Ilia stood outside the mining site office, ready to knock the moment her workday officially began. She was bundled up more than ever, having added gloves and earmuffs to her ensemble—the Solitas cold really was doing a number on her.
It didn't have to be like this. A bit of concentration to raise her Aura and she'd be sitting pretty. She'd have to burn more Aura than other people, since she had more to compensate for, but it'd work.
But no, she had to be inconspicuous. Had to continue to suffer her way through this mission.
She could have ended it already. It would have been easy. The office was inside the mine's perimeter, but the mine wasn't like some major military facility. Its only defenses were a watchtower, the roughest of boundary fences, the sides of the mountain, and whichever Schnee was there at the moment.
Those were trivial to evade; Ilia hadn't been in the White Fang a week before she was penetrating that level of security. Chameleon scales were a start at being sneaky, but they camouflaged only her skin, not her clothes or hair, and they did nothing to dampen any sounds she might make. Her semblance picked up the slack. With it augmenting her natural stealth, only the most acute senses or sensors even had a chance of detecting her. None of those senses or sensors were in place to protect the Schnees.
She could just wait until the Schnee was asleep, slip in undetected, take one quick stab into a defenseless body, then slip out and vanish. She'd be back in Skjulte Perle before anyone even knew the Schnee was dead.
Easy, laughably easy. Vindication, catharsis, revenge, would all be accomplished in a few minutes of brisk exercise. The souls of her parents would finally be able to rest.
And yet…
…as much as the idea appealed…
…as much as Ilia wanted to make it happen...
…now wasn't the time.
For starters, there were (other than the Schnee) only Faunus at the mine. There would only be Faunus suspects in the killing of an Atlesian blueblood. The wrath of Atlas' criminal justice system would be indiscriminate and merciless. Bringing down that wrath on a whole population of Faunus, half of whom weren't legal citizens to begin with…
No, she didn't dare leave them to that fate. She'd have to arrange their evacuation beforehand. Except… she was increasingly doubtful the Faunus here would consent to evacuation.
Whatever mind games the Schnees were playing to trick these Faunus into staying? They were working. The more Ilia talked to the miners, the more they told her they liked it here, that they felt they had more control, that they felt heard. They weren't making any more money than they had under the SDC, but their living conditions were better, and they held out hope that they would get more money eventually.
It was so… so rare for Ilia to see Faunus that hopeful. She knew they'd be disappointed as surely as she knew the sun would rise tomorrow, but telling them that, taking that hope away from them… she couldn't bear to do it.
All she could do was continue her infiltration, continue gathering information, wait for the right opportunity to finish the Schnees, and pass on the occasional report to ensure her superiors knew she was okay. Speaking of which, she really ought to send her next one soon; she didn't want to be late with it, it'd make them think—
The door opened. Winter Schnee, perfectly composed and alert, stepped out. She gave the impression she didn't need sleep or food like mere mortals, just an oil change every few thousand klicks.
"Ma'am," said Ilia, falling into her role as meek assistant, "you have a 0900 with…"
"I know," said Winter, "but we need to go into the mine first."
A sound like a record scratch tore through Ilia's brain. "Why?"
"I make periodic inspections, and this time you'll come with me," Winter said, stepping briskly in the direction of the mine. Ilia had to kick into gear to keep up. "How can you help administer a mine if you've never seen one? I've let you go too long like this, but I correct my errors. Let's go."
In moments, Ilia had been issued a hardhat with embedded lights (which she didn't need, but Winter didn't know that), a bright orange vest (ditto), and hearing protection (which displaced her earmuffs but were roughly as warm). She was ready to enter the mine.
She wasn't ready at all.
Ilia's unfocused eyes barely registered that Winter was continuing on without her. Mostly, they tried and failed to take in the sight of the mine's entrance.
It was howling. The opening was a Beowolf's maw, ready to snap shut on her. Dust mines were death. She knew that to the marrow of her bones. Other Faunus had told her that, refugees rescued from other mines, or family members of those killed or maimed in accidents.
She fell into that category, too. She knew as well as anyone.
Mom… dad…
They'd gone down into a mine, one day. And never come out.
This mine was the same, it told her so. It was a crypt, eager to entomb anyone who entered it. Dust mines were death.
"Ilia?"
Ilia's eyes snapped into focus with enough force that she staggered. Her breathing had picked up so much her lungs faintly ached. As she looked, she saw that Winter had stopped her descent and was looking back up to her. "Is something wrong?" Winter asked.
How could Ilia answer that? What could she possibly say? Dust mines were death, it was the fundamental truth of Ilia's life, and now this Schnee was expecting her to… to…
She swallowed the lump of fear choking her words. "I don't like Dust mines," she said. "If it's all the same to you, I'd r-rather stay up here."
"It's not 'all the same to me'," said Winter. For a moment, Ilia realized, there'd been a hint of sympathy on Winter's face, but she recognized it only when it vanished, replaced by scathing disapproval. "You don't need to like Dust mines, but you must understand them. Now let's go before you cost us any more time."
Of course, Ilia thought bitterly, of course the Schnee's time was more important than Ilia's…
No, not fear! Not…
Yes, fear.
The opening of the mine was an endless gullet, waiting to consume Ilia; she'd never see the light of day again. That was how she felt. That was what she knew, to the marrow of her bones. What else was that feeling but fear?
"Now!" snapped Winter, and she turned to enter the mine. The expectation—the demand—couldn't be clearer.
Which did Ilia fear more: the mine, or failing her mission?
Well, the mine. She feared it so much her scales involuntarily shifted to yellow. But her fear of failure was joined by her determination to succeed, to eventually revenge herself on the Schnees, and those together were just strong enough to make up the difference. She forced her scales to revert; the same summoned willpower propelled her forward.
Step. Step.
Down. Down.
Into the heart of darkness.
She expected, at any moment, for the ceiling to come down. For the walls to explode. For… for…
"Finally," said Winter, a few steps ahead and impatient as ever. "Supe, this is my assistant, Ms. Amitola."
"Good morning," said the supervisor neutrally. "First time?"
"Y-yeah," said Ilia. It wasn't her fault her eyes darted around, unable to meet his. She wasn't being rude. She was being terrified.
"Eh, you're not the first to enter a mine looking that queasy. You'll get over it." He shrugged ambivalently. "Or not."
It was the least reassuring thing Ilia had ever heard.
"Alright, we'll go when you're ready," Winter said to the supervisor.
"I'm ready now."
"Then I am, too." Winter's gaze turned to Ilia and sharpened. "You, too."
Of course, Ilia thought bitterly as her skin crawled, as the Schnee turned her back on her in contempt. Of course the Schnee was ignoring what the Faunus needed, and going out of her way to accommodate the human…
As the supervisor turned away to go deeper into the mine, Ilia saw a reptilian tail trailing behind him.
And Winter didn't know Ilia was a Faunus because Ilia was passing as human.
Ilia's brain, already on the run from being in the mine, became a train wreck.
Everything got worse the deeper into the mine they went, especially once they parted ways with the supervisor. Ilia's fear rose every time the mine's lift took her further from daylight. Her cognitive dissonance about the Schnee was even more painful.
She remembered being treated brusquely, impatiently, demandingly by Winter. As tempting as it was to blame that on Winter's racism, Ilia's cover of being human meant that couldn't be it. On the other hand, the Schnee was treating the workers in the mine with… not kindness, no, but courtesy. She was patient about waiting until it was convenient to get their attention, ensuring they could conclude their tasks and return to a safe position rather than demanding their attention. She asked questions without accusation and listened to their answers with her full faculties.
It was almost like she cared. But that couldn't be…
"Shh," Winter said, holding a hand out to arrest Ilia's movement.
Ilia jerked to a halt, giving an all-over shake (and a color change she quickly reverted) in the process. "What?"
"Shh," Winter said again.
Ilia looked beyond Winter and saw three miners close up to the wall. A section of the tunnel three hands long and two hands tall had been isolated, painstakingly picked out until its perimeter was almost separated from the wall, but not quite. Two miners stood with their hands pressed against the picked-out section, as if to hold it in place. A third miner was tracing a bare hand across the rock right where the back of that section joined to the wall. His eyes were closed; he was doing this by feel alone.
He stopped. His fingers twirled, such that a small chisel he'd carried between his fingers took their place against the rock. He raised his other hand, which had a small hammer in it, and tapped. Chik.
His hands swept on around the perimeter, as if searching for something Ilia couldn't hope to discern. Once again he paused, probed, and then brought up chisel and hammer. Chik. There was a small groan from the rock, but no movement.
More slowly than ever his fingers moved, walking along the edge, feeling and testing and prying, until he stopped, seemingly motionless, for several seconds. The hammer raised, struck twice in quick succession. Chik-chik.
There was a crack all out of proportion to the impact. The two holder-miners grunted and visibly strained—that section of rock had broken from the wall and fallen into their hands. The chisel-wielding miner backed away, giving his fellows room to operate; working together without even needing to speak, they shuffled away from the wall and eased the detached ore down into a wheeled cart.
When they'd let go of it and backed away, they sighed and chuckled happily at their small success.
"I've been asked before," Winter said, speaking for the first time, "why we don't just use drones for mining Dust. Well, that sort of thing is why."
"Ha!" barked one of the miners. "Those rust-buckets'd blow themselves up twice a week! No feel at all."
The third miner, putting hammer and chisel back into loops on his toolbelt, nodded in agreement. "No feel." At last, he opened his eyes. They made Ilia want to gasp. They were ugly eyes, almost all black, permanently out of focus. They reminded Ilia of…
Possum eyes. What was the God of Animals playing at, cursing one of his children with possum eyes?! The man would be nearly blind under the best of circumstances.
Ilia ripped her gaze away—she knew as well as anyone how rude it was to stare at a Faunus' trait—but not before the man gave a sad sort of smile, the sort of pained indulgence she knew her kind had to present to humans. She wanted to show solidarity, wanted to reassure him, show he wasn't alone, but she was too busy passing, too… human.
Her concentration was shot, anyway. If she changed her scales, she wasn't sure she'd be able to change them back before Winter noticed.
Instead, she shame-facedly looked at her scroll instead, even as he said softly, "A little touch goes a long way in Dust mining, especially for certain types. Like Stone." He smiled as his eyes rolled shut. "You can't hardly see the difference between Stone Dust and rock, but you can feel it. Stone Dust feels alive."
"Would it help if you could see better?" Winter asked.
The Faunus there started—including Ilia. She'd barely noticed the change as it'd happened, but now that she paid attention, she saw there were no lights down here. The Faunus' helmets didn't have their lights on the way her lights were on—and Winter's, now that she looked more closely. They were, otherwise, in near-total darkness, relying on that vaunted Faunus night vision—and these miners' "feel", whatever that counted for.
"We don't need lights," said possum-eyes. "We can operate just fine in the dark."
"We're used to it," added another miner.
"You're not answering my question," said Winter—still cold and precise, but on the subject at hand, that came off differently. "Would it be better for you if you had more lights down here?"
The Faunus hesitated, as if scared this was somehow a trap. At last, the youngest said, "We may not need more lights, but… being in the dark, it does start to hurt a little by the end of the shift, you know?"
"I do know," said Winter with a nod. "I've had to work in the dark for extended stretches before. Eye strain gets to people, even after their eyes have adapted. I imagine it's the same for you."
"Nothing we can't handle," possum-eyes said, and his voice sounded like a rodent scurrying for cover.
"It would present difficulties mining for Plant Dust," Winter said thoughtfully, "photoreactive as it is. Still, even if Dust mining depends a lot on feel, I'd rather you have the option to use your eyes without pain."
"Our helmets have lights, if it comes to that," said one of the miners.
Winter pointed at possum-eyes' helmet. It had no lights installed.
"Most of 'em do, anyway," the miner mumbled abashedly.
"They all should," Winter said firmly. "Action: inventory mining helmets, place order to ensure 100% of helmets have lighting options."
It took several seconds for Ilia to realize that instruction was to her. She fumbled with her scroll, clumsily bringing up its notes section so she could jot down her action item in White Fang shorthand.
"Carry on," Winter said with a slight nod. The miners nodded back at her as she went deeper. They stared at Ilia, the clear interloper, as she scurried after the Schnee.
What a shameful notion. Some proud Faunus revolutionary she was. Ugh. This mission…
On they went, having similar interactions with mining teams here and there, and the fear-tension in Ilia's gut growing to the point she thought she'd throw up from it. Until…
Winter came to a full halt, looking at a group of three miners ahead of her.
"Good morning, ma'am," one of the miners said cheerily. His mood did not touch Winter.
"Your group was different last week," Winter said.
The three miners shared guilty glances. Ilia's heart sank. She wasn't going to have to watch this happen, was she?
"You two were together before, but you weren't their third," Winter continued, pointing at her victims. "What changed since then?"
Two of them blubbered at her—deflections, denials, see-through obfuscations—while the third simply locked eyes with Winter and glowered.
Winter let them go for another minute before tapping the toe of her shoe against the mine floor. Somehow it sounded like a gunshot. Ilia's insides twisted. She was going to have to watch discipline, wasn't she? Unable to do anything, forced to just watch…
"Explain," Winter said shortly, in a voice that said quite clearly that no more diversions would be tolerated.
The third miner, who'd said nothing this whole time, finally spoke up. "Valletta's wife went into labor overnight. He asked me to cover his shift for him. He's not drawing pay and we'll meet our quotas, so it should all be fine."
Winter stared at him for another moment, face still harsh and impatient. Ilia wanted to run away or throw herself between them or… or something. Anything other than just stand here.
People who let the hate happen...
Winter half-turned her head. "Action," she began.
…oh, no, this was worse, much worse, now Ilia was going to be complicit in this atrocity, responsible for adding to the suffering of the Faunus…
"…confer with Mr. Cristata on adding paid paternity leave to employee contracts."
Ilia's mental whiplash was so severe she almost heard her neck crack.
"Father-daughter bonds are rare and precious enough as it is," Winter said, returning her attention to the miners, "and it's not every day you become a father. Pass my congratulations along to Mr. Valletta."
The stoic replacement Faunus gave a small, thin smile. "Yes, ma'am."
"Very well."
Winter turned around—nearly running over Ilia in the process—and at last, at last, headed back towards the lift and, hopefully, the surface. Ilia, nearly collapsing in her relief, followed after, while trying to match what she'd heard against the thoughts in her head.
And failing, mostly.
She was so used to seeing Faunus abuse; so used to being surrounded by victims of that abuse. It was written into society at large and her life experience in particular. The idea of there not being Faunus abuse seemed... impossible. Inconceivable. Incomprehensible. Worthy of all the fanciest words Ilia knew.
Amidst all the confusion and dissonance, one thing stood out glaringly, blindingly in her mind's eye. "Ma'am," she said, trying (and not wholly succeeding) at being careful, "what you said about father-daughter bonds…"
Even with the two of them moving over the rough-hewn mine tracks, Ilia thought she saw Winter flinch.
"…were you speaking from experience?"
"Not even," Winter said, reflexively—to her regret, Ilia recognized, as Winter stopped her march and bowed her head. Apparently, it was too heavy a topic for Winter to be able to walk and talk at once. "My relationship with Father was… my father was…"
It seemed she couldn't think of any words that described her father. Ilia could relate. Even Mantletongue and Old Vacuan didn't have vile enough curses to properly describe Jacques Schnee.
"…well, I know my father's approach to parenting is not the norm," Winter managed. "I wouldn't wish my father on anyone, the old bastard. But I know other people's fathers are better. And maybe…"
Her eyes had gone out of focus. With a shock, Ilia could almost see Winter Schnee's defenses lowering, could see something like vulnerability beneath her typical shields of distance and detachment. The protective layers of focus, precision, and disdain for those without those things… they were drifting away, revealing something raw and wounded underneath.
"Maybe, if we don't treat family like something that has to be bought or paid for, like commodities, maybe we'll have better family lives. Wouldn't that be…"
She couldn't finish, but for Ilia, that just made things worse.
Oh, no.
No, no, no, this was bad.
The last thing Ilia needed was the possibility that Winter Schnee might be a person.
Oh, no, oh shit, no no no…
The moment ended. Winter's head snapped up, her eyes focused, and she fixed Ilia with a withering glare. "You took that action item, right?"
Ilia almost stumbled backwards from the suddenness and force of the words. "N-no—oh, yes, I got it," Ilia stammered.
"Good." Winter took a single, sharp breath, then stepped into the lift. "We should get back just in time for me to dial in to my 0900."
Ilia checked the time on her scroll. Sure enough, they were ascending at just the right time, which Ilia hadn't even been thinking about. Winter had, but how? Ilia hadn't seen her check her scroll…
Winter set the lift to fully rise, then gave a musical-ish noise. "That was a useful tour, don't you think?" Winter said, more conversational than usual.
"Y-yeah," Ilia agreed, even as her nerves were still a-jangle. She was so shaken she'd almost forgotten to be afraid of being in the mine.
"We learned a lot, I'd say," Winter added thoughtfully. It made Ilia want to bite through her own tongue.
Because she'd learned entirely too much.
The head of Fall Dust's legal department was rambling on, but Cinder was barely paying attention. The first few minutes had told her everything she needed to know. Now she was too busy seething.
All thirty-one of her injunctions had been thrown out as a lot, all because of that stupid new law the Council had passed. She knew Fall Dust was the target of that law; Fall Dust was the only Dust company suing so aggressively. That was a bad sign. The Atlas Council was an enemy eventually; she would be their doom in the long run. The last thing she needed was their recognizing her as an enemy now.
Even worse, as her lawyer was reporting to her, there were all these new countersuits to deal with. Even if Cinder's people fought them off—by no means a given—this was all getting too high-profile. When Dust was flooding the market, that couldn't be blamed on an individual company, because every company was in the market. They were all complicit. But when one company was involved in this many suits and countersuits, even Atlas' serially incurious media would notice.
She had the lien to make that problem go away, too, but a few million here and a few million there and pretty soon she was talking serious money.
She returned her attention to the lawyer, who fell silent immediately. "Settle out of court," she commanded. "This strategy has run its course. Agree to drop the lawsuits in exchange for the other companies dropping their countersuits."
"Yes ma'am," said the underling, and scurried out of sight.
Frustration. This was the first real reversal Cinder had suffered, the first stumble in her otherwise unbroken ascent. Nor was it the only indignity. Her strategy of keeping the market flooded had destroyed a third of all Dust companies and given her that many more corpses to loot, but even Fall Dust couldn't lose money forever. Cinder's funds were vast but not inexhaustible, and she had recently received a stern reminder about living within her means. She'd have to cut back soon, let the market reset and find a new equilibrium, even if that let the surviving companies off the hook for now.
Fine. Fine, then. There were other ways, other techniques, other tools.
Cinder raised her scroll—what looked like a top-of-the-line model, and was, but not in the ways any of Atlas' scroll manufacturers would have recognized. The cryptography suite, for example, was not one of the usual options, but a custom job done for Cinder and her… associates.
Cinder went to her contacts list. Picked a number. Dialed.
The call connected.
"Good evening," said Cinder sultrily, "Adam Taurus."
Next time: Break (Even)