The following is a non-profit, fan-made work of fiction. RWBY and Iron Man are the respective trademarked properties of Rooster Teeth Productions, LLC and Marvel Entertainment, LLC. Please support their respective franchises and releases. This means I own jack, so don't sue me, it's all for fun. (And practice, I just wanna be a better writer.)
The Invincible Whitley Schnee
Chapter 14: Warm Welcome (Part 2)
August 19th, 2008 KC
Mantle, Solitas
James Rhode's Apartment
7:35 AM
Marrow Amin stirred in bed as the sun shined through the gaps between the curtains. The young specialist sat up and yawned, stretching his arms and cracking his neck. He leapt off the bed like a frog from its lily pad, ecstatic and full of vigor. His feet landed upon the floor and performed his final stretches, his bushy tail twitching as he did so. Now free from his post-sleep stretching, he hurried over to the window and pushed the curtains back. He slid the window up, eager to greet the day with a smile.
He leaned on the open window frame, his head and shoulders poking through. He noted with a smile that the snow had let up for a bit, now just a faint flurry rather than a fierce blizzard. Of course, the sky was still obscured by a thick sheet of grey clouds, with the sun peeking through very small gaps. Below him, he caught sight of the neighborhood. Brick-Layer buildings, coated in thin layers of snow, lined the street, where people were hard at work clearing it for public use. On the sidewalks, he saw dozens of people milling about in heavy winter clothing, going about their business, either going to work, shopping for groceries, or escorting their children to school.
As he breathed in the sight of his hometown, he heard a voice shout from below him. "Good morning!"
He looked down and beheld two teenagers waving at him. He smiled and waved back. It was only then that the teens laughed at him. One of them asked, "Wait, are you wearing footie pajamas?"
"Oh, my gods, he totally is!" The other cried mirthfully, "what a loser, Ha-ha-ha!"
The two chuckling teenaged hooligans walked off, leaving a scowling Marrow to fume. Having had enough of the city, he shut the window, forcing it down with a loud and cracking thud. He pulled the curtains together for good measure.
The specialist petulantly crossed his arms and bitterly wondered. Why do people gotta hate on the pajamas?!
The Faunus calmed himself, counting to ten before he really lost his temper. He was a proud Specialist of the Atlesian Army and he will act as such. He must calm, collected, and cool-headed in the face of adversity, much like his captain, Clover Ebi. If he didn't live up to the example put forth by the captain, then he should just turn in his weapon and quit already. It was going to take more than a couple of punks to throw him off.
His mood now sufficiently calmer, Marrow made his way out of the bedroom. The instant he entered the hallway, he felt a surge of excitement course through his being. Nothing was going to ruin his mood. All he had to do was spend the day guarding the Schnee, escorting him to a doctor's appointment, and finally, enjoy a nice, relaxing respite at Rhodey's sweets shop. He had yet to sample any of the shop's admittedly delectable selection and today was as good as any to try. All in all, it was looking to be a very fine day to be Marrow Amin.
"Ow, damn it, Rhodey, that stings, can't you use something a little more... non-alcoholic!" He heard the young Schnee from the living room.
"Well, I'm not the one who decided to pick a fight with some street punk," Shouted a very displeased James Rhodes, "So just suck it up and let me treat those bruises!"
Street punk? Bruises? Marrow wondered before he realized in horror. Oh, shit, he got into a fight?! While I was asleep?!
He immediately flew down the stairs, concern over his young charge fueling his frantic movements. Once he was at the bottom of the stairs, he raced down the hallway toward the kitchen, from where he had heard his housemate's voices. The moment he arrived in the linoleum tiled room, he found himself bearing witness to a rather concerning sight. Sitting on one of the dining table chairs was Whitley Schnee; the boy's once pristine countenance was marred with a bruised eye and cut lip, the latter of which Rhodey was dabbing with an alcohol wipe.
He approached the two and inquired, "What the hell happened?"
"I was taking the garbage out," Whitley spoke, "and then a few punks jumped me! They ran off once Rhodey came out."
Marrow tried to speak, only for Rhodey to interject, "Don't bother trying to find them, they're long gone. Besides, it was just a bunch of damn kids, not criminal masterminds."
Marrow struggled with his words for a bit, before letting out an exhausted sigh. Still slightly worried for the young Schnee, he asked, "You sure you're alright? That eye's looking pretty bad."
"I can still see with it, so no worries." The boy replied, acting quite nonchalant about his injuries. "If anything, I'm more worried about my appointment with Dr. Polendina."
"As in Pietro Polendina, the world-famous roboticist?" Marrow wondered aloud, surprised to say the least.
But it did beg the question as to why the boy needed to see Polendina. The last he recalled, Dr. Polendina didn't hold a medical degree, so what warranted the boy to visit the old genius? There was also the fact that the good doctor was currently involved in a classified and highly-sensitive project for the military. Just what kind of emergency did Whitley have that would grab Polendina's attention while working for the General?
He asked the young man to explain his reasons for doing so. To his surprise, his innocuous question only made Whitley to eye him nervously. He watched as the boy looked to Rhodey, whom simply nodded silently. The Schnee exhaled, as though he were readying himself for an arduous task, and unbuttoned his shirt. Beneath the boy's white dress shirt was a black sweatshirt, which the boy promptly pulled the collar of down.
The boy's facial injuries had been surprising, but what Marrow saw on his chest was shocking. Staring back at him was a circular object that seemed to be melded into the young man's chest, a brilliant azure light shining within its center. When he had been assigned to the Schnee's protection detail, the General had been keen on giving him files that detailed the boy's injuries and possible psychoses. It appeared the documents were not as thorough as they claimed, considering he read next to nothing about what he was seeing.
Once his initial shock wore off, the specialist looked to Whitley and said, "What."
"Take a seat, Marrow." Whitley suggested to the man, "You're in for a long story, one I should have told you and the others from the get-go."
Marrow promptly did so, taking the seat adjacent to the boy's. Rhodey sat as well, taking a spot next to the boy, having finished dressing his wounds. Whitley buttoned his shirt back up and stared the specialist straight in the eye.
He asked, "Would you like for me to start at the beginning?"
Marrow dumbly nodded.
And so, Whitley regaled him with his story.
Apartment above Polendina Pharmaceuticals
Mantle, Solitas
8:05 AM
Doctor Pietro Polendina didn't know what the story was behind Whitley Schnee.
When Mr. Rhodes had called and asked him to help the young man, he was understandably surprised. It wasn't that he held no ill will toward the boy, far from it; he just couldn't help but wonder why exactly the youngest scion of the Schnee family would want his help. Rhodes had not been very forthcoming with his call, only that he had the right "qualifications" to help the lad. Once they agreed on the perfect time for the boy's appointment, the café owner ended the call, leaving the doctor in the dark as to what was expected of him.
The old man scratched his grey beard in deep thought, his tired brown eyes closed. Even as he directed his quadrupedal chair to move toward the kitchen, his mind remained solely on his coming meeting with the young man. Breakfast was a mere afterthought to the mystery that was Whitley Schnee's affliction, if there were any.
"Father?"
Even with his dual degrees in Medicine and engineering, he can't for the life of him figure out why the youngest Schnee sought him out. He wondered if perhaps the boy required some kind of emergency check-up, presumably for an injury he sustained while in captivity. Could it be that young Whitley wanted to ask for advice regarding some project he was working on? He knew the Schnee was a technological prodigy, and he had been tracking the boy's accomplishments. In truth, the boy was on short list of people that he was considering for an apprenticeship. Never did he imagine that his prospective student would be the one to approach him first, especially after his recent harrowing experiences.
"Father?"
Of course, he wanted to meet the boy long before he graduated, considering who his grandmother was...
"FATHER!" Polendina was shaken from his thoughts by his daughter's worried voice.
His mind now fully back on Remnant, Pietro looked up and beheld the concerned gaze of his dear daughter, Penny, whose left arm been stretched out in front of him. He looked past her appendage, his eyes trailing downward. He had almost collided with the kitchen table. He had spaced out again, a common occurrence for him, especially at his advanced age.
She asked in concern, "Father, is there something wrong? You do not seem to be paying attention to your surroundings."
Amused by her response, Pietro softly chuckled, "Ha-ha-ha, I'm quite fine, my dear. I was simply lost in my own thoughts."
"I do not understand. How does one get lost within their mind?" The girl innocently asked, her head tilting like a confused puppy.
"It's a figure of speech, Penny." He told her with a smile. "It just means that I was so deep in thought that I lost focus on my surroundings. It's one of those things that you'll get used to, now that you're staying here with me."
"I see..." She said, nodding in understanding. "I will commit this lesson to memory. I hope that I too will be 'lost in my own thoughts' at some point!"
The old doctor smiled at the girl's declaration, likening her joy to that of a child learning something new. Most people would've thought the girl's response strange, especially for something that most wouldn't consider impressive. But the thing about Penny was that she was able to be amazed by whatever concept and act that most people don't even think about. Then again, given her unique circumstances, it was only natural for her to approach everything with a childlike sense of wonder. No matter how trivial or mundane the object of her interest was.
"But I am curious as to what you were thinking about." She wondered aloud. "I would like to know what it is you were thinking about... If it is agreeable with you, father."
"Oh, it's no trouble, Penny." The old scientist told her. "We're gonna have some company soon, and they asked me to help them with something."
The Ginger girl nodded, "I see. Does this mean I have to stay upstairs while they are here?"
Upon hearing those words, the old man frowned. "No, heavens, no; There's no need for that, you've no reason to hide."
Ironwood had been adamant about keeping Penny's true purpose a secret. For the past three months, he had been forced to comply with the general's commands, often hiding her away in her room whenever he had patients or guests. It was honestly frustrating for him to hide his daughter like she was some kind of dirty secret, but he understood the necessity of it. The world was not ready to know about her, and just how truly special she was. Still, Pietro wished there was some way she can interact with people in her designated age group. If only he could hide her true nature rather than her existence...
The doctor's eyes widened when he realized something.
People don't need to know what Penny is; they only need to know her! He thought in joy, glad to have found a loophole around the General's order.
And it only took him three months before realizing it.
He was beginning to see why people are saying he's a bit absent-minded.
Still, to come to this realization now, it was better late than never. Sure, Ironwood will be disappointed, but he knew that having Penny interact with people would be good for her in the long run. Besides, she was not going to meet her future partner, a student huntress named Ciel, for at least another month. If Penny was going to act like a 'normal' person, she needed to observe how people acted.
He smiled at her, "In fact, I think it's time you start making friends."
Penny's face lit up and she shook in excitement, "Really? Truly? Sensational, I will finally experience social activity!"
Pietro couldn't help but chuckle at the girl's excitement. He sometimes forgot, given what Penny looked like, that she was practically a child. A child with an eagerness to learn that was both inspiring and adorable. Of course, he had reason to worry. He knew that Penny didn't possess the capacity to judge people, but the same can't be said for most humans and Faunus.
If Humans and Faunus hate each other for being different, how would they treat Penny, if they knew of her true origins?
You can worry about that later, Pietro. The old man told himself. You still have some time before the Schnee comes, so why not enjoy the morning?
"Indeed. But for now, how about some breakfast?" Pietro suggested, eliciting a confused glance from the girl.
"But I cannot eat." She spoke. "And even if I am able, I doubt that I possess the capacity to taste the food."
It was here that Pietro felt like he was choking on his own foot.
He really should've known better.
Marrow wished that he had known earlier.
He knew that Whitley had been held captive, but to think that his young charge had endured so much pain was eye-opening. The boy had told him everything about his time as prisoner of these Fang Extremists. He didn't know there had been a White Fang cell that'd go as far as to brainwash and even murder Faunus. From his life-saving operation conducted by Dr. Ho Yinsen to his eventual escape, thanks in part to a mysterious armored interloper, the boy told him each and every detail of his months-long torment; including the psychological torture wrought upon him, the literal torture forced upon the other prisoners, and having to bear witness to so much death during his escape.
So shocked he was by what he heard, the specialist found that he was at a loss for words. He can't even look the boy in the eyes.
Whitley was having none of the silent treatment however, asking the older man, "I know. It's a lot to take in."
Marrow found his voice again, "That's an understatement. I mean, by the brothers, how have you not gone crazy after all of that?"
The boy averted his gaze, not that Marrow noticed, and replied, "Let's just say I have a very unorthodox coping mechanism."
Rhodey glanced at the boy and frowned. Indeed, Whitley Schnee has an extremely bizarre method in coping with his grief. Where most people would take up therapy or hobbies, the young man turned to vigilantism as the means through which he would channel his trauma. But Marrow didn't need to know that. He was roused from his thoughts when the specialist spoke up once more.
"I'm sorry for what you had to go through, kid." Marrow said, offering his condolences.
Whitley stared strangely at him and spoke, "What do you have to be sorry for, Marrow? You weren't the one who made my life a living hell for three months. That was all on Vryolak and Savin."
"And what happened to them?" The specialist asked, wondering if the architects of the boy's pain had been dealt swift justice.
"Vryolak got cornered by the armored intruder. After getting a particularly grievous wound from him, he chose to end it all via gunshot to the head." The boy replied, shuddering slightly as the memory of Vryolak's suicide played back in his mind.
The young Faunus pressed on with his inquiry, "And Savin?"
Whitley scowled and sneered, "The bastard got out before the chaos started. Apparently, he mutinied and made off with the group's bullheads, taking many of their numbers with him. For all I know, he's still out there."
Savin's survival was a sore topic for the young Schnee. While Vryolak had indeed been a monster, one that the world was better off without, he recognized Savin as the bigger of the two threats. With his ability to gather classified information, his willingness to backstab a lifelong comrade, and his skills as a manipulator, Savin proved to be the most dangerous. That the coldblooded terrorist was still free, out of the reach of justice, made the Schnee's blood boil.
He can only hope that one day; he'll take Savin down, but not before telling him who orchestrated his kidnapping, and what AIM really was.
At least, he hoped so long as his bodyguards never found about his secret life as Iron Man.
Pushing those thoughts away, Whitley watched as Marrow ran a hand through his unkempt green hair. The specialist let out an exasperated sigh.
"When I was assigned this mission, I thought it was gonna be just another typical job. In the past week, I've seen metal men fly through the air, criminals robbing banks during blizzards, and yet, somehow, hearing this is what gets to me. I mean, I haven't been in the army long and I've seen some pretty horrible things, but what you told me... that's really effed up, man." The Man admitted, still trying to process everything that he had just heard.
"You aren't the first to say that." The boy told the man. His tone turned serious, "Marrow, I'm not telling you this to earn any pity or sympathy from you. I only want you to understand why I'm trying to keep the reactor a secret."
"Are you sure you want to do that?" Marrow questioned, "I understand why you'd want to keep this secret, but this is still world-changing technology. In fact, it might be the perfect alternative to Dust."
"I know it is. I do plan to share it with the world one day, but there's only one problem." Whitley began, before his eyes hardened and his voice cold. "I don't trust the people running my family's company, especially my father. Save for a few exceptions, the SDC board is nothing but a den of greedy, opportunistic snakes that'd never let the Arc reactor see the light of day. And even if they decide to use it, they'd likely find ways to exploit it, like hiking up its price or making inferior versions that'll force people to buy new ones once they break down. And don't even get me started on your boss..."
Marrow's eyes narrowed the moment he heard the reference to his superior. "What's your problem with General Ironwood?"
"I don't trust him." The boy replied. "Before you start accusing me of hating on the military, I'd like to remind you that Rhodey here is a vet, I had an uncle who served, and my sister's a specialist. I have nothing but respect and admiration for those who serve. It's only Ironwood I have problems with."
"And why's that?" The specialist questioned, moving to defend the General's honor.
"He has too much power." The boy answered, his voice growing more vindictive. "In the six years since his promotion, he has become the head of both the military and Atlas Academy. That gives him two seats on the council, and he used that influence to fuse the Academy and Military together. He used his position on the council to further legislation that benefits only Atlas, while passing on anything that would have improved conditions in Mantle. And yes, I know all about his initiative to recruit more Faunus into the military, but what about allowing them to live in Atlas?"
Marrow tried to speak, only for the Schnee to cut him off. The boy's voice gained more energy as he spoke, "Nothing. He's done absolutely nothing. He may say that he's all for equal rights, but he's done little to even advance them. Oh, and don't get me started on that stunt he pulled with my father!"
Rhodey and Marrow watched in alarm as the boy's cool and collected demeanour did a complete 180. Within seconds, the boy's lips curved into a furious snarl, his thin white eyebrows arched downward, his eyes burned with searing hot rage, and his hands clenched into tightened fists.
"When I was kidnapped by those bastards, and watched all those soldiers die, did the General send any help! NO! Instead, he decides to play along with my father's asinine cover-up! All so he can save face with the rest of the world, to keep the world from seeing the army being so vulnerable! He doesn't care about others, only what people think of him! He wants nothing but absolute control in just about everything; damn whatever anyone else has to say!"
"Uh, Whitley...?" Rhodey interjected, hoping to pull the boy out of his tirade.
The man's words went unheeded as the boy continued his rant, "Oh, he can talk about how it's for the good of everyone, but he's only in it for himself!"
"WHITLEY SCHNEE!"
Whitley snapped out of his tirade and blushed in embarrassment. He looked to Marrow, whom regarded him with a very concerned gaze, and cleared his throat. With the tense and extremely awkward atmosphere, the boy felt like he couldn't stay there much longer.
"I, uhm I think I'll be going to my room now." He rose from his chair. "Marrow, Rhodey and I will be seeing the doctor by ourselves. You're going to stay here and hold down the fort. Call Flynt and Neon to tell them they have the day off."
He quickly made his way out of the kitchen, leaving Rhodey and Marrow alone in the room. The two men watched the boy with concern.
"That boy has issues." Marrow concluded.
Rhodey sighed, "You have no idea."
Whitley sat upon his bed, looking at the thick book in his hands. Within his hands was the journal he started during his time in captivity, the book itself having been a gift from Yinsen. He can't recall the last time he had written a page, having spent the last few weeks building the Mark 2. There was a small part of him that wondered whether he neglected to add more to it out of a fear of bringing up bad memories. He also wondered whether he had simply lost in interest in recording his story. Such questions were best saved for later scrutiny, he decided. He brought this book out to search for something very important; something that will prove beneficial in prolonging his life.
He immediately flipped through the pages, searching for a specific passage where the secret to his survival laid waiting. Within moments, he found the section in question, along with the folded piece of paper wedged between the pages. With a satisfied smile, he plucked the paper from its hiding place and closed the book. He set the journal aside and unfolded the paper. Once the sheet was fully folded out, he examined the sketch and notes written upon its extremely creased surface with an almost nostalgic look.
Staring right back at him were the original schematics for the Arc Reactor. He knew it was better to have saved the plans rather than destroy them, knowing that at some point that they will be used for building additional reactors. Of course, he didn't imagine that it would be this soon. But he had long since become accustomed to the unpredictability of life.
Quickly, he folded the paper again and placed it upon the table adjacent to his bed. Now that the plans were out of the book, he was free to take a shower. He desperately needed one. He had to wash the revolting scent of defeat off his person before meeting with the doctor.
Not to mention the sweat he had accrued from wearing the armor. He had learned after taking the armor apart that Blizzard's beatdown had damaged its temperature control. Apparently, he had spent much of his flight back to the Forge's tunnel in a suit that was slowly heating up beyond its set temperature. Just another thing that he'll have to remedy with the new armor he was going to build.
Before he can do that, however, he had to return the journal to its place on the bookshelf. He picked up his journal and moved over to the bookshelf in the corner of his room. On the fourth shelf, he found the book's previous location, a gap between two volumes of the book series, The Sibling's Grimm. He slid the book back into its place. With his journal tucked away, he was now well and truly free to use the shower. But just as he was about to move away from the bookshelf, his eyes fell on another journal.
It was Yinsen's journal.
For a brief moment, Whitley considered holding off on the shower to peruse its contents. He ultimately decided against. The words contained within this book were not his read. They were for the man's daughter, when she was old enough to understand.
He exited the bedroom and headed for the bathroom.
"What took you so long?"
If the crook had heard the question, then he had chosen to forgo providing an answer. He still didn't have an answer as to what had happened last night. Without a word, he walked down the ramp that had been set up for the trailer, his gait slow and steady and his shoulders heavy with dejection.
His comrades were equally exhausted, disembarking from their transport, each of them tired and eager for some rest and relaxation. The cleaning crew was rather shocked to see that the overall mood of their colleagues was more somber and subdued than usual. Typically, after a job, they were practically beaming with pride, all smiles and laughs. It didn't take long for the cleaners to put two and two together. It appeared that their last job had not been a success.
"Seriously, what happened out there?" The Head Cleaner asked the leading robber.
"We had some... complications." He replied, not even sparing the inquisitive interviewer a glance.
Unsatisfied with the answer, the Cleaner rhetorically asked, "Complications?"
"Complications," Robber replied with a tone of finality.
The Cleaner stopped dead in his tracks and watched his colleague trudge toward the farthest part of the warehouse. He couldn't help but wonder, just what gotten into these people? What happened that made them all look so... defeated, for lack of a better word? He felt a slight tapping his shoulder, jolting him from his thoughts. He turned and found himself face to face with another of the robbers. The crook's youthful looks informed him that he was speaking to one of the recent additions to their crew.
"I hear you guys had some 'complications'?" He asked the young criminal. "You care to elaborate?"
The young man let out an exasperated sigh, punctuated by a shaking head. He told the older man, "Complications would be an understatement. It was a complete foul-up. We did everything we could to take out the mark, but he somehow survived, flying right into the night sky as though nothing happened."
"So, Iron Man lives." The Cleaner concluded. "Well, this is certainly going to bite us in the ass, I just know it."
"It already has. Not only did he live, but he also got a few hits on us. That metal jackass nicked me while I was shooting him. Whatever he hit me with, it stung like a bitch, like someone was stabbing a searing hot poker into my shoulder."
"Damn." Cleaner remarked in disbelief, "Did we lose anybody?"
"No. It's weird, but I've a feeling that Iron Man wasn't trying to kill us, only to knock us out." The robber let out a smug chuckle. "That was his mistake. He showed mercy when we weren't willing to."
"But he lived." Cleaner pointed out, "I can't imagine the boss felt happy about that. Speaking of, where is Gill?"
Robber shrugged uncaringly, "Don't know. You know the rule. No questions asked after a job. Though I have a feeling wherever boss is, it involves our client."
The two men shuddered in fright at the thought of their current client. To report a failure to the Mandarin was not a position they would wish upon their worst enemy. They can't even begin to imagine what Gill was going through.
Zhang Li was not happy. Not happy at all.
After sequestering himself to his office after a meeting with the Tong elders, he waited for news of Iron Man's defeat by the hands of the Blizzard. When he finally received that long-awaited scroll call, he relished in the satisfaction that another potential enemy had been taken out. The elation he felt immediately evaporated once Gill relayed the results of their planned ambush. The Iron Man had lived, escaping the clutches of his strongest agent to fight another day.
Another day closer to finding out the truth about the sabotaged train...
Thankfully, his agents within the Atlas Transit Authority and the Police had been able to bury whatever evidence that led back to the Tong.
But Iron Man's continued existence threatened to undo all of it, as well as years of planning.
Numb with rage, Zhang sat at his office fuming in silence. His lack of a response alarmed Gill, whom promptly inquired, "Sir, are you feeling well?"
The man took a deep breath, calming the churning storm of anger within, and exhaled. With a steeled tone, he replied, "I am perfectly fine, Gill. But I am quite displeased to hear Iron Man survived."
"I offer no excuses for this failure. I underestimated him, not realizing the full extent of his capabilities. As recompense, I will not accept any payment for this failed ambush."
"That won't be necessary, Gill. It is clear that the plan failed because we underestimated our opponent. This vigilante is far tougher than we initially presumed." The businessman commented. "You and your crew will receive your payments. Your past successes have not been forgotten. For now, lay low, and prepare for your next job."
"Thank you, sir." Gill responded with a grateful tone. "But I need to know. When is Hammer going to fall? He has to pay for what he's done to me!"
Zhang winced as the robber's voice raised an octave far too unpleasant for his eardrums to bear. For one who took their codename from a winter phenomenon, Gill was surprisingly hot-blooded. Oh, the irony.
He calmly replied to the impatient robber, "Patience, my young friend. Hammer's empire will fall, like Remus and Mistral before him, and you and all those who suffered from his cruelty will reap the rewards."
He heard the young robber take a deep breath, just as distorted as their voice, and sensed they had come to their senses, "Of course. I will wait for your further instructions."
He bade Blizzard farewell and ended the call.
He hung the Telescroll up and returned it to its hidden place under the surface of his desk. Now left alone with his thoughts, Zhang pondered over the enigma that was Iron Man. He still found it hard to believe that someone was zipping around Mantle in nothing but a suit of armor. He had seen the footage taken after the vigilante foiled his hijacking plot and saw the wound that had been dealt to his knee. Underneath all that shiny metal, Iron Man nothing but flesh and bone, a mere mortal. And yet he possessed a weapon that could run circles around Ironwood's robotic tin soldiers.
Iron Man was powerful, there was no doubt.
But he was not power itself.
Zhang knew power.
He wore it around his middle finger.
And once he had all ten rings, he will become power.
But finding the other nine has proven to be a difficult endeavor. For the six years, his agents have traveled the world in search of the other rings. Only one had reported finding a ring. He assumed that most of them were dead. But he knew none would forsake the mission. Each man and woman he assigned this mission had proven their loyalty to the Tong, and to their Mandarin.
But out of all of them, only one had returned with information regarding one of the rings.
When he learned where the ring in question was located, he was not pleased. To his surprise, the green ring, had been in the possession of none other than his former business partner, Justin Hammer, Sr. He had sought to negotiate with the old codger for the seemingly innocuous piece of jewelry, only for all those talks to amount to nothing when the decrepit, cold-hearted bastard to die three years ago, bequeathing the ring onto his son.
Justin Hammer, the junior, to his immense irritation, had proven to be even more entitled than his father, and just as undeserving. And so for the better part of three years, he tried to talk the pretentious young prick into giving him the ring. Their last and ultimately penultimate discussion ended with the contemptuous cur kicking him out of his office, claiming the ring for himself, as well as promising to drive him out of business.
Such a slight against his honor was something Zhang would not tolerate.
And so he orchestrated the failed hijacking of the Hammer train, intent on using the planned train wreck to ruin Hammer's image.
But then Iron Man appeared from out of nowhere and ruined months of planning.
He had been thwarted not once, but two times within the span of just a few months. Hammer and Iron Man will pay for their transgressions; that he promises.
He will bring upon them their rightful comeuppance.
It was only a matter of time.
The sudden buzzing of his intercom roused him from his thoughts. The businessman pressed a button and answered, "What is it, Mai?"
"Sir, your stepson is here to see you. He said it's urgent." His assistant replied, her voice crackling over the intercom.
Zhang's nostrils flared in irritation. Great, what does the little bastard want now?
Adopting a calm tone, he answered back. "Send him up."
"At once, Mr. Li," Spoke the assistant before ending the call.
Taking a deep breath, Zhang straightened his tie and fixed the cuffs of his suit. If there was one thing he hated most in the world, it was meeting with his ungrateful stepson. The boy had been pressuring him to include him in the Tong's internal affairs as of late. Of course, he was not very open to the thought of the brat involving himself. His marriage to the boy's mother had been a political necessity, as they were both descendants of the royal bloodline. The boy, as well as his own son, shared the same blood too.
With the death of his wife and his runaway son renouncing his claim to the title, that left him and Gene Kahn as the sole heirs to the Mandarin dynasty. This fact alone made the boy a threat to his ambitions. The laws dictated that should he fail to find all ten rings, as his predecessors had failed to do so, the title of Mandarin must be passed onto the next heir once they came of age.
He had only two years left before Gene turned 18. Unfortunately, he had no chance of arranging an "accident" for the boy, as the old laws were quite adamant that no actions be taken against an heir until the coronation challenge. Such traditions had no place in this day and age. But once he was crowned the true Mandarin, there will be some changes to how the Tong operated.
Again, it was all a matter of time.
Hours later, outside Polendina Pharmaceuticals...
Standing before the building that served as the home of Polendina Pharmaceuticals, dressed comfortably for the harsh weather, Whitley checked the time on his nearly dead scroll. It was a quarter past twelve, about five minutes before his meeting with Dr. Polendina. The car ride had been long and mind-numbing at times, their progress impeded by the occasional traffic jam and snow truck, but they had finally arrived, with five minutes to spare. Even with the wind and snow blasting into his face, Whitley couldn't help but feel excited.
"Are you nervous?" asked Rhodey, who stood beside him as they stared down the door.
Of course he was nervous. What person wouldn't be when meeting one of their idols?
All his life he had followed the breakthroughs made by Pietro Polendina. Where most kids would have preoccupied themselves with toys and games, he concerned himself with whatever latest advancements the man made as they were covered in the science journals. During his time at the Baxter Foundation, he heard nothing but praise for the man from amongst most of his instructors, whose numbers included then-unknown names such as Reed Richards and Bruce Banner, as well as such venerated and respected experts like Bill Foster, Moira MacTaggert, and Rufus Weller. The only outlier was one Arthur Watts, who was known for being a pretentious and outright condescending asshole, may he rest in peace.
All his former instructors had nothing but good things to say about the man, citing his genius, humility, and unfathomable kindness.
And now here he was, about to meet him, with only a wooden door separating them.
The boy told his guardian with an excited smile, "Of course, I'm nervous, Rhodey. I'm also anxious! I mean, wouldn't you be if you had met one of your childhood heroes?"
"Well, considering my hero had been a fictional character, I don't know who I'd react to meeting Captain Vale." The man jested; finding some joy in the boy's little display of hero worship.
He never thought he'd see the boy act like this. It was honestly refreshing to see the boy act his age, rather than as a hardened veteran like himself. With a smile, he nudged the boy forward. Taking the hint, Whitley approached the door, albeit with some trepidation on his part. As he stepped up to the door, he wondered about all the possible scenarios regarding his first meeting.
Now standing only inches from the door, he raised his fist, ready to knock upon its cold wooden surface. His heart was racing and so was his mind and it felt like time was slowing down. His fist was only a second away from knocking on the door, when it suddenly opened.
Instead of freezing wood, his gloved fist made contact with warm flesh. To his shock, he was about to knock on the forehead of a teenaged girl!
Just his fist connected with her head, the girl greeted him with a smile, "SALUTATIONS!"
So surprised he was by the girl's sudden appearance that he recoiled in surprise, pulling his hand away. Unfortunately, the sudden movement caused him to lose balance and slip on the icy pavement. He fell on his rear with a most undignified grunt. As he sat there on the frozen sidewalk, nursing his sore behind and his broken pride, he looked upon the girl.
The girl looked down at him with a concerned gaze. Now that he had a good look at her, he saw that she had short, curly orange hair, complete with a pink bow. She had vibrant and expressive green eyes. Though for some reason, he could've sworn her irises resembled camera shutters. Her attire was equally eye-catching, for she wore a white and frilly blouse. She also sported a grey pinafore dress, over which she black leg pieces which seem to be attached to her black shoes. But what caught his eye were the green stripes that adorned her clothing.
Could she be a huntress? He wondered.
The girl knelt down and offered a hand, inquiring in concern. "Are you well?"
Taking the offered hand, Whitley was helped back onto his feet. As his hand clutched hers, he couldn't help but marvel at the strong grip she held. It almost felt like his hand being bound in metal. This girl was stronger than she appeared.
"Thank you," He said in appreciation. "You really surprised me there."
"You have my most sincere apologies for that." She told him with a sorrowful frown.
"Think nothing of it. I'm not hurt, so no need to apologize." He replied. "Anyway, I think I should introduce myself. I'm Whitley Schnee; I'm here for a meeting with Dr. Polendina. Are you his assistant?"
The girl tittered, "Oh, no, I am not his assistant."
The boy blinked in confusion at that response. If she didn't work for the doctor, then what was her purpose in being here? Just who was this girl?
His question was answered when she spoke again, "As you have given me your name, it is only polite that I give mine in turn."
She gave him a beatific smile and introduced herself, "As I had said before, salutations! My name is Penny Polendina..."
Upon hearing her name, Whitley's eyes nearly shot up in surprise. Wait, Polendina? Does that mean she's...?
"I am Dr. Polendina's daughter, and it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Whitley Schnee."
She raised her hand, "I hope that we can be friends."
And that, kids, is the story of how I met... your Aunt Penny.
As for Whitley's thoughts on Ironwood, just know that he's likely projecting his own grievance with his father onto the general. Of course, his words aren't without merit.
I am announcing that the next chapter will be released at the end of next month, along with the first chapter of one of my two new stories.
This story now has a title.
Coming soon...
ASSASSIN'S CREED: REVENANTS
Thank you all for reading, and please be patient for the next chapter, which will be much longer than this one.