Took a bit too long to get this out, but things have been hectic lately. I apologize, guys!
Chapter Eighty Five: Center Stage
The inside of a transport is dark. The dim cabin is populated by rows upon rows of occupants, no windows on any side. These passengers are locked in place, cuffs on their wrists and ankles. Each of them was clad in worn, grayed out clothing. They were clean, but bruising could be spotted from some.
Rows back, the clothing changed. Many were tanned, sun burned, and lean. Their clothing was tattered, but warm. Finally, in the back were those dressed much more tidy. Groomed, they were. Ages ranging from primary school to late teens. Still, all were chained, and waiting patiently. Disciplined.
The transport rumbles... An aircraft.
The speakers in the cabin chime before a hum merges with the background noise. The rumble eases as a voice clears.
"Good morning to all... I am pleased to great you, my wonderful children, on this most prospective occasion." A voice comes in. Excited. Light.
Aline Zandril. A voice many tense at.
"I know you all have endured much in these trying times. A compulsion fills me to check in on you. Please, are you well rested?"
"Yes, sir." A chorus of young voices answer. Many hadn't been sleeping. Most, actually, but they knew how to respond to such inquiries.
"Ah, so formal! Alas, I was hoping you would come to trust me, dear kids." He chuckles with each word. Oozing with enjoyment. Yet... something new is there. It's slightly lower than his typical tremble of verbiage. "Unfortunately, business must come before pleasure, kids. A healthy ambition must be tempered... And tomorrow is quite an opportunity for it."
The door to the cabin opens, another figure entering. The dirty blonde woman clicks in, golden heels and a black single strapped dress with golden frills at the skirt. Golden long gloves reach to her elbows, golden jewelry dangling from her neck complete with earrings.
Light brown eyes gaze over the group before pulling out a clip board. "Would the following numbers stand when called. Series Blacks: 3621, 3921, 3942, 4008..." She reads off numbers, each one punctuated with a member standing from the front rows. Those with non-distinct yet clean outfits.
When she finishes, Eight of the front twenty teens and children are standing.
Mary then flips a page. "Next, the Series Reds: 31165, 31182..." She reads off twenty six numbers, each accompanied by the tattered workers standing...
Some of the children see a similarity in who is standing and who isn't. A slight confusion flicks for a moment, but is gone soon after with obedience. Now there are thirty four children standing...
Mary clears her throat. "Finally, the Series Blues..." She proceeds to read off another eight names. Now, a total of forty two children are standing in the cabin. Just over half of the collection of eighty children. Yet the trend is easy to see.
Only the faunus were called...
Zandril's voice calls over again.
"I can imagine the wheels turning within your brilliant minds... This is no means of some barbaric segregation, I assure you my precious ones. No, this is the turning point upon each of your journeys. The call. To. Action." His story telling tone comes as he chuckles lowly. "Tomorrow... You children grow up and spread your wings. You've been paid for."
THAT gets a reaction from the room. All the faunus stand straighter, eyes widening as they share looks. Someone bought... ALL the faunus? Before the ideas go too far, the man's voice calls again.
"Unlike most of AZRL's business, this is a.. bartered transaction, as it were. Your client is quite familial to you..."
Mary cuts in, loudly announcing. "Tomorrow, one of the largest operations AZRL has taken on in years will begin. An operation that will involve each. And. Every. One. Of. You." She forcefully speaks each individual word, a strict tone coming. "Upon completion, those of you who are human will see your prospects soar. Those of you who are faunus, on the other hand, shall be considered sold to our cooperative client in tomorrow's operation: The White Fang."
The White Fang?! The faunus all jolt at that.
The White Fang stand for equality... to buy them means... freedom? Is that what that means? They won't be a part of AZRL anymore, but... that's all they know anymore. Moving from one strict and ordered organization to another that organizes public action could be a smooth transition, yet anxiety grips them at the prospect.
"My, my, Miss Anne. You cut right to the chase. You always know how to get the ball rolling." Zandril's voice compliments as Mary Anne smirks. "By all means, the floor is yours."
Mary huffs, and removes a small disc in hand. The object is a projector, lighting a blue hued image over the heads of the children in the transport cabin. The image showcases the Apollo Auditorium on its floating fortress. Below it is Mount Edna, Bastion Alderley showing.
The blonde flips a page and announces. Her voice is sharp, harsh. "Tomorrow begins a day of Atlas tradition with a performance at the Apollo Auditorium. This performance, for reasons pertaining to the White Fang, has banned faunus. This is our opening."
Mary marches around the projection as she gestures to the ground level. "A protest consisting of primarily faunus and faunus supporters, as well as White Fang sympathizers, has been going for days. Building and building, I shall inform you now that our clientele, the Mantle Branch of the White Fang, has already integrated fully within the protest. Spreading the news and organizing additional protesters has already been a wild success on their part."
The projection zooms in on the ground, revealing red lines around the air pads. Red dots are lined behind the line while on the other side is a large red mass.
"Our Series Reds within local police departments have already integrated with the riot blockade, giving us easy knowledge of the protest. With them in place, here are the objectives for those of you that are faunus: Series Reds. You will integrate into the protest and await a signal from the White Fang. Upon receiving that signal, you will lead the group charge upon the riot barricades. Our Reds in the police force will guarantee your safety by allowing fault points in the line, allowing the protesters to gain access to the air fields."
"People will follow the moment they see instigators. Such is the way of riot psychology. That is where you Blues will come in." The projection highlights an area deep within the red mass of the 'protest' crowd. "You faunus Blues will be responsible for information spread. The moment the signal comes, you will spread word favoring incitement. With the Reds breaking the mold by acting first, you will corral the hesitant into the offensive."
The projection then highlights the dots on the air pads...
"This moves to part three. Series Blacks. You are responsible for commandeering the bulkhead transports. At least one will be a guaranteed capture, but gather as many as possible. From there... all of you will know you've done your jobs. You will integrate into the White Fang's contacts as well as the protesters until the end. You are all familiar with the Major and our other workers. He will oversee you until your final send off. Afterward..."
Mary allows a small smile, looking the kindest she had in the whole presentation. "Afterward, may you prosper in all our goals. You may be seated."
All the faunus perk, sharing looks between themselves before sitting. Strange that, in spite of cuffs on their limbs, they seem lighter than before. Almost, horrifically, inspired.
A trill laugh comes as Zandril's voice chimes again in the speakers. "Lovely. Very well done, Miss Mary Anne. I share the sentiment that these magnificent children will flourish upon our success. Shall you continue?"
Mary drops the smile, all business once more. "Of course. The remainder of you, as you have noticed, are human. This is no mistake. Where our more natured family members have been assigned on the ground, you shall be integrated above..."
The projection now spreads and hones in on the Apollo Auditorium itself. The crude layout shows as Mary moves around it. "Our Johnsons are ready to play your caretakers. Each of you will be attending the Music Ball personally. For the majority of the show, you have clear instructions: Enjoy the performances."
She enjoys the confused faces among the human children. "That is right. No dishonesty. You are to populate the crowd and stand by until the rioters ground level reach the Auditorium. Then, and only then, do you play your roll." Her mirth disappears again. "Human Blues. You will move with the crowds to the left wing C, level two. That area is one of the hubs for out of performance functions, and is a target of our own forces... You will 'play victim' and be 'kidnapped' by the 'Fang', when in reality you will be back with us by night fall."
"Series Reds..." She glances over and nods. A suited guard salutes before gesturing another into the cabin. They bring a large carrier barrow. "All Series Reds will earn combat experience tomorrow. This is combat armor and obscuring coverings for you to integrate with the very guards you see around you. You will wear it underneath the formal clothing you receive, then assist with the 'kidnapping' of the Blues. Your numbers at the Apollo will add terror to the public who perceive a larger number of people disappearing than expected."
A terse silence comes. Mary keenly finds a look within the crowd.
"Red 34889, you have a question with this instruction?"
A weathered boy with brown hair gulps and speaks up. "Ma'am, we're workers. Events like this are guarded by the Atlas military, right? Won't we be slaughtered?"
THAT garners a grin from the woman. Mary shows clear mirth in her voice. "That is something you do not need to worry about. No conflict will risk your lives. You each have your purpose with us, and we're not about wasting your life, believe me."
A blatant lie coming from the very woman who made a Blue trigger a bomb on herself years ago in Vaterra. But, none of these kids were around back then to know that. The Red seems to buy it, but looks for a further response.
She obliges. "Let the Series Blacks worry about combat for you. Speaking of... Series Blacks, you are to assist in disabling the Auditorium's in house security here in West Wing 5, the loading dock."
A section of the Auditorium flickers red in the rear left side of the projection.
"This is where supplies is stored for organization and production of the auditorium's effects are prepared. We MUST secure this location as soon as possible once the rioters have stormed the Auditorium. Once secured, one of our contacts will be entering into the picture to retrieve our prize target at this event."
She continues, deactivating the projection and setting a stern gaze over the rows of children. "Once this target has been acquired, as well as a few others, we will begin a full tactical withdrawal, and each and every one of you will be rewarded for your faith and loyalty to this family. Of that, you can be certain."
Zandril's voice chimes again. "Once again, a flawless description. Please bid Miss Anne adieu." Mary nods and leaves the cabin, as Zandril continues. "As you can see, some of you will be leaving our family come tomorrow, and I find this time to be... reflective, I should say."
He continues. "You see, there's a saying I believe... 'Efforts and courage are not enough without purpose.' This lesson came from my own father, and at the time... I admit I did not know what that meant. Truly, I was baffled. See, I, like many ordinary men, believed that my purpose would come with my power. That my... calling of sorts, would come to me in recognition of my works."
"Little did I know what would come, as I saw what purpose could do..." His voice dips. A dark edge rumbles, voice quieting. "... Life as I knew it changed entirely in the blink of an eye. Much the same as each and every one of you, my children... Purpose. Purpose drove an action that wiped my old life clean."
"And as I lost everything... All that I believed in, cherished, and loved... It was purpose that brought me back from the depths of despair." His voice deepens further. "Purpose... Something I'd felt lost to me became the very essence I breath. And thus, my greatest work formed from the construction of my own making... You. The Avored Zenith of Remnant's Legacy."
A smile can almost be heard in the voice, expression returning in an... honest tone. "You see... I do not cherish the circumstances that brought you to me. Nor do I cherish the lessons one must learn in this world. But you must understand now what it is, right?"
"Purpose." He enunciates forcefully. "Glorious purpose... For those of you neglected by family, I have given connection. For those of you neglected by society, I have instilled a grasp on the system. For those of you gifted, lives squandered prior to our meeting, I have facilitated the craft of glory within you all..."
"From that day so long ago, I was instilled with purpose. It is purpose that I would not see any of you without. With purpose, no lost soul will be lost, forgotten in the wind. Number or not, each. And. Every. Single... one of you... is filled with a calling I once yearned for..."
Thrill returns to his voice. "So... will you grasp what I scarcely thought possible? Will you fulfill that which even the most powerful in the world scarcely dream of accomplishing?"
And the entire cabin roars in unison... all the children, despite knowing this organization, this man... They all respond in vigor.
"SIR, YES SIR!"
. . .
In another transport cabin, a smiling, pudgy man sits. In a swift movement, white gloves slap together in a clap by a microphone. Aline Zandril grins. "EXCELLENT, CHILDREN! Show the world what you are capable of!" His mirth winds down as he chuckles. "Prepare yourselves and take care."
As she shuts the microphone off, the door opens to allow Mary Anne within the room. The blonde's heels click as she marches nearby and stares off to the side. Her brown eyes find orange. "Could you not leer at me?"
Spyyra Barnall flashes a toothy grin, leaning against the wall. "My, oh my, Miss Mary Anne. You wound me."
"Stuff it. This isn't the time for your masochistic arousal." She snipes back before turning to Zandril. "I'm to organize the Blacks in the loading dock, so is our contact ready? To say he's less capable than Dr Near is an understatement." She drawls in a contemptible venom.
Zandril's mirth wipes away. "Yes. Less than capable as he is, the contact has assured me that his pet project will help guarantee our success. He was an understudy under Frank for a reason. Enough of a no name that the SDC hasn't peered too much into his budget."
"Even with the General butting his head into their business?" Mary retorts, eye brow raised. "With Ironwood ravenously following his harlot celebrity agent, it's thrown a wrench in everything."
Zandril is silent, his violet eyes honing onto one of his gloved hands... The hand lightly shakes.
"Sir?" Mary speaks, concern coming.
"We must succeed... I will require Frank for our operations to continue, and we MUST lock the SDC under our control to leverage the proper outcome." Zandril speaks in a clear and reasoned voice.
Spyyra frowns. "Are you feeling-"
"I will survive." Zandril cuts him off. "I was not due to see Frank again for another month regardless. I merely require a routine check once I make Jacques pay off the judges." His eyes harden, locked on the wall. "I will survive... I'll not allow myself to die before that witch."
Spyyra and Mary share a glance before the green haired man clears his throat. "Well, Zan Man, we'll be in and out in no time. I'll nab the girl-"
"No." The authoritative tone silences the man.
The enforcer is confused. "But... Sir, Mary is going to be busy organizing the kids for retreat. Are you seriously putting the asset acquisition in the hands of that incompetent scientist?"
"Team CRBN." Zandril's hands clasp in his lap as he stares forward. "... Up until now, I was content to lean into the idea of closure with 1075, but that patience with a once promising asset has waned... I was content to allow Frank to leverage capturing them in order for his experiments, but that patience has waned..."
Mary and Spyyra share a look again, grim. They don't like this tone from the bubbly man.
"... With Setante left my patience. If closure comes, I will accept it, but I am no longer willing to assuage my response. CRBN has proven not just a thorn or even a formidable opponent. They are a necessary threat to be culled." Zandril's violet eyes leer over to the green haired man. "Mary, you will organize our forces for withdrawal. Spyyra, you WILL search the Auditorium for CRBN, and SLAUGHTER them the moment you see them. No restrictions. No holding back. No excuses."
Spyyra feels an immense pressure not felt since he first was promoted to Zandril's right hand. The man who he has served for the majority of his life is staring into his soul.
"You are my right hand, and this MUST succeed to retrieve my left... Is. That. Clear?" Zandril's voice dips again.
Spyyra holds the stare... and slowly dips down. The man green haired man kneels, head dipping down, a focus within the floor...
Crrrrrrrrrrrk...
Metal crinkles beneath them as Spyyra glances back up, orange eyes manic, yet focused. "... Crystal.." His grin is wide.
The metal creaking ceases as Spyyra rises. Mary looks about and nods. "So, Spyyra is to check the outside for CRBN, and our other dog will find them if they attempt to infiltrate." She summarizes.
"Yes." Zandril says off hand. "He has assured me that he will be ready to intervene with them, but his failures as of late have remained par for the course, it seems."
Mary nods. "And... what of you?"
Zandril's visage lights up, his eyes sadistic as he grins wide. "Myself? Well, I will need to make the point clear." He looks at a desk beside him as a projection comes up. "I am to be seated with the most powerful man in Atlas... and I will make certain he understands leverage by the end of the night."
The projection shows a man with a pristine white suit, white hair and mustache, with ice blue eyes... Jacques Schnee...
"A proud man who respects above all else his legacy and public image... So, what comes when that image is threatened?" He grins at the second projection...
A projection of a teen girl with a white ponytail. A projected label blinks over her picture. 'Primary Target'.
. . .
Apollo Auditorium
Foolish.
Absolutely imbecilic.
The sheer levels of ineptitude on display surrounding this event would give any normal person the blood pressure of an eighty year old man. But, she is not normal.
She's not allowed to be... willing her heart to a normal rate.
Ice blue eyes stare into a mirror as she preps her makeup.
Weiss Schnee grimaces as she frets over a single hair out of place. Eventually, her own frustration makes her pause, reset, and then correctly tuck the hair aside. The girl looks over her belongings with scrutiny, particularly the beautiful rapier, its guard having a revolver cylinder within it. The girl likes having it close.
Closer than necessary? Perhaps.
But with an angry mob of White Fang degenerate sympathizers below, a lacking of proper staffing, and so few fellow talents...
Stress is a notable feeling at the moment.
A bump sounds outside the door... Something fumbled by the 'help'. Weiss's eyes half lid in a glower before she pinches the bridge of her nose. She stands and moves for the door, stepping into the halls.
Outside her personal dressing room, Carmine stands with a small stack of boxes outside a storage closet. His outfit is swapped with a more plain gray jumpsuit, weapons and armor left off while 'working'. He looks through the storage closet deep in thought and humming.
Weiss opens her mouth to speak, but changes her mind. This fool isn't worth berating for making noise. She loudly slams the door, causing Carmine to jolt spooked. He whips around, finding no one around him.
He tugs at the collar of the worker suit they'd given him, producing a scowl. "Stupid snobby dress codes..." He sighs.
The team had been integrating into the staff for a few days now.
Neo has been relegated to being a runner and helper for the stage hands and orchestra. Her being mute actually counts as insurance that she wouldn't cause any issues to draw attention away from the performances during the show.
Which, incidentally, also gave her both the most area to cover and explore, as her areas covered the general seating, but ALSO gave her excuse to run around. Totally not likely to produce her negative sticky fingered habits. Carmine made a mental note to keep track of her.
Then there was Roman, who took a minor interview and was helping out the stage production and serving staff. You know... where he can manipulate whatever he wants to get his way. Because why wouldn't you want to pour gasoline on a grease fire? Metaphorically speaking, of course.
Second mental note: Check in on Roman. Do not let him steal from the rich unless the rich do something wrong.
He frowns as he organizes parts of the storage closet, getting the box that was requested. He sighs, back walking from the closet-
"Ah!" He trips over a small missed container, collapsing back into a heap. "Fffff-..." He holds in the curse. He rises and checks around him...
No disturbance. No one is around. Good.
He picks up the box he was looking for, rising up and turning-
Weiss.
"Frick!" He breathes out and takes a collective second. "Sorry. I got to-"
"Must you be a fumbling buffoon? I am trying to mentally prepare myself!" The girl crosses her arms, glower steaming. Her voice is haughty, as if the words to ask for a manager are seconds away from speaking.
"Uh, I already apologized. And, the performance is tomorrow. You're preparing a day in advance?" Carmine cocks his head, a stink eye forming. "I mean, I won't judge, I've met one autistic person recently-"
Weiss's eyes widen to saucers, ready to kill the boy with her ire. "You imbecile! What part of having focus and discipline equates to being on the spectrum, you oaf! Shall I assume your level of education based on that silly insinuation? After all, any supplies stored in that closet can surely be found in storage twelve by stage left!"
Carmine blinks once. Twice. Then, he shrugs and holds up the box in hand. "Whelp. I was asked to find stuff, and I found it. It all works out."
"So disorderly!" Weiss huffs, whipping around and stomping off.
As she enters her personal room, Carmine calls out. "Also, four insults and threatening an insult in less than a minute. Maybe practice ANY form of manners, my Pompous-Prissy-Princess. See? I left you ahead in insults because I'm SO NICE!"
SLAM! Weiss harshly crashes the door, leaving the boy alone.
Carmine's nostrils flare as he huffs and storms off. He delivers the box to the person that requested it before meeting up with the rest of his team in the central stands, a find overview of the theater stage ahead.
Roman is wearing an inverse of a typical waiter outfit: White pants, vest, and shoes with black button up shirt underneath, long sleeved. His red ascot is still in place, though his bowler hat is missing. He looks strange without it, but his hair is neatly swept. He smirks Carmine's way. "Don't you look pleased."
"Piss off." Carmine grumbles and plops into a chair.
"Someone's having a good day." The conman retorts.
"Just a run in with her royal highness..."
That makes Neo perk up nearby. Her new outfit isn't dissimilar to Roman's, a white functional dress with black leggings. Her hair has been covered in an illusion to be purely blue with violet eyes. Her Vanille persona. She sends an inquisitive look to the boy, which he picks up on.
"Oh, she's got a personal dress room. Loves to slam her door to remind you of her displeasure with the ever slightest small thing."
Neo grins, a mischievous look as she eyes him over.
"No. Stop thinking of ways to watch me get yelled at for your amusement." Carmine immediately puts the lid on her thoughts. Neo smiles wider, tilting her head and snapping her fingers in a mock 'darn' motion. "So, what do we got?"
Blair sits, wearing a simple dark dress and a dour scowl. "None of the performers scheduled have any affiliation with AZRL. Not only do many of them have no suspicious activity whatsoever, most are both performers and models. Male and female. Their profiles to the public feature enough skin to know they have no number tattoos."
Carmine raises a brow. "Could they be covered?"
"Possible, but being placed with the performers has shown me..." She wrinkles her nose and looks aside. "Way too much of them. No concealers or heavy make up use save for a fair face."
"You're just upset that we're going to hear your fantastic voice." Roman teases.
"Piss. Off." Blair, the normally proper woman, says the most plain spoken vulgar words she's spoken forcefully. Neo nudges her lightly, earning a glower. The girl looks innocent with eye contact.
She signs. "What song?"
Blair sighs, and rolls her neck to loosen up physically. "You'll each have jobs to keep you busy, so I'm content with you never noticing."
"Not happening." Both Roman and Carmine state simultaneously as Neo chuckles and shakes her head.
The blonde grimaces. "It's a jazz rendition of an of a popular song to appeal high class music to younger audiences... The director's idea after making me perform for him and his colleagues."
Neo perks, sharing a look with Carmine. "Neat." He responds, then looks to Neo. "What do you have?"
The girl grimaces and pulls out a sheet of paper. She hands it off to them as the page shimmers into three... Two Shatter copies of the paper for each of them.
They read. 'Loading dock shows a shipment coming in DURING the performance. No notes on what. Security for many of the show's tools and instruments is high only for someone who isn't a part of the show. If AZRL has infiltrated the workers, then they can easily get something by us or the director.'
'The facility has security blast doors and containment areas for fire risks and counter measures. If someone were to use those in their favor, they could trap others in areas. Not unlike Blair and I tried to do with the buyers at the Silver Auditorium in Vale.'
"Lovely." Roman scoffs unhappy, crinkling and breaking his Shatter copy. Blair does the same, Carmine crumpling the real paper and pocketing it. Roman notices attention falling on him. He sighs. "Since we're supposed help, and not formal employees here, I am not privy to the seating arrangements and reservations. However, I can piece together and assume some spots. I think I've narrowed where his Notable Prick Jacques Schnee will be seated. And, I plan to steer clear of that without touching it with a six foot pole."
"It warms my heart to see genuine dislike from you about someone not hidden behind false posturing." Carmine smiles. "If he's anything like his daughter, I'm with you double on top of his stances with the faunus." The smile wipes away as he thinks. "But... If the SDC is so tied to this event, does that mean the military will be here?"
Roman clicks his tongue for their attention. "Actually, they're already here."
"WHA-" Carmine starts a shout as Neo clamps a hand over his mouth! He speaks through her hand. "W-eye hnd oo teh uth erier?!"
"Words." Roman mutters.
Carmine darts a glower at Neo, who smiles, before swatting her hand off his mouth. "Why didn't you tell us earlier?!"
"Because the director has conveniently restricted them to the outdoors and commons areas." He smirks. He nods. "Come on. I'll show you."
. . .
At a balcony at the second floor, Team CRBN comically peers around. Neo's head on bottom, Carmine's above her, Blair's above his, and Roman's on top. Below in the main commons area is one of the workers holding his hands up placating to a row of soldiers! The conversation is clearly contentious.
Roman sighs. "I've poked my nose around, but haven't seen anyone that appears to be in charge. Seems it's just the yes men of both sides barking at each other the orders their superiors gave. Director says no military personnel in the theater and back stage, military says 'we can do better inside'. Cycle. Rinse. Repeat."
Blair furrows her brow. "Is that a commanding officer?"
Roman blinks and focuses again... Carmine and him focus in before each tenses. Carmine grumbles. "... No commanding officers, huh?"
"Literally. Checked this. Ten plus times!" Roman grinds his teeth.
"Seems we're lucky charms."
"Lucky pains in my-"
"SH!" Neo shushes. One of the few verbal utterances she can manage.
"Thank you, Neo." Blair narrows her gaze on the interaction below. "Is that man..?"
The commanding officer for the military soldiers in the line steps forward... Brown mustache, cowboy hat... A new, black leather jacket is neatly zipped and buttoned up. His ascot is now white. The compromised agent...
Carmine and Roman both grumble. "That's him..."
Down below, the man approaches the Auditorium worker.
He tips his head. "Howdy, friend. Specialist Agent Whis Palmo. Care ta' step aside? We need to set up checkpoints 'round the performance areas."
The worker frowns. "I'm sorry, but per Director Krennick, no armed forces can be permitted into the performance areas-"
"And I am telling you that, per the position bestowed upon me by General Ironwood, the top authority in these here lands, any forces or parties connected to my purview is under my jurisdiction. I've business with this event." The man speaks relaxed, hand resting on his hip near, but not on, his gun holster.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me..." Another voice chimes in.
Director Stass Krennick, marches up, looking none too pleased with the interruption of his preparations. "What now?! For once, could you jack booted thugs allow us to work unimpeded?"
Whis places his hands on his hips and smirks. "Howdy, Director. Maybe we can come to an agreement."
"Yes. You do your jobs WHERE YOU ARE PERMITTED." The Director forcefully retorts. "This is a place for the arts. Not war!"
The cowboy agent smirks. "Here I was led to believe the pen was mightier than the sword." The director's eyes cut a furious glare at the agent, so Whis laughs good natured and shakes his head. "Easy, now. Listen... The military already is stationed nearby in case of emergency, but I've taken command of the area. We have reason to believe some individuals with ties to unsavory factions might attempt to infiltrate the event. Individuals that I am hunting. In order to do so, I... require... complete openness." Whis holds his arms out, palms forward. "With all due respect, sir. No direct involvement otherwise."
Up in the balcony, the CRBN group looks at one another. Carmine mutters. "I'm sure he's not talking about us... He could mean AZRL."
Whis then adds. "There's four of them."
All three of his teammates look to him as his lips form a hard line. "... Could be four completely different-"
"He's after us." Roman cuts in.
The boy slumps, defeated. "I know..."
Luckily for them, Krennick smiles at the cowboy. "Well, that IS the most open answer I've received from military dogs sniffing in my yard. But, no matter how often said dogs say nothing will happen, they still leave excrement in my yard."
Whis clicks his tongue. "That's quite an analogy, sir."
"Yet always apt." Krennick snorts. "See, let me do MY job managing MY event with MY approved workers. Meanwhile, you can do YOUR job, and wait outside with the rest of the guard dogs. If your outlaws come around, go get them, but my auditorium is my castle. The only entrance that can be gained is no weapons, and no overstepping authority. If you have a problem with that, then the answer is no."
Whis grimaces. "You're really up to risk friction between the military and the SDC?"
"Anymore than your hounds auditing our organization wings?"
Whis immediately objects, finger up. "Hey, now. That isn't my doing or jurisdiction. That's the investigation by Agent Winter Schn-"
"My BOSS has made me well aware WHO is most responsible." Krennick glowers back. "Be that as it may, if your defense is that you only follow YOUR orders, way to stick by your comrades. Now, off with you."
Krennick turns upon his heel and marches away, leaving Whis to glare after him. The Agent turns and exits, the military soldiers forming a line behind him.
On the above floor, CRBN slinks to a corner, tense.
"Well... Thank goodness for feisty artsy guys." Carmine tries to be optimistic. "We'll need to be aware of the lookouts. It's possible he might come in without his weapons and out us the moment he sees us."
Roman frowns. "I can raid some supply closets for a color contact lens. Wear my hair a different way. Neo has her illusions. Barbie..?"
She sighs. "They've already decided my 'look' as it were... We will have to hope the auditorium's assertion of our identities can protect me."
All three then look at Carmine, the boy giving a wary glance. "Well, guess that's all then-"
"We need to dye your hair. Like, capiche?" Roman cuts to the chase. The boy cringes back.
"No~! Come on! Don't make me go white again!" He pulls away, only for Neo to snatch his wrist in a vice. "Hey-NO!" The boy is immediately pulled in by the mute and conman.
Blair watches the two wrestle the boy back as she sighs. "It is not a big deal. You don't look bad with the all silver look."
"It makes me look like father, and fuck that!" Carmine snaps as he strains with the other two tangling him up! "I barely let you guys convince me the first time."
A new voice chimes in happily.
"Atta boy. Quite the rebel, I see."
All four freeze in their spots before rapidly untangling and turning around... He wears a red jacket with an Atlas logo on the back. The man is in a set of gray military fatigue pants with white trim with boots. His gray body armor has his battalion insignia, an ornate ox sigil. They recognize his short blonde swept hair and offset cow lick as he stares back with brown eyes.
All four jolt back a step, Blair speaking quickly. "A-Arnold?! What are you doing here?!" She immediately glances about. "What is this?!"
Captain Arnold Dillon, newly wed husband of Rowa Carson, now Rowa Carson-Dillon, raises one hand in a wave of greeting. "Hey guys. Wow, you look wound up tighter than a box spring." His lax demeanor sets them on edge.
At his wedding, they were given a pass. Multiple passes, because Atlas didn't want them.
Now, Atlas wants them...
"What are you doing here?" Carmine speaks up, the man's kind look meeting him.
"Oh, little old me? Well, the Ox battalion is the one in charge of security of this sector for the remainder of this celebratory weekend." He shrugs. "So, my job is on that front. However, the moment an Agent of all people showed up and told me we should be scrounging around for you guys, I figured I could guess where you'd be." He smiles jovially.
Carmine reaches down, but remembers none of them have their weapons on at the moment. He scowls. "... What are you doing right now then? Shouldn't you be trying to arrest us?"
Arnold, if anything, grows smug as he tilts his head at them. "Don't threaten Other Arnold with a good time, but before I go burning bridges with Pumpkin Pie's friends, I would most certainly appreciate some answers." He raises a brow. "If I'm satisfied, who knows. Maybe I didn't see anything here."
Roman narrows his gaze as the others are confused. He sees what the Captain is going for... And it's something the team can use. He smirks after and scoffs. "Let's take this conversation private, though are military personnel not barred from the performance areas as we so recently learned?"
Neo hums, gaining attention as she glances around. Making sure no one is spying, she reaches out with her aura and smirks as Arnold's outfit and look shifts, replaced with a nondescript stage hand she recalls seeing. Arnold frowns. "Not sure I enjoy the brunette, but neat trick."
They quickly escort the man through to the back stage hallways... to a dressing room, currently empty. The five enter as Carmine and Neo frantically lock the door as the CRBN team stands tense.
"Right, so... Not sure where to start." The boy starts, so Arnold does it for him.
"Before Other Arnold wants to chat, how about explaining the whole botched SDC raid debacle." Arnold gives a halfhearted hand wave to continue for him.
"Um..." The four share looks, so Roman rolls his eyes and answers.
"Good job, 'Face' of the party." The conman grumbles. "AZRL wants to ingrain itself in the SDC. That's why Stein was their head scientist, and also why we're here."
"That is a contested claim, but I cannot confirm or deny it at this point. So, how about we slide by it, shall we?" Arnold speaks a bit more serious. "What do you know about the wreck fight that happened in the Winchester building construction downtown?"
Blank stares meet him. Carmine and blinks back. "What?"
"So THAT was the downtown smoke source we saw." Blair clarifies.
That puts a scowl on Arnold's face. "Okay, so that's one thing we're being told you guys were tied to, and we're already wrong." He looks off. "Just what is Whis's game..? Two birds with one stone, Arnie? Could be." The group vaguely remembers the man's explanation of his semblance being a secondary personality. Still, seeing him speak in third person is odd.
"Look, Jekyll." Roman starts. "We were framed for an attack once before all of us even got INTO Atlas. Pretty much everything is misinformation."
Arnold raises a brow. "And you two boys fleeing the scene with a hulking brute man on the most wanted list was also false?"
Roman's perfect poker face is contradicted with Carmine's immediate eyes wide expression. The conman then whips Carmine's side with his arm to get the boy's expressions under control as Roman replies. "Who we do or don't make out Patsies is our business. Not our fault the big guy did exactly as we wanted."
"Understandable, but that DOES put us in a stressful position. Even I don't have full access to information on that man alone, much less his organization. Don't have the clearance for it, but it's some kind of-"
"Cult. Yes, we've found out." Blair answers. Pensive, she clears her throat. "Look, we only wished to take advantage of the Cult's resources to oust AZRL's top scientist. We double crossed them first chance we got, so we're not affiliated with them. Now, our pressing concern is this show."
Roman reacts and starts waving his hands for her to stop, but she continues despite his protest.
"AZRL is planning on using the faunus below to start some sort of chain reaction. We don't know what or how it will happen, but their plan will go off during the show tomorrow." She approaches slow. "Will you help us?"
Arnold scrutinizes them for a moment before sighing. "Disregarding Pumpkin's threats of turning my organs into hair nets if I went after you... I like you guys. And, I believe you're doing good, if doing so in the way that makes guys like me live in hell picking up the pieces." He gives a stern look. "So, hows about I cut you a deal of sorts. I cover for you, and you let me take some credit for whatever part of AZRL gets thwarted this weekend. I could use an Agent promotional salary." He ends with a smirk.
Roman snorts, finally smirking. "I knew it! You just wanted the opportunity to get ahead! See, this is why I knew we could get along."
Arnold's smirk warps to an innocent smile. "I would prefer to think of it as acting in the best interests of both worlds."
"Take whatever credit you want." Carmine agrees immediately.
Neo then leans in and adds with a Shatter sign. 'And a pardon for Atlas City, okay?'
Arnold purses his lips. "Yeah, that's not happening any time soon." He then eyes Carmine. "I can have the troops that are under me reinforce the riot protection in Bastion Alderley, but I certainly hope you have more up your sleeve."
"Keeping that Agent off our backs." Roman says immediately.
At that, Arnold scowls. "Agent Whis is a decorated and successful operative, and my superior. That's not exactly a logical thing to do." No counter point. The group simply looks at him, expecting something. He slowly slouched. "You're not gonna back down on that point, are you?"
"Nah, sorry." Carmine speaks up.
"Of course you do... Do you at least have a plan for tomorrow?" Exasperation and regret begins to seep into the man's voice. Again, a sequence of looks between the team. Arnold blinks. "How... do you function?.. Like a two legged table, says Other Arnold."
"We have vague ideas, hopes, dreams, and an acute awareness that any time we make a plan it gets fucked." Carmine sums up quickly. "So, cover a wide net, find the bad guys, and shift game plan as we go is what we have so far."
The blonde soldier slouches. Sarcasm drips. "The most successful espionage third party group in the kingdoms..."
"I prefer you when you're chipper." Carmine quips back.
"I assure you that merely continuing this conversation is being optimistic in this situation." Arnold slowly states. Completely serious.
. . .
Elsewhere, a bright white transport ship soars in the sky over the tundras of Mantle.
The rumbling freighter, sleek on the outside, is dark on the inside. A man walks over steel grating with lined walls slotted with organized lockers. He checks over a few of the container units, muttering to himself incoherently. With a slam of the door, he breathes out, flicking his hands to free nerves from himself.
Coming from the hall, he finds a series of monitors, showing an interface analyzing what seems like a heartbeat sensor. One screen is blue, one violet, and another green, each monitoring some other variance of data.
The man wears a doctor coat over a black shirt and white pair of pants. His head has been shaved, but shows growing back, glasses keeping his eyes obscured. He mutters to himself as he looks over the data presented to him.
Looking from the monitors, he steps around a screen to a more open metal coated area. A massive structure of plated steel shows before him, leaned forward and suspended with cables a mere few inches from the floor. He gets closer, but no closer than ten feet.
He scrutinizes the plating, the helmet... Then the arms, the body, and legs. The structure is a massive, gargantuan suit of armor. Much too large to ever meant for a living person. The robotic circuitry shows, if only slightly behind layers of kevlar lined with titanium.
Bzzt.
The man jolts, turning round and seeing his scroll vibrating on the desk at the monitors. He moves and answers the device. "Sir?" He waits as he receives a response, glancing over to other dark corners of the room. "Yes, I have it, too. I told you, I spared no expense... No, no. I anticipate no issues..."
He moves to a monitor, the violet one, as he reads the data. "Ah, I've accounted for that. Stein was brilliant-..." He gulps. "S-sorry. I realize you use code names. NEAR's research into manipulation of a subject's mental pathways worked! While Grimm lack recognizable emotional expression, they do have brains like any living being."
A chuckle looses from him, gazing back around at the giant suit of armor. "... Yes! A cortex vulnerable to similar implants! We used a Geist skull as a base. It's shown no signs of disobeying in any test drive-..." Hesitance breaks his confident tone. "That's... true... We've yet to have a full combat test. B-BUT we've input plenty of data to learn. The Grimm instincts will only guide the fervor towards its goal."
A pause occurs as someone is clearly giving instructions.
Finally, the man nods as he affirms. "Yes. Yes, it'll be ready to act..." He perks, and moves to another device on a table. "Yes, I've got that, too! The last one from St-I mean Near's office effects. I removed it before Atlas could discover it. It would verify all of what they're checking for-... Ah, yes. It's currently empty, but should be ready for testing function."
He listens before smiling with a nod. "Understood, sir." He reaches to the table, hand lightly rubbing over a metal object...
A soul servo...
"I won't disappoint you, Master Zandril." The scientist hangs up on the call and appraises the soul servo, the ultimate work of Stein... "Such a brilliant design." Breaking his reverie, he moves back to the large suit of armor. "... I can only hope to compare." He smirks. "But, this is a step in that direction... Heheh..." He chuckles lowly.
The chipper emotion turns to a choked trill of a laugh. "A cult capable of commanding Grimm? BAH! If some hooligans in the shadows can do such a thing, let this answer in kind... A Grimm programmed to follow orders, forged in our image!"
His mirth spreads in the room as one detail is known...
On the green lit monitor, one line blinks on and off.
'Arma Gigas... Status: Inactive'
Alright! Performance starts next chapter! A little Weiss here, a little there. Some integration.
Yeah, cat's out of the bag with the ending here. We're about to get my world's adaptation of parts of the original Trailer White for RWBY Volume 1. At least, the portion with the Arma Gigas.
Some Arnold integration! I had some thoughts floating around and, despite him being originally intended as a one arc off character, I decided to give him a role here. Also, some divided focus with the AZRL opening of the chapter.
Reviews:
Stalker203x (AO3) – A lot to respond to. I hope everything is well given the first sentiment, and glad that you enjoyed the chapter!
The idea of the video wills (in story) came during the week the team stayed with Rowa for her wedding. The video will idea was foreshadowed Blair bought the camera in chapter 75, implying Glynda gave her the idea at the wedding.
Bold of you to assume that Carmine isn't already a gold medalist for mental gymnastics!
Jokes aside, not sure if you were intending that as an observation or criticism of the character. His reasoning is supposed to get more and more frustrating as time moves on. His form of mental illness via PTSD and other traumas is supposed to make him go way, way too far in his self criticism and willingness to put anything and everything on himself.
He's supposed to get frustrating to understand as his guilt trips only escalate until the day comes when his traumas get properly dealt with... IF that happens.
… I don't know why or how I let that mistake get through for Zwei. Thank you for letting me know. I went ahead and corrected it! Sorry about that!
Whose to say what will happen to Roman or Neo... Just give it like... ten chapters. I THINK I can get this done before chapter 100 before going to the sequel, but... given my track record, maybe not.
Speaking of... my length. Good lord, I feel both complemented and attacked for that. I had no idea I'd gone that berserk with my lengths.
And it will get longer when we join next time in chapter eighty six: Encounter! A Caged Songstress!