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 16: From Scratch

August 19th, 2008 KC

Mantle, Solitas

1:30 PM

"You asked for a bulletproof bodysuit?" Rhodey questioned as he drove. "Whitley, are you even trying to hide what you do?"

"Relax, Rhodey, I gave the doctor a reasonable explanation." His ward spoke defensively. "I simply told him I was worried about getting robbed at gunpoint. That's a pretty convincing lie, in my opinion; especially after what happened to me in Anima."

Rhodey steered his car left onto another street, only to find he had gotten stuck in another traffic jam. He had thought that snowfall would have lessened, but it seemed to have worsened during their time at the Pharmacy. And it was supposed to be like this until the first week of September. Sometimes, the veteran turned café owner wondered why he even bothered to stay in Mantle.

But then he reminded himself that his only other choice was Atlas. He'd rather suffer a thousand Mantlian Blizzards than spend a day in that city.

Given what he had heard of the floating kingdom from Marrow, he was honestly worried what staying in Atlas would do to his niece. But then again, it wasn't like all Atlesians were terrible people; case in point being the young man sitting in the seat next to him. Although if he were to tell people that the only son of Jacques Schnee was in fact a real-life superhero, they'd probably have him institutionalized.

Said super heroic youth glanced at his guardian, "Hey, Rhodey, how long do you think it'll be before we reach the Forge?"

The man replied, "I'd say an hour or so, if traffic is like this for the rest of the day."

The young man clicked his tongue in annoyance and took to staring out the passenger window. His eyes were greeted by the sight of a city blanketed in snow. All he can see was pure white mixed with slushy grey, covering the buildings, sidewalks, and the road. What people there were on the sidewalks, of which there were many, were dressed in winter clothing of varying colors, from drab blue to fiery red. All these colors clashing against the white and grey made for a surprisingly beautiful image. He'd never get this kind of view in Atlas.

Of course, such beauty did not distract him from the danger beneath it. To have this much snow falling onto Mantle was dangerous. The city's heat generators were old, and they often failed to work if the temperature fell below a certain point. But a few feet of snow was not enough to dissuade the people of Mantle from going about their business, which of course slowed down the snow plows which were working hard to clear the streets. Such outdated infrastructure expressed just how apathetic the kingdom was toward its former capitol.

"You never really told me why we're heading down there. Just what is so important for us to risk our lives driving through this snow?" Rhodey asked. "Because I know we aren't starting work on the armor until tomorrow."

"The thing is, Rhodey, is that it's not so much a what, but a "whom" that's the reason for our visit. I kinda forgot to pick up a very important member in my little operation." The boy answered. "I think you know who I'm talking about?"

The shopkeeper groaned. "I mean, I know he's important, but is he that important?"

The young genius deadpanned, "He has the data I need to build a better armor."

"Yeah, but, I mean, he's not exactly going anywhere, 'cause he doesn't have a body. We can probably pick him up later tonight or maybe early tomorrow morning?" The man suggested, hoping to change the young man's mind.

"Rhodey, I know you don't like V.I.C., but we need him." Whitley spoke forcefully. "We're already in town, so we might as well pick him up."

Rhodey clicked his tongue in annoyance. He honestly did wish there were a better time to fetch the AI, preferably with more desirable weather. It wasn't that he hated V.I.C.; it was just that he barely tolerated the obnoxious computer. When he had learned that his young charge had actually created a fully self-aware artificial intelligence, he had expected the program to act like the kind he saw I movies, emotionless and cold. Instead, the program acted like a twenty-something Manchild with an unhealthy fascination with cat videos.

"Okay, we'll just have to brave the snow, then." Rhodey wondered if he was losing his mind.

Whitley smiled beatifically, "Thanks, Rhodey. This means a lot."

"It's nothing, kid." He replied. "Okay, it looks like it's going to be a long trip, so we might as well turn the radio on. Do you have a favorite station?"

The boy blinked and asked, "Favorite? You do know most teens don't listen to the radio anymore, right? Not since we started downloading music onto scrolls?"

Yep, this is definitely gonna be a long trip. The café owner thought, resigning himself to his fate.

Meanwhile, in the Atlas Mining Pit...

After a long and excruciating drive down to the mining pit, Detective Flynt Coal, Sr. had never felt so relieved to be standing on his feet. Even as the snow fell around him, the chill air nipping at his skin, to finally be free of his car was the greatest feeling in the world. Fixing the sleeves of his coat, he observed the area before him. From what he can see, the crime scene had already attracted a fairly presence of curious locals, held back by a column of police officers and their vehicles. Ahead of the police, firefighters prodded the remains of a destroyed warehouse.

He approached the blockade, pushed his way through the civilians, and was allowed entry once he presented his badge. Once within the perimeter, he approached the nearest officer and asked, "What's the situation?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out, sir." The uniformed officer told the detective. "We got a call early this morning about an exploding warehouse, but the snow kept us from responding immediately. Besides, it's not like it's a big deal; the only ones here are faun-"

The officer stopped speaking once he noticed the detective was glaring at him.

The officer cleared his throat and resumed speaking, "Anyway, we won't know what happened until the fire jockeys are finished doing their thing."

"Have you taken any statements?" Coal inquired, to which the officer replied. "Not yet, we were waiting for you, sir."

Coal frowned at the answer. These cops have been here who knows how long and they haven't even spoken to witnesses? He couldn't help but lament just how downhill the department has gone. But then he remembered that the force never really went uphill either. He had years of experience on the job to remind him of that fact.

With a curt nod, the detective dismissed the officer and proceeded on his way to the growing crowd of civilians. He stood before the curious bystanders and raised his hands, silencing them. Once they were all settled, he announced, "I'm Detective Coal! I am here to take statements! If any of you saw something, please step forward!"

The crowd discussed amongst themselves before taking one collective step forward. Coal saw all these witnesses and felt a migraine growing. He had to interview each and every one of these people. This was going to take hours. He's probably going to have to call his family and tell them he'll be pulling an all-nighter.

As he prepared to take statements, the detective couldn't help but bemoan. Sometimes, I swear I'm gonna work myself right to the hospital.

Mantle United Hearts Hospital

2:45 PM

"I need an IV Bag in room 117!"

"Make way, make way! We've got a gunshot victim here, severe hemorrhaging!"

"I'm calling it now, time of death: 2:45 PM."

The hospital was alive with activity. How ironic it is, that an institute where one found death would be the liveliest. No matter where one walked, the halls were filled to the brim with doctors and nurses going about their duties. Such congestion made it difficult for visitors to traverse the medical facility. But one man had become all too accustomed to this organized chaos, having spent years familiarizing himself with it.

Gregor Shapanka was a familiar face around the hospital. Of course, naturally, this wasn't a good thing. For the past year, Shapanka has been visiting the hospital. His reason was the same as any other visitor. He was here to see a patient; but not just any patient.

He was here to see his wife.

A nurse bumped into his shoulder, "Sorry, I wasn't... oh, Mr. Shapanka!"

"It's fine, young man." Shapanka told the medical assistant. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to see my wife."

"Actually, sir, I was looking for you. It concerns your wife." The nurse told the man. "You see, she has another visitor."

Another visitor... but who'd be visiting Mary? Only families are allowed to see patients, and the only family she has are... Oh, no; the man's eyes widened in realization.

"Can you describe her visitor, son?" He quickly asked the young man.

"A really tall woman, pale skinned with even paler blonde hair, cold blue eyes, a bit younger than me." The nurse replied.

"And how would you describe her temperament?" Shapanka inquired further, hoping against hope it wasn't who he thought it was.

"Hmmm... I'd have to say frigid as ice?" The nurse spoke. "What's with the questions, sir? Is there something wrong?"

Instead of giving an answer, Shapanka walked past the young man, not even giving him a proper farewell. All that mattered to him was getting to his wife's room. Especially now, if the person in her room was who he thought it was. Step by step, he approached the room holding his comatose wife, paying no mind to whoever got in his way, his mind focused solely on reaching his destination. In minutes, he found himself standing before the door leading to said room.

He entered the room, albeit with some trepidation.

And just as he suspected, the person visiting his wife was exactly who he thought it was. Sitting next to Mary Shapanka, staring at him like a deer caught in headlights, was a young woman with steely grey eyes and pale blond hair styled in a pixie cut, dressed in denim pants and a blue sweater. Whatever shock the young woman felt upon seeing him quickly shifted into anger as her eyebrows furrowed and her mouth set itself into a twitching frown.

Shapanka took a deep breath and greeted the woman, "Dee, I wasn't expecting to see you here today."

Despite her visible consternation, the woman groaned out. "Yes, I'm sure you weren't expecting me... but then again, you hardly ever do, Greg."

Shapanka fought hard not to wince at that statement. Even after all these years, she refuses to call me dad.

Indeed, the woman sitting before him was Donna Shapanka, his daughter. Of course, she no longer used his name, having changed it to her mother's original surname a year ago. It had been another in a series of acts by her to distance herself from him as possible. He can't blame her for that. He hadn't exactly been there for her ever since the accident that sent her mother into a coma. To say there was bad blood between the estranged daughter and father was an understatement.

He took a brave step forward, "I haven't seen you since the year began. How are you doing, Donna?"

"Oh, you know, just living my life. Got a new job, one that pays good money, enough to help pay for Mom's treatment." She replied in a steeled tone. "And what about you, how's the job hunt going?"

"Oh, well, I got a new job too. One that pays well and even lets me use my research in ways I never thought possible." He replied as he took a seat next to his daughter. "I'm actually quite surprised by all the different applications for Cryogenics."

His daughter snorted derisively, "Your research? It's yours and mom's research; the same research that landed her in the hospital!"

Gregor bristled at the statement but kept his composure. It had already been three years since the accident that put his wife in the hospital, cost him his job at Hammer Industries, and destroyed the bond between him and his daughter. Of course, Justin Hammer, with his unreasonable demands, was the one who was truly at fault, but Donna directed her anger at him instead. The logic being that if she can't vent her anger on a corrupt businessman, then she can take it out on the father who had worked for the man.

In short, his daughter was angry at the world, and he was the only one willing to bear it.

In spite of the obviously tense atmosphere in the room, the scientist took a seat beside his daughter.

As he looked upon his bedridden wife, he asked his daughter. "I heard that you had dropped out of university."

"Yes, I did. I just thought that those thousands of lien should be used to pay for mom's treatment." She tersely replied with crossed arms, not even dignifying him with a glance. "Besides, I think the world can go on without another cryogenics expert. I'm going to live my life the way I want it, not according to your plans."

"And how, pray tell, are you going to live your life without a college degree? I'm sure there are plenty of people lining up to flip burgers at a McDowell's." Gregor retorted, displeased by his daughter's reckless attitude toward life.

"If you must know, I've got a job too. One that lets me use what I've learned at school, and I didn't need a dumb degree for it." She spoke before adding despondently. "Unfortunately, I had to cut my hair for my line of work."

For a moment, Gregor wondered whether to compliment her new hairstyle. He opted against it once he realized that she'll construe it as an insult. Instead, he decided to ask about her new job.

"And what exactly is your line of work?" He questioned with an accusatory tone.

"It's the none-of-your-damn-business kind of work," she curtly replied. "But if you want to know so badly, then can you at least tell me about what you're doing now?"

Gregor opened his mouth, ready to tell his wayward daughter about his work, only for the words to die in his throat once he remembered whom he was working for. When he brought into his new employer's fold, he had made a vow to never divulge the true nature of his work. He knew that if he told Donna what he was actually doing with his research, she'd never forgive him and would burn all bridges with him.

He sighed, "I can't tell you, Donna."

"Just the answer I was expecting." His daughter spitefully spoke. "I'm going to go now. I planned on staying here with mom for another hour, only for you to show up."

She rose from her chair and stood next to her mother's bed. As she was more than six feet tall, she was practically a giant compared to her father, who was but an average five-foot-nine. She leaned forward and kissed her mother's cheek, bidding her farewell.

"I'll see you soon, mom." She softly spoke. She turned to her father and sneered, "Goodbye, Greg."

Having finally said her piece, she left her parents and exited the room, slamming the door behind with such force that it echoed through the hallway. Gregor stared at the door, his face locked in a melancholic expression, lamenting his ruined relationship with his daughter. He looked upon his unconscious wife and took her hand in his.

"Mary... I wish you could tell me what to do." He asked, despite knowing it was all for naught.

With regards to his family, how can he start over from scratch?

"Start over from scratch, really?"

"Yep, I'm talking a complete overhaul on the armor's design." Whitley told Rhodey.

After an hour spent stuck in traffic, Whitley and Rhodey had finally arrived at the Forge. They now stand within the workshop, looking over the meticulously organized pieces of armor on the floor. However, there was one part in particular that the Schnee was interested in. Carefully, he walked his way around each piece, until he finally reached the helmet. Lifting the headgear up, he flipped it over and reached inside, bringing out a small flash drive. The young genius regarded the small device in his hand, staring at the dim and flashing LED light on its surface. After returning the helmet to its previous position, he strolled away from the disassembled armor and over to his laptop, which was placed next to the deactivated supercomputer.

The boy sat down and plugged the drive into his laptop. Seconds passed before a small window popped up on the screen, a stream of green-tinted coding scrolling over it. Before long, the data coalesced into a horizontal line slightly reminiscent of an electrocardiogram.

Concerned by the seemingly static image, the boy leaned into the laptop's microphone and inquired. "Hey, V.I.C., can you hear me?"

The line pulsed slightly with a slightly disoriented voice coming through the speakers, "Hurrgh... I miss mah mommy, she a calculator that went 'bleep'!"

Having heard the rather surprising non-sequitur, Rhodey walked over and stared confusingly at the laptop. "I'm sorry, but, how can an AI get brain damage?"

"Probably some corrupted code." Whitley spoke before pressing a few keys. "There, that should fix it. V, are you okay all right?"

The A.I. was silent. A moment passed before his voice was heard through. "I'm fine as wine, sunshine! Oh, hey, that rhymes; I'm defs savin' that one for poetry night! Anyways, dudes, what do ya'll need? Is it about that walking fridge guy?"

Whitley and Rhodey blinked at the sentient computer's words. V.I.C. was a talker for sure, but he had never spoken like this. His voice sounded slightly different too, as though he weren't even making an effort at sounding coherent.

"Should we be concerned about that?" Rhodey asked the young genius.

"Probably... but we don't have the time to fix it." The boy replied before speaking to the computer. "Listen, V, before you say, 'I told you so', I want you to know that I should've listened to you and just back out of the fight. I could've gotten us killed with my reckless stunt. I'm sorry for ignoring your warnings."

"It's all good, my dude. You're alive and I'm alive, so no harm, no foul." The AI said, before adding morosely. "Even though I spent what was the digital equivalent of a year trapped inside that helmet... it was so dark and cold... an endless nightmare where the boundaries of one's sanity were pushed beyond their limit!"

"Uh, V.I.C...?" His creator asked in concern.

The AI's temperament did a complete 180 as he jubilantly exclaimed, "But like I said, it's all good. Now, what can this humble Brogram do to help?"

"Oh, well- yeah, we're going to have to do something about the weird lingo later- but, I want to know if you have the data from our encounter with Blizzard?" The young man inquired.

"Oh, yeah, I do, right up to the second I went under. You're gonna have to figure out the rest yourself."

"I figured as much." The vigilante groaned, "Okay, just bring up whatever you have so I can get started. It's a brand new day, V. We're starting over from scratch."

Polendina Pharmaceuticals

Pietro Polendina's Laboratory

After secluding himself within his lab, Pietro took on the unenviable task of combing through his files. Unlike many of his colleagues, he preferred the old-fashioned method of a file cabinet over digital database. Computers were hackable, undependable, and prone to breaking down. Paper on the other hand, was easily accessible and replaceable; he had back-up papers, and back-ups of those back-ups. They were also cheaper, much cheaper than paying for the latest computer system.

Sure, he can build his own computer, but he barely had the time to do so.

But he did have the time to do something about young Whitley's request.

As his aged fingers combed through file after file, he couldn't help but wonder why the young man had even made such a request. Why in the world would a teenaged boy need a flexible, bulletproof, and temperature-controlled bodysuit?

At first, the old doctor believed the boy's recent trauma had been a factor behind his request. But when he really started to think about it, he couldn't help but wonder as to why the young Schnee had been so specific regarding the bodysuit. The bulletproofing he understood, considering how dangerous Mantle was becoming these days. But why would young Whitley need temperature control in his suit if he lived in a city with its own heat generators? Why would he need a suit flexible enough to all a great range of movement?

These conundrums pale in comparison to the Arc Reactor. Should there be a hole cut into the suit for the reactor? Should the suit just cover the device? Just how was he going to adjust a bulletproof, temperature controlled, flexible bodysuit for a teenager with an energy reactor plugged into his chest?

A reactor that looks oddly familiar... Wait... Pietro's fingers ceased moving as his mind wandered back to earlier today.

He recalled seeing an object of similar size in a photo posted online. The image itself was blurry, but the circular light was clear as day. This light was located on the chest of an individual who was becoming quite the celebrity in the kingdom; an individual that had somehow built a flying suit of armor, with capabilities that were still unknown.

Now that he thought about it, the shape, position, and glow of the light on Iron Man's chest was very similar to...

The doctor's eyes widened in realization as he finally connected the dots.

In a hushed voice, he spoke. "Good gods... Whitley Schnee is Iron Man."

WHOO! This has got to be the shortest chapter I've ever written.

Anyway, I got good news. The next chapter will be uploaded by April 30th. I'll start writing on the 1st, mainly because I need like a five day break from writing in order to recharge.

I will tell all of you that the next chapter will start with a sparring match between Neon and Flynt, with Whitley and two others serving as witnesses. Also, seven days will have passed, in which Whitley and Rhodey will have completed the newest armor, along with the boy deciding to train himself to fight better AND smarter.

Stay tuned for next month's chapter: Silver Lining!