continue what I've been doing. Being Iron Man is not some reckless hobby, it's the only way I can save my soul."
Rhodey looked at the boy in bewilderment. For a moment, he wondered if maybe the boy knew exactly what he was doing. But just as quickly as that though came, it vanished.
"If that's the way you see it, then I won't stop you." He told the boy. "But what you're doing, Whitley, is something you're gonna have to do alone."
With that said, Rhodey walked past the young vigilante toward the stairs. Whitley watched the man's retreating form for a moment, wondering if she should say something. But then he stared at the pile of parts that was the armor. Swallowing his guilt, he approached the ruined suit and began inspecting it. He had work to do, and a he had to redesign the armor. And he'll do it alone if he has to. He was long used to working alone.
Nothing was heard in the dimly lit chasm save for the rough tapping of boots on cement steps.
As he ascended the spiraling stairwell, Rhodey couldn't but fume at the Schnee's stubbornness. Where did that boy get off thinking he can do as he pleases, he couldn't help wonder. Why did he have to think he had the weight of the world on his shoulders? He's a teenager, not a grown man. A traumatized, stubborn, and arrogant kid with a chip on his shoulder the size of Atlas.
Soon, he found himself standing within the living room of Toni's abandoned apartment. He took a moment to engage in some wistful reminiscence, recalling the moments he spent with Pepper, Willow, and the Schnee brothers in this place. He found his gaze directed to a few dusty picture frames hanging on a wall. He approached the photos.
The first picture he looked upon was that of a much younger Toni Schnee. He frowned and pointed accusingly at the woman's image. "I hope you realized he got that attitude from your side of the family."
If he were being honest with himself, it was from Antoinette Stark-Schnee where the Schneeblings got their stubborn personalities. The old woman always had problems admitting defeat, whether it was in science, business, or child-rearing. That same attitude had indeed been inherited by her grandchildren. No matter their differences, the three Schnee siblings shared one thing in common, and it was that Stark Stubbornness.
No matter what people say to them, once their minds were made up. The kids would approach their chosen paths with everything they've got, consequences be damned. It was childish, reckless, and unnecessary.
It was... not unlike their mother when she was at that age.
Rhodey peeled his eyes away from the Schnee patriarch. They landed on a picture of a teenaged Willow, who was trapped between her brothers as they posed for a group photo. He frowned upon seeing those faces, a sliver of guilt piercing his soul. What Willow's children were doing was not different from what she and her brother's would have done at that age. And he and Pepper were right there with them as they searched for their places in the world, consequences be damned.
And there were consequences.
But maybe... maybe there don't have to be any this time. The shopkeeper wondered.
Whitley was not like his uncles, nor was he like his mother and sisters. He was his own person. And he found his path, along with his place in the world. But had no one to support him. Was he really going to leave the boy to travel this unknown road alone, vulnerable to the horrors of the world and his own demons?
No.
His mind made up, Rhodey moved back toward the stairs.
What Whitley was doing, it was crazy.
But he didn't have to do it alone.
Okay, So I know this chapter was much shorter than the last. I had a lot of stuff planned for this chapter, but it proved to be too much for once chapter and I've been getting a little burned out trying to churn this chapter out. So many concepts, so little time to write about them all. Not to mention the fact I lost so much time in writing. I'm seriously considering getting a beta-reader to help me keep up.
Also Not to alarm anyone, but I had a bit of a Covid Scare a few weeks ago. Thankfully, I tested negative. The same could not be said for my Parents and Grandparents. It's kind of hard to write when you to worry about your family possibly dying from a deadly virus. But thankfully, they're all recovering.
Oh, and I quit my awful job at Amazon. So, I'm job searching again.
As for this story, I'm sorry I posted so late (Mainly because I forgot there were only 30 days in November). I do intend on finishing this story, and the second part of this chapter will be published in either the last week of December or the first week of January. (I swear Penny and Ciel will be in this story soon!)
Also, I have finally found my next story, and it is Whitley Centric. I hope to have it written and published in February. I don't want to spoil much, but I can give you a little hint as to what it's about.
(Edit: Actually, I have two Whitley stories planned.)
Story #1 Hint: Nothing is True, Everything is Permitted.
Story #2 Hint: In a land far away, lies the kingdom of Fiore...
See you all later!