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 18: Golden Opportunity (Part 2)

August 30th, 2008 KC

Mantle, Solitas

Polendina Pharmaceuticals, Hidden Lab

1:30 PM

If there was a word that Whitley Schnee can use to describe his current situation, it'd have to be one best unspoken when in polite company.

Save for one very terrified Whitley Schnee, who was shaking like a deer caught in headlights. Small beads of sweat poured from his head and down to his face, his lips twitching and shifting between a shocked gasp and an uncomfortable grin. His body shook from barley restrained fear, his eyes locked on the elderly scientist staring up at him.

Dr. Polendina knew he was Iron Man. It hadn't even been a week and already someone else had learned his secret. What's more is the fact that the doctor had uncovered the truth only hours after their meeting by simply examining the photos of his armor that were circulating around the media. And the old scientist got his first clue the moment Whitley decided to show him the Arc Reactor. Then again, this was the great Pietro Polendina he was talking about. The man wouldn't have gotten to where he was by not being quick on the uptake.

Still, Whitley had no idea what the man might do with this knowledge. The best case scenario was that the doctor will refuse to give him the new reactor. The worst outcome had the old man calling the cops on him, hauling him off to jail, where he'll spend the rest of his admittedly short life. The very thought of rotting away in jail cell, after escaping from another, scared more than all of the Grimm in the world, even monsters like Vryolak and Savin.

And just was his honest assessment of this situation?

"Well, this is just effing brilliant."

No truer words had ever been spoken.

"I wouldn't quite phrase it like that. But yes, young man, your current situation is very concerning." The doctor calmly spoke in spite of the obvious tension. "But, please, may I ask that you not panic right now? I have no intention of turning you into the police."

Whitley felt some small relief hearing those words, though it didn't completely assuage his fear. If the doctor was not going to turn him in to the authorities, then what did he intend to do knowing that he was Iron Man? Did he plan on extorting him? Force him to create new inventions that he can take credit for? Or perhaps the old man had far more sinister plans for him? Dr. Polendina didn't seem to be that kind of person, but his experiences in Anima had taught him that appearances can be deceiving.

"Than what is it you intend to do?" The boy asked, still concerned he was about to blackmailed.

"I intend to help you, young man."

Not expecting that response, he blurted out, "Excuse me?"

"I said I want to help you. I'm not planning to extort you or anything of the like. I truly do wish to offer my services to you." Polendina explained with a straight face. "You're a hero, Mr. Schnee. After saving that train, the city's been experiencing a jolt of hope that hasn't been seen in years. You've been the number one news story for the past week. Whether they're praising or criticizing you, people just can't stop talking about you. Have you really not noticed?"

Somewhat flustered and red in the face, Whitley embarrassedly admitted, "Well, I know my actions had an impact, but I didn't think I'd become a celebrity. Besides, I didn't build that suit to be praised; I just want to help people."

And to find the people who tried to have me killed.

He knew it wasn't going to be easy, but one way or another, he was going to find the person or people responsible for his capture. He had to do it, for the people he couldn't save. As well as ease the guilt he felt for all the lives he took during his escape. He has to make sure that some good can come out of all that misery.

But the doctor didn't need to know that. Not yet, at least.

"I don't doubt your intentions, son, I'm just saying that since Iron Man made his debut, everything's changed. If you don't believe me, then just watch the evening news. You might be surprised by what you hear." The doctor suggested, before adding as a warning. "Just make sure to steer clear of Roxxon News. All they've been doing was peddling this unsubstantiated farce that you were somehow connected to the train's sabotage."

"An accusation that I'm sure was made using credible evidence." Whitley replied sarcastically, adding with a scoff. "Unlike my father, I don't buy into the ridiculous ramblings of sensationalist shysters."

"But it doesn't disprove what I said. Whether you like it or not, you've become a symbol, Mr. Schnee. The people of Mantle think of you as a sign that things are finally getting better. And you're going to need all the help you can to keep that hope alive." The doctor told the young man. "Even if you say no, I swear on my life that I won't tell a soul what I know. All I ask is that you continue doing what you do, so that Penny can have a chance at a better life."

"What does this have to do with Penny?" The young man asked, genuinely curious. "I don't mean to be rude, but what does my being Iron Man mean for Penny? Can you please elaborate?""

Whitley had nothing against Penny. She was a nice girl, a bit odd, but a kind soul nonetheless. But he for the life of him, he cannot understand why Iron Man would be so important to her.

"I didn't offer my services purely out of altruism, Mr. Schnee. I wanted to help you because I believe it might help Penny. I love my daughter, Mr. Schnee and all I want is for her to be happy. She's special. But what makes her special, I'm afraid, is something that people might never accept; and that is the best case scenario." Polendina elaborated, capturing the Schnee's attention.

"You remember when I asked you to be her friend? Well, I'm afraid I'm asking much more from you. She wants to be a huntress, but she can do things most hunters can only dream of doing. But her gifts will ostracize her, make her an outcast. And I'm sure you know just how terrible people can be about things they don't understand."

"Oh, trust me I understand. Having an abusive, elitist bigot for a father has shown me how horrible people can be. He nearly turned me and my sisters into smaller versions of himself. If I hadn't had my chest blown open and met Yinsen, who knows how I could've turned out." Whitley remarked, disgust leaking into his tone. "I would go on about how much of a bastard my glorified sperm donor is, but that would take days, and we're short on time."

"And I don't doubt that you could. But I know your father, so you don't need to explain just how detestable a human being he is. And please, could you refrain from the cursing?" The Doctor requested with a frown, despite agreeing with the boy's word. "I like to keep my lab clean, so please don't ruin with your dirty language."

"I apologize, Doctor, I'll try and restrain myself from such vulgar vocabulary. But still, scathing comments on glorified gene donors aside, you do realize the danger you'd be putting yourself in by helping me. I'm not talking about a loss of your career and reputation, I mean, there is a real risk of you getting jail time. Are you sure you this is what you really want to do?" The boy asked, hoping to dissuade the man from ruining his own life.

"If it means my little girl can finally have a chance to be her true self, I'd risk even death." The old doctor affirmed, having already made his choice.

Again, the Schnee was surprised by the man before him. He had long been an admirer of Pietro Polendina, but he hadn't expected that the man would sacrifice everything just for a daughter the world didn't even know existed. The respect he had for the man increased tenfold.

"And just like that, you're already a better father than mine could ever be. Alright, I accept your offer." He told the old man, "How can I refuse after hearing all those impassioned words?"

"Thank you, son, trust me, you won't regret this decision." He told the boy, adding with a nostalgic smile. "Still, I do have to admit that a bit of childish wish fulfillment influenced my decision to help you. When I was a lad, I always wanted to be a superhero. Now I get to help an actual one. It's a bit exciting."

Chuckling a bit, Whitley said with a smile, "Well, I always wanted to work with Pietro Polendina, so I guess we both get something out of this."

The doctor smiled at the boy's words before clapping his hands enthusiastically. "All right, I think we've delayed your operation long enough. With the tools I have, it should take close to two hours to replace that broken reactor with the new one. After that, we can discuss what you need to finish the armor. I imagine it's not easy working on it alone."

"I'm not going at it alone. Rhodey's helping me. He also knows I'm Iron Man." Upon remembering his guardian, Whitley let out a frustrated growl. "Grrrgh... I can already hear him telling me, I told you so."

"I've known Mr. Rhodes for many years. He's not the type to gloat." The doctor reassured the boy as they made their way out of the secret lab. "I'm sure once we talk it out, he'll be glad to have another pair of hands to help."

"Yeah, you're right." He said, conceding to the man's argument. "I don't know about V.I.C., though."

"And who would that be?" The doctor inquired, surprised to hear that another was in on the secret.

"He's the AI I built."

The Doctor stopped his chair and gave his patient a look of shocked surprise. "I'm sorry, he's a what-now?

Polendina Pharmaceuticals Waiting Room

3:30 PM

"What'cha think's going on in there?" Marrow blinked tiredly at the question, for which he gave a facetious answer. "Important medical stuff, I assume."

Flynt bristled at the insincere response, asking rhetorically. "No, I get that; I'm asking just what kind of important medical stuff they're doing?"

From the counter, Neon jokingly chimed in. "Very important medical stuff, Flynt."

"You're not helping, Nee." The young huntsman-in-training retorted. "All I'm saying is that I don't know what's going on, neither does Neon, but I have a feeling you do. So fess up, man, tell us what you know."

True to what his younger compatriot said, Marrow indeed knew just exactly what was happening in that room. Of course, he had promised his charge that he'd keep the boy's "condition" a secret from his other bodyguards. That is, until Schnee felt comfortable enough to tell them about it. Given what had happened in the car earlier, the specialist hoped that moment was coming soon. Nothing good ever came out of keeping secrets for too long.

But that didn't mean he couldn't bend the truth a little.

"Well, I might have an idea. But I'm not entirely sure if it's what I think it is." He told the student huntsman, hoping it might sate the young trumpeter's curiosity.

Flynt wasn't satisfied by that answer, asking in turn. "So you do know what's going on?"

Marrow, knowing that he wasn't the best liar, immediately countered, "Well, I didn't say that, all I said was that I had a guess."

Flynt arched an eyebrow, "So you don't know what's going on?"

Marrow rolled with it, "On the contrary, I didn't say that I do or do not know. I simply suggested that I have an educated guess as to what may or may not be happening. That doesn't imply that I know exactly what's happening, only that I have a suspicion."

"Where are you going with this?" The younger huntsman said, hoping to stop his supervisor's rambling.

It had no effect, as Marrow continued on. "So, it would be more accurate to say that while I don't know what is or isn't happening; I do know for a fact that I haven't the slightest idea why we ourselves had to come here."

"Seriously, this is getting kinda annoying."

"So ergo, in conclusion and what not; I can honestly say without a shadow of a doubt that while I don't know for certain what is going on, I have a suspicion that-"

"You know what, forget I asked! I may want to know what's up, but it's not worth listening to all the verbal gymnastics you're pulling off." Flynt ranted irritably.

Marrow smirked proudly, taking this as a personal victory. When confronted with a difficult question, the best way to avoid is by talking around the subject. It was the best strategy for those who lacked the emotional strength admitting to hard truths and secrets. For it to be effective, all one had to do was use as many contrarian words one can think of, jumble them into the most random nonsensical sentences possible.

Belt out as many ridiculous sentences and people will lose interest. Or it'll annoy them to the point they'll just drop the subject altogether.

And it worked, on Flynt Coal, of all people. He knew from reading Flynt's file that the young man was as stubborn as they come. He also possessed a keen intellect, given his impressive test scores. Such a combination would have made for a persistent and cunning opponent.

Thankfully, Marrow was saved by the fact that Flynt was still a teenager.

Thank the gods for adolescent apathy! Marrow thought triumphantly, taking this as a victory.

"But don't think this is over, Marrow. We're picking this up after we leave."

Damn the gods for adolescent stubbornness! The specialist cursed, his victory tainted.

Teenagers may be the most apathetic lot on the planet, but they were also the most stubborn. He can't believe he had forgotten that fact.

Marrow sunk lower into his seat, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Flynt, while determined on picking this up at a later date, decided to dedicate the rest of his time reading his book. Quickly, he pulled the paperback out and flipped it open, landing right on the page where stopped. To his satisfaction, he saw that he was now on chapter five; only ten more to go. As they settled in for the long wait, they themselves didn't know that they were the subject of another conversation.

Leaning against a counter, Neon asked her own conversation partner. "What do you think they're talking about now?"

"I do not know. I am too unaccustomed to what is considered proper social etiquette to inquire." Penny replied from behind the register.

"Is that a fancy way of saying you don't know and that it's none of your business?" The Faunus girl asked, wondering why a teenager would speak like she's reading a dictionary.

"Hmmm, Yes, I do believe I was trying to say that." Penny answered with a cute tilt of her head.

In the two hours since Whitley's appointment began, the two redheads decided to spend the talking to each other. Unsurprisingly, the two girls found that they got along incredibly well, given their similar personalities. Sure, Penny's admittedly higher vocabulary and disregard for grammatical contractions were somewhat odd, but Neon thought she was nice company. Somewhat lacking in social skills, perhaps, but a really nice girl all the same.

In terms of company, she's definitely a step-up from that jerk, Whitley. She bitterly thought, still upset by their argument in the car.

Just who did the boy think he was to lecture her about keeping secrets? In the weeks since she and Flynt became his bodyguards, he's been the one hiding things from them. Sure, she can't fault him for wanting his privacy, but if his secrets threatened his well-being, then it was their business to know.

Still, maybe I could have been a bit more... sensitive, considering what he experienced. She conceded, knowing that she wasn't entirely guiltless in starting that argument. Thinking back on her behavior, the girl shuddered in fright. Man, I didn't think I'd ever get that mad again. He really knows how to press my buttons. Speaking of Whitley, maybe Penny knows what's going on.

"Say, Pen- can I call you Pen - You wouldn't happen to know why Whitley needed to see your dad, right?" She asked, hopeful that was the case.

"I am afraid that I know about as much as you do, Neon." Her fellow redhead replied, adding with an excited smile. "And yes, I would very much like it if you called me Pen. I never had a nickname before!"

The girl jumped and clapped her hands excitedly, as though she were celebrating a momentous occasion. Such a reaction confirmed to Neon that Penny was not quite used to people. In fact, now that Neon thought about it, the way she acted almost reminded the skater girl of her little brother whenever he learned something new. It was honestly disconcerting seeing someone who assumed was her age acting like a child.

Just how long had Penny been stuck inside this pharmacy?

Just as she was about to ask that very question, the sound of a door swinging open drew her attention away from the girl. She was not alone, as Flynt, Marrow, and Penny too looked to the source of the sound. Standing in the open doorway was Whitley Schnee, who had a contented smile on his face. To say they were shocked by his sudden change in temperament would be an understatement.

When he noticed the odd looks being directed at him, Whitley addressed, "Okay, I know I've been in there a while. But trust me; I had a good reason for keeping you all waiting."

"And just what was so important- Whoa, what are you doing?!" Flynt cried out, surprised by the sight of Schnee dragging the collar his shirt down.

Out of all the things Flynt would have expected his client to do, he hadn't thought that he'd try to show off his chest. Just as he was about to avert his eyes, he caught sight of something round and metallic on the boy's chest. He narrowed his eyes on the object and saw, much to his awe, a silver saucer-like device. But what really caught his eye was the dim blue light pulsating in its center. Given its location, it was almost like he was looking a physical representation of a beating heart.

Wait, is that supposed to keep his heart working? How the hell did that happen? Flynt wondered, somewhat mesmerized by the light.

"Whitley, don't get me wrong, I'm still very mad at you, but can you please tell us what exactly that thing is?" Neon inquired in concern, contrary to what she conveyed with her words.

When she saw the young man drag the collar of his shirt down, she didn't know how to react. A part of her thought that he was about to take his shirt. While she would never say no to a free show, they were inside what's essentially a clinic. There was a certain modesty to be expected in a place like this. And while she might still be angry at the boy, she didn't want him to lose his dignity. But then she saw the small circular device on his chest, its dim blue light immediately entrancing her.

Okay, I wasn't expecting that. Is this what he was keeping from us? She thought in surprise. Okay, if that thing is supposed to help him in some way, I definitely feel bad about what I said in the car.

Despite her guilt, the Faunus girl thought. He's still a jerk, though... a jerk with surprisingly well-built pecs...

Wait, what? She blinked, shocked by the sudden thought. Where did that come from?

Unlike the two student hunters, Penny was more innocently curious in her assessment. Said assessment being an objective and clinical observation on the strange device implanted into the boy's chest. Careful as to not draw any suspicious looks her way, Penny subtly focused her now dimly glowing green eyes, her irises expanding and her lenses adjusting like a lens from a camera. Zeroing in on the device, she analyzed it, discerning its build from her observations.

Hmmm, from the sheen and texture of the outer casing, I deduce it to be made from some kind of special alloy. What said alloy is comprised of, I am uncertain. The device seems to be inserted into a port that was surgically implanted onto the subject's chest. And I detect no Dust particles disseminating from it. Perhaps it uses a different power source?

As the two teenagers and secret cyborg stared in awe at the Arc Reactor, Marrow chose instead to thank whatever deities that lived above. It felt like a he had lifted a weight off his chest that he had been carrying for too long.

With a relieved smile, he spoke, "Well, it's about time."

Seeing the spellbound reactions of the room's three younger occupants, Whitley knew that they questions. And he knew he had quite a story to tell them.

An edited account of what had really happened, obviously.

He quickly fixed his shirt and grabbed a stool next to the counter, which he sat upon.

"Alright, I know you all probably have questions; and I'm going to answer each and every one of them. So, we're probably gonna be here for a bit. Hopefully, the blizzard doesn't pick up." He told them. "But I think we've got the time."

Meanwhile, on a busy street in Mantle...

3:00 PM

"What time will I be back?" Winter parroted the question into her scroll. "It would say about seven or eight, if I'm lucky. If the blizzard picks up again, I might have to find a place to stay for the night."

"Excuse me, Ma'am, but we've arrived." Spoke the taxi driver.

"Okay, I gotta go. Remember, if Toni wants a bedtime story tonight, start at chapter 3 of the Iron Knight. Yes, chapter three. Okay, bye." She ended the call, pocketing the scroll in one of the pockets of her heavy snow jacket.

She fished out some lien and handed them to the driver, thanking him for the ride. She stepped out of the car, her face immediately by the deathly cold Solitan wind. She slightly shivered at the cold, regretting leaving the heated interior of the taxi. Sure, it may have smelt like cigarettes burning on a roasting garbage fire, but at least it was warm.

She closed the car door behind her. The taxi cab drove off, it's wheels shrieking against the ice as it left, kicking up sludge and dirty snow. Thankfully, she had stood far enough away to not get hit by any. She had to look her best with where she was going. Clean attire went a long way in establishing one's first impression.

After spending close to two hours sitting in the backseat of a smelly taxi cab, Winter Schnee now stood at the her destination. Blanketed under a thick layer of snow and ice which continued to build, was the 22nd precinct of the Mantle Metropolitan Police Department. And while she was expecting the building to look like this, she hadn't been expecting the activity outside the building.

She was honestly surprised by the number of striking police before her. She knew there was a protest being held outside of the precinct, but she hadn't been expecting such a significant attendance. There were dozens of uniformed officers walking about in the sludge-colored snow. It was shocking that even under constant the barrage of arctic winds and rapidly falling snow, the protesting officers would still come out to voice their grievances. All for a deal they felt the city shouldn't have made.

"Public servants not corporate stooges!"

"Get hammered, Hammer!"

"Heck no, we're not sold!"

These were the chants shouted by a line of picketing police officers, numbering closely to a hundred. She had known about the police strikes, but she didn't imagine the protestors would stick it out in this dreadful weather. But the blue picket line won't deter her from entering the station. The weather did not stop her and neither would they.

Determined and undaunted, she strode her way toward the protesting police officers, her posture erect and her gait confident. She had faced down the hordes of darkness and rogue hunters. A mob of protesting cops was nothing compared to those. Without any hesitation, she waded into the sea of blue and black uniforms, shoving and shuffling her way through the picket line.

Once she was on the other side of the line, she was met with the main entrance of the police station. Quickly, she walked up the cement steps toward the glass doors. As she stood before the doors, she paused and looked upon the graffiti marring the door's glassy surface. Scattered across it, painted in different colors, were words such as "Scabs", "Sell-Outs, and "Cop-Outs". She assumed these to be written by picketing officers.

Of course, there were the more typical fare such as, "Fascists", "Pigs", and a certain word that rhymes with "Runts".

Obviously, these were made by extremely dissatisfied citizens, for reasons mostly justified.

But she didn't come here to acknowledge rightful criticism of the admittedly problematic and ineffectual state of modern policing.

No, she was here on a mission, and she was dead-set on seeing it through.

She opened the door, entering the station. Immediately, she was blasted by a rush of warm air, a welcome respite from the freezing temperatures outside. Now standing in the precinct's waiting room, she took a moment to examine her surroundings. And she found herself completely disappointed by what she saw.

If the sight of a hundred striking officers had surprised her, what she saw inside the station was outright shocking.

In a sharp contrast to what was happening outside, the station waiting room mostly lifeless, with nary a soul in sight.

This room, ten meters long and wide, with walls painted a dull gray and lacquered walnut floor, was completely empty. The chairs and benches within the room were unoccupied, their wooden surfaces covered in dust and marred with vulgar and crude etchings. It was quiet, too, deathly so. The only sounds to be heard were the blades of the ceiling fans spinning, the audible groaning of the antiquated AC shafts, and the muffled, syncopated shouting from the mob outside.

She knew the strike had drained much of the MMPD's manpower, but she didn't think it'd be this severe.

It seems I have my work cut out for me. She glumly thought with a resigned frown. Still, whatever officers I find here must be dedicated to their duties. Perhaps this won't be a total loss.

She approached the unmanned front desk, her heavy footsteps reverberating throughout the empty reception area. Upon reaching the desk, she searched for some kind of call button or bell. When she found none, she let out an annoyed and disappointed sigh, upset by the complete lack service. With no other means of summoning an officer, the Specialist resigned herself to the only option available to her.

"Hello, is there anyone here!?" She called out, much to her embarrassment. "I'm Major Winter Schnee, Army Specialist! General Ironwood sent me!"

Never in her life did Winter Schnee think she'd yell for service.

For a moment, she was sure that she would have to endure the silence some more. These fears immediately vanished once she heard the rapid shuffling of feet, punctuated by a muffled voice shouting, "I'll be right there!"

Seconds passed as she waited for the shouter to arrive. She looked to the wooden door behind the desk and saw through its obscured window a somewhat crooked shadow. The door opened, its brass hinges audibly creaking as it swung slowly to the right. Eventually, the person standing on the other side revealed themselves. She was honestly flabbergasted by whom she saw.

Shuffling slowly toward the desk was an elderly man, with shriveled-up tan skin and withered white hair, whose decrepit body shook slightly with every footstep he took. She immediately recognized him as an officer by the uniform he wore. It should be noted that the uniform's design was outdated and it hung loosely on his body. In fact, it seemed his clothes were fitted to a more muscular person. If the clothes were indeed his, then he must have been quite the strapping fellow in his youth.

But it was obvious to her that he's long past the prime of his youth, give or take five decades.

The elderly cop eventually took his seat behind the desk and set his eyes on the young woman standing before him. Of course, he did so after adjusting his ovular and clunky glasses first. Once his vision was clear enough, he cleared his throat and asked in his tired, old voice.

"Hello, are you the Specialist General Ironwood said was coming?" He asked with his gravelly and strained voice, a few wheezes escaping his mouth.

It seemed he had forgotten what she had yelled only a minute ago.

"Yes, I am the specialist." She answered courteously.

"And your name is uhm... Wiener Sneeze?" He inquired confusedly, seemingly beguiled by what he thought was her name.

Her eye twitched as she restrained the urge to correct the old man, replying through a strained grin. "Yes, that is my name."

"Okay, checks out. I just need your signature." He said, bringing up an electronic tablet.

The Specialist watched as the old man struggled to turn the device on. Not one to disrespect her elders, she waited for him to figure it out. It was the respectful thing to do.

Of course, that didn't make it the right choice. She realized this after five minutes passed, as the old cop was still trying to activate the blasted thing!

After ten more minutes had passed, the young woman found that her patience was starting to wear thin. In the Atlesian army, there was a certain level of expediency expected when personnel were performing a task; especially something as trivial as turning on a tablet. She was accustomed to receiving materials and files in mere moments. There were times when someone was delayed in their assignments, either by mechanical or human error. These were easily remedied by the assistance of another party or tool.

But the old man has yet to call for help.

Not wanting to waste any more time, she asked him. "Sir, might offer my assistance?"

"No need for that, miss, I think I've almost gotten this doohickey figured out." He replied with an even tone.

Taking a deep breath, Winter spoke. "Sir, it's quite all right to admit you need help. I know that it can be difficult for a person-"

"Just stop right there, young lady," The old cop cut her off. "Just because I'm more experienced does not make any less capable! I might be pushing eighty, but I'm still as sharp as I was when I was twenty! So don't you dare patronize me, young'un!"

"Just what the hell is going on with all this screaming?!" A deep and commanding voice called out.

The specialist and officer looked to the opened doorway and saw someone standing there. The newcomer was a dark-skinned man, middle-aged with black hair and a beard that had started turning grey. Unlike the elderly cop, he wore no uniform, wearing instead a faded teal buttoned-up shirt and dark grey trousers. The trousers were secured around his waist by a black leather belt, which had a police badge fastened to it.

With attire like that, Winter deduced that he was a detective.

"Jerry, what's going on?" The Detective locked his amber eyes onto the elderly officer and asked.

"It's this damned oversized scroll, Flynt. I just can't get it to turn on." Jerry replied. "I've been going at for like half-an-hour, and it won't work!"

"Did you charge it?" The now-named Flynt flatly asked.

Jerry tried to speak, only for his words to die in his throat. His eyes widened in realization as he recalled he had not charged the machine beforehand. He had just wasted fifteen minutes trying to turn on a tablet that hadn't even been charged. The old man's face flushed from shame and embarrassment.

He turned to the specialist and promptly apologized. "I'm sorry for all the trouble I've given you, Miss. Please, forgive this old man for being too proud to ask for help."

"It's quite alright, sir. You were just trying to do your job." She replied, understanding that he was probably unused to new technology.

Officer Jerry nodded and excused himself to leave, respectfully saluting her and the detective. The moment the man was out of earshot, the Detective told the young woman. "I have to apologize for Jerry. He retired fifteen years ago and we brought him back after the strike started. He's not used to all of the new technology we have at the station. It took him a week to figure out we don't even use paper anymore."

"Considering how many officers have joined the strike, I can imagine you needed whatever help you could find." Winter remarked, sympathetic to the detective's woes. "I see you've become quite desperate if you're enlisting retirees to help."

"Yeah, it's that bad..." He groused disappointedly before adding, "I'd tell him to just leave and enjoy his retirement, but he's my former sergeant; Plus, my son is married to his grandson, so he's technically family."

Winter understood the man's pain, "I understand completely, Detective. It's never easy dealing with family."

Especially, a family as broken as mine... She thought sorrowfully.

Casting all thoughts of her dysfunctional family life aside, the woman adopted a more professional demeanour. She clicked her heels together, saluted and introduced herself to the man, "Major Winter Schnee, Atlas Army Specialist, reporting, sir. I've been ordered by the General to meet with you. He said you're the man I need to speak to about the man I'm hunting."

"Yes, he called before you arrived. It's a pleasure to meet you, Major." He said politely before adding nonchalantly. "And please, refrain from saluting, we're not really big on protocol here, aside from Jerry. Please follow me, the case files are in my office."

Flynt motioned for her to follow him as he exited the reception room. Winter followed after the man, walking around the reception desk and closing the door behind them. Quickly, they walked through a short hallway and soon entered the nerve center of the station.

If the waiting room had been an indicator of the desperate situation the Precinct found itself in, the room she now found herself was proof of how devastating that problem is. Either sitting at desks that were mostly empty or standing idly by waiting for a call, the men and women she saw were not exactly a crack team. In terms of age, there was a vast ratio between the old and the young, ranging from tired-looking retirees to fresh-face beginners. Many of the younger faces seem like they had just been pulled out of the Police Academy and stuffed into a uniform.

She noted with some disappointment, that there weren't that many Faunus officers around. By her guess, for every ten human officers present, there was at least one faunus cop. This disproportionate ratio, as well as the use of elderly volunteers and the strike outside, demonstrated just how desperately the department needs to be reformed.

But again, it wasn't her job to observe the fundamental problems of Mantle Policing. That was up to the council.

Should they ever decide to actually start doing what they were elected to do! She mentally complained, her eyebrows creasing in frustration.

"My office is right over there." She heard her guide tell her, directing her to a room located on the farthest part of the room.

The two adults passed through the room and entered the office. The detective closed the door, to give them privacy to discuss their business. The man held up a finger telling her to wait before walking over to a file cabinet. As the man searched for the files he needed, Winter took a moment to observe his office.

She learned long ago that you tell a lot about a person by the way they decorated their workspace. If she was going to work with this detective, she had to understand just what kind of person he was. She turned her gaze to the wall behind his desk and noticed a series of framed pictures upon it. She focused her eyes on the photos and started building up an idea of who the man was.

The first photo was of the detective, far younger and stern-faced and clean-shaven, dressed in a uniform. It was probably taken during his graduation from the police academy. The next photo showed him, much older and happier-looking, standing in front of a store, with the business' name, "Coal Dust", painted in bright golden letters on the front window. The photo following that showed that man as he was now, though there was a certain melancholy now in his stern gaze.

It seemed that the detective, whose last name she presumed to be Coal, had been a uniformed officer before opening his own Dust shop. Given that he was now a detective, she can only assume that the shop went out of business, forcing him to become a cop again to make ends meet. She had a feeling her family's business had driven his to bankruptcy.

She hoped he wouldn't judge her for being the daughter of the man who destroyed his business.

The rest of the photos were of the Man's family, taken at different stages of their lives. The very last of these photos, which appeared to be quite recent, was a family photo. In the picture, the detective stood tall, dressed in an ensemble that was formal but casual, a smile on his face. He had an arm wrapped around a woman, presumably his wife, dressed in a blue dress, with wavy brown hair and mirthful black eyes, smiling as widely as her husband.

Situated in front of them, sitting on a couch, was a group of six people. Sitting on the far left, hands intertwined and faces full of smiles, were two men in their mid-twenties. The first man was undoubtedly the detective's oldest son, who wore a black suit. The other man, who had tan skin and curly black hair, was dressed in a matching black suit. It didn't take long for her to realize this man was Detective Coal's son-in-law, otherwise known as Jerry.

Following the married couple were two young adults, who despite being different sexes, resembled each other. They both had their woman's hair color and the detectives amber eyes. Both were dressed in matching grey pants and black sweaters. She surmised that these two fraternal twins.

Sitting to the right of the twins was a young girl, possibly middle-school aged, who wore a teal sweater and blue denim jeans. Her black hair had been styled back into two buns, which almost resembled the ears of panda. Her laidback posture and cheeky smile showed that she was the lively one of the family. She appeared to be the youngest in the family.

Her eyes roamed over to the right once more. But when her eyes landed on the figure sitting on right side of the couch, her eyes nearly bulged out in shock. The person was a boy, the man's youngest son obviously, and he was very familiar. He had his father's black hair and his mother's black eyes, and he was dressed in a very stylish ensemble, complete with a familiar black fedora.

"Flynt...?" She said aloud, recognizing the boy.

"Yes?" The man spoke up, thinking that she was addressing him.

"Oh, sorry, detective, I saw your family's photo there." She said, slightly embarrassed. He then inquired. "You know you haven't given me your full name. Am I correct in saying that your full name is Flynt Coal?"

The detective ceased his search and looked at the specialist, saying, "Yes, I am Flynt Coal. Flynt Coal, the senior, to be accurate."

"So your youngest son would be Flynt Coal, Jr?" She inquired further.

"I didn't say my youngest was named after me." He spoke, suspicion laced into his voice. "How would you know that?"

"I know your son is a student at Atlas Academy. I actually met him and his partner, a faunus girl named Neon." She told the man to erase his suspicions.

"So, Neon actually is his partner? I wonder if her father knows, too. It Might make a great ice breaker at our next poker night." Detective Coal mused aloud before resuming his search for the file. A moment passed before he cheered happily, "Ha, found it. Got to warn you though, it's a bit heavy."

The man pulled out a file from the cabinet. Wasting no time, he handed the thick stack of papers to the specialist. She quickly opened the file and started reading the case details. Once she had read the entire file, she paused and looked at the detective, who had taken a seat behind his desk.

"I don't mean to be rude, sir, but I fail to see how a bank robber relates to my target." She commented, though there was one detail she found interesting, "Although this thief's weapon is interesting. That guard, Potter Cotta, right?"

The man nodded, telling her he got the man's name right. She continued, "He said that this "Blizzard" froze his feet to the ground, just after entering the bank via a hole and a stairwell made of ice. Naturally, people assumed this was done with Dust. But from what I'm read, the ice samples that your forensics team analyzed had not traces of Dust. According to them, the ice was simply naturally occurring ice. Yet according to Mr. Cotta, the ice formed in seconds. How can you explain that?"

"Forensics has come up with a number of theories, but they've yet to find out which one is most likely. On the investigation side of things, though, we have discovered a link between the banks that have been robbed thus far."

"That they've all done business with Hammer Industries? Yes, I read that. I can assume that you expect another bank to be robbed soon?"

"Yes, as far as we know, there is only one more bank left that is a possible target." Coal replied, before telling the specialist. "And we have already started work on setting up a stake-out at these locations. But it'll be hard, considering our loss in manpower. Oh, and I should tell you, what I just shared indeed relates to your mission."

Winter gestured for the man to explain, and he did. "Last week, there was a report of an explosion in the Pit, which brought down an old concrete warehouse. It roused an entire neighborhood in the ghetto. After we cleared the debris, we found that what remained of the floor was covered in melting ice."

"But then they told us something quite interesting." He leaned onto his desk and spoke. "According to many of the eyewitness, they saw appeared to be streak of blue light flying off into the night. Those who closest to where it had presumably originate stated that the light came from none other than Iron Man."

With a half-smirk, he explained. "Iron Man has picked a fight with the Blizzard, Major. And considering Blizzard wasn't found, we can assume the vigilante is looking for a rematch. And the only way he can find them..."

"Is if Blizzard robs a bank." Winter finished for him. "I see where you're going with this, detective. You want me to join you on your stake-out, so that you can have someone who can fight toe-to-toe with either Iron Man or Blizzard. If it works out, Blizzard will be apprehended along with Iron Man, killing two birds with one stone."

She closed the file and placed it on the desk. She asked with an assured smirk, "So when do we start?"

9:30 PM

Gill Gang Hideout, Location Unknown

Out of all the members of the Gill Gang, Randy Macklin was considered the odd duck among this collective of professional criminals.

He can't shoot a gun to save his life. He can't throw a punch, let alone take one. If you were to hand him a knife, he wouldn't know what to do with it. And yet he was considered a valued member of the crew, if not the second most important person in the gang, right after the Boss. Still, with his lack of desirable criminal traits, It made one wonder just what set of skills he possessed that ensured his membership within the gang.

The answer was simple. Macklin was an engineer, and a very good one at that. So good in fact, that he was the only person who can understand the technology behind their Boss' equipment.

And that was what the man was currently working on.

Macklin sat at a workstation located on the second floor of the warehouse that served as the gang's hideout. Sitting before him upon a metal table was the left gauntlet used by his current employer. The mechanical prosthesis had been stripped bare of its outer shell, exposing its skeletal metal frames, delicately arranged wires, as well as the clunky yet fully articulate robotic fingers that extended out from the oversized gauntlet. Within the gauntlet's frame was a leather glove, currently gripping a small-cylindrical trigger, upon which a network of wires were layered, stretching from the knuckles to the tips of the fingers. This glove controlled the movements of the robotic fingers.

And Mack, being the resident techie, was the one who had to fix it. According to his employer, Gill, there was a slight problem with the joints of the fingers. After removing its outer covering, the gauntlet was now stripped to its skeletal metal frame. After all, any small problem can lead to big consequences, especially in the Blizzard's line of work.

He picked up a small screwdriver, ready to remove the screws holding the metal frame together. But just as he was about to twist the first screw, he felt the scroll in his shirt pocket vibrate. He set aside the screwdriver, took off his protective goggles, and fished his scroll out. The caller was identified as his boss. He surmised that Gill wanted a progress report on the repairs.

He accepted the call and answered, "Hey, Boss, if you're calling about the gauntlet, well, I have some-"

"Hello, Mr. Macklin." A deep and distorted voice greeted him, its genial tone belying a sinister maliciousness.

Macklin felt a spike of fear pierce his soul at the sound of that voice. He had heard it only a few times before, but he had never been spoken to. Oftentimes, it was Gill to whom this voice spoke with, him being an outside observer to their correspondences. He knew fully well that the person he was speaking to was not to be trifled with. He swallowed the lump in his throat and calmed his nerves, addressing the speaker with a fearful tone.

"H-H-How can I h-h-help you, Lord Mandarin?" Macklin made sure to use the proper title. "I'm a bit surprised that you'd call me."

"As you should be, Mr. Macklin; But do not mistake this for a social call. I have a task for you, Mr. Macklin." The Mandarin told the frightened engineer. "A task only you can accomplish."

"What kind of task?" Macklin asked with trepidation, knowing already he was going to hate the request.

The moment he heard what this task entailed, he felt his blood run colder than the winds of Solitas.

August 31st

Toni Stark's Former Apartment

12:00 AM

Outside the former apartment of Toni Schnee, the late woman's grandson asked.

"Is that the last of it?"

"Yeah, everything's packed and ready for the doctor." Rhodey said as he closed the trunk of his car. "And I already have V.I.C. loaded into the flash drive."

Under the cover of darkness and rushing snow, Whitley Schnee and James Rhodes were preparing to transport the new armor over to Polendina Pharmaceuticals. It was their hopes that with Dr. Polendina's help, they'll be able to finish the armor in at least two days. The old man had assured the two partners-in-crime that his daughter will still be in bed by that time. According to him, Penny could sleep through a hurricane once she was tucked in for the night.

Of course, his lab was also sound-proofed, just in case.

As for the two deliverymen, they had made sure that Marrow was fast asleep before they came to the Forge. It was their plan to sneak back before he woke up, while the doctor finished the armor for them. Once it was ready, they will return at night, after the pharmacy had closed, and pick up the finished armor.

They entered Rhodey's car, with the man taking the wheel and his young friend, the passenger seat.

"Alright, it'll take about an hour before we arrive. So you better get comfortable." Rhodey told his passenger. But just as he was about to turn the engine on, he asked. "Are you sure it was wise telling Flynt, Neon, and Polendina's daughter about the reactor."

"Flynt and Neon needed to know. To keep it a secret would have caused problems, later." The boy replied.

Don't know how they feel about it though. He wondered in dread. I just hope it doesn't make things any worse between Neon and I.

The last thing he wanted to antagonize his bodyguards. While he may not say it out loud, he's come to enjoy their company. Of course, whether that made them friends or not was anyone's guess. He wondered if maybe he should do something nice for them.

He'll figure something out.

But for now, he should be more concerned with finishing the new armor.

"All right, Rhodey, let's crank it up!" Whitley shouted excitedly. "One of the brightest minds of our time is going to help us, so we better arrive on schedule. This is too golden an opportunity to pass up!"

Rhodey nodded and started the engine. The car roared to life, its lights shining a path through the darkness and snow. The man put it into drive and slowly steered his way onto the ice-laden road. It'll be awhile before they arrived at their destination, but Whitley preferred it that way. It gave him time to formulate a strategy on how to defeat Blizzard, as well as how to find the criminal.

He could feel it in his bones that their rematch was coming soon.

OH-YEAH, THE MOMENT IS FINALLY HERE!

IRON MAN VS BLIZZARD, ROUND 2!

Now I know you're all excited for that chapter, but I'm afraid it probably won't come out until September. It is going to be a very long chapter, and I need the time to write it. I'll also be writing the next chapter of my assassin's creed crossover. I also would like to announce that these two stories are actually part of a series of three stories featuring Whitley.

The last Whitley story is a crossover with Fairy Tail! And unlike the other two stories, it won't fuse two universes together. That's right; our little Snow Boi is going to be sent straight to Earthland, along with others. Who those people might be, who know?

The story will be titled Oberon, and it'll be epic in length. I'm also thinking of writing a Rwby reaction story, which I'll title, "Resort of the Multiverse".

Here's some information on Flynt and Neon's families, each member organized by age.

Coal Family:

Flynt Coal, Sr. (Human, Aged 55, Married to Ashley "Ash" Coal. MMPD Detective, father.)

Ashley Coal (Human Aged 53, Married to Flynt Coal, Sr. Classical and Orchestral Musician, mother)

Charles "Char" Coal (Human, Aged 28, Surgeon, eldest Son. Married to Devon Braise, Human, Age 27. Lawyer)

Peat Coal (Human, Aged 23, Twin brother to Petra Coal. College Student, older Son)

Petra Coal (Human, Aged 23, Twin sister to Peat Coal. College student, aspiring actress, Eldest Daughter)

Flynt Coal, Jr. (Human, Aged 17, Hunstman-in-training, youngest son)

Gyttja Coal (Human, Aged 12, Middle School Student, youngest daughter)

Erde Braise-Coal (Faunus, Aged 13 months, baby, Adopted daughter of Char and Devon. Extremely Adorable)

Katt Family:

Patrick Katt (Human, Aged 45, Husband to Trish Katt. ABI agent, Father)

Trish Katt (Faunus, Aged 35 at death, Wife to Patrick Katt. Huntress, Mother)

Neon Katt (Faunus, Aged 17, Huntress-in-Training. Daughter)

Thomas "Tommy" Katt (Human, Aged 7, Elementary Student. Son)