The SDC had hundreds of mines spread all throughout Remnant. Naturally they brought a boom to any town they came to, but often the mines were depleted just as quickly as the towns went up to surround them. Many mines were written off, and so too were the towns abandoned. Since there was no more use for them, the records of their existence were also removed, and some towns were even retaken by the very gripping hands of nature itself.

Three cargo trucks arrived at the site of one such defunct SDC mine around midmorning and headed straight into the cover of a large cave. Darkness enshrouded the interior for a few hundred feet before their headlights illuminated a large gateway ahead that opened on their arrival. The trucks came to a stop as a team of Happy Huntress guardsmen came out to inspect the trucks, checking every compartment and everyone aboard for Atlas spies or stowaways. Once the search was complete, the leader of the group clapped the side of the lead truck, and the convoy drove deeper into the cave system until they arrived in a brightly lit cavern, greeted by many more Happy Huntress members.

Ruby climbed out the back of the lead truck, followed by Thistle and the others. She undid the tailgate and took a crate as she told the others, "Okay, let's get this stuff unloaded! Come on! Take what you can carry and move out!"

"So quick to give orders?" Thistle grunted, throwing a large crate over her shoulder. She caught up next to Ruby, who was already walking fairly fast for the storage lot, and she knew why. "Ruby, this deal with your sister…"

"Not now," Ruby snapped, setting her crate down at the lot. She tried to get away quickly as Thistle set her crate down, but she was grabbed by the arm and taken aside.

"I'm sure now is as good a time as any," Thistle told her, with a tone that was as measured as it was firm.

Ruby wrenched herself out of her grasp. She was reluctant to do so but decided to take this around the corner, away from the unloading area. Once she was sure they were clear, she took a breath and told her, "I'm still working it out."

"I can tell," Thistle responded. "You've been silent the entire way here, and now you are right into hardline work mode. I just want to make sure your head is still in the game."

"And I appreciate it, and I'm telling you I'm fine," Ruby hissed.

Thistle, however, was not convinced. She pulled out a cigarette, lit it and took a puff. She carried on sardonically, "You do this like clockwork, you know. A year with you has told me that much. Something happens with your sister, you get worked up and shut down, then you do this droning thing and god-help-anyone if they get in your way…"

Ruby didn't say a single word. She kept eye contact with her, but only so far as she could keep her gaze on the cusp of looking away.

Thistle added, with an added firmness: "But I'm not anyone. I will notice these things about you; I will follow you when you think you don't want to be; and I will get in your way, because I know that's when you need me most." She put a hand on Ruby's shoulder. "So quit the sulking act and talk to me."

Bit by bit, Ruby felt the walls she put up be broken down. She sighed and fell against the wall beside Thistle. She said, "You're right. It's just…there were so many ways I wanted that moment between she and I to go that didn't…" she caught a glimpse of how Thistle was looking at her—an unserious glare with a raised brow—to which she added, "but I guess I shouldn't surprised either. When we graduated Beacon, I thought that she and I finally did it: save Beacon, save Vale, become Huntresses, and we'd go out into the world and do things just like we said we would. But she was in so much pain then, and I knew why, but I didn't know how to help her. Why'd I even think I could change anything between us now, after everything's gotten worse?"

Thistle took a long drag and let the smoke vent through her nostrils. "You're right: it was pretty dumb to believe you could just say hi like nothing happened since the last you two spoke."

"Thanks, Thistle, that is super uplifting and helpful," Ruby groaned.

"Look," Thistle took a step and put herself in the center of Ruby's view, "if it were me in your position, and my brother was in Yang's, I'd be ditching this place and going somewhere else until the heat dies down."

"That's even more unhelpful." Ruby felt her fists balling up. "I can't just leave. The Happy Huntresses need me; Robyn needs me; the people of Mantle need me; Remnant needs me—'

"—And Yang needs you," Thistle cut in swiftly.

At that, Ruby felt as though a boulder ready to fall off a tall pillar, and Thistle had knocked it back with just the right amount of force to push it back, yet gentle enough to not fall the other way. She took in a long, steadying breath, and lamented, "Yeah…she does."

Thistle took another drag of smoke, and let it escape lazily out of her as she spoke, "I know I'd do anything for my brother. When all else failed, he and I were all we had—I know he's still waiting for the day I bust him out of jail for buying me time to escape with you."

"We'll get your brother out, Thistle," Ruby told her. "We will."

Thistle shook her head. "That's besides the point. What's important is that even though you aren't good at dealing with others' pain, sometimes just sitting there by their side is better than nothing at all. For Yang, you might just have to knock some sense into her first—and if you don't want to do that, you can always leave this place and do that other thing I told you. Whatever way you do it, I'll stand by you."

Ruby looked away for a moment. Thistle felt prompted to cup her cheek and make her look back at her. Ruby let a soft breath escape her, and felt their foreheads touch. Once she finally broke away, she nodded and told her, "You're right. We gotta keep moving forward."

"Keep moving forward," Thistle repeated, smiling. She clapped Ruby's shoulder and told her, "Let's finish unloading. Robyn will want us to tell her what we got."

Ruby nodded, following her lead as Thistle went back around the corner. "Right. Good idea."

Deeper within the cave, two guards stood watch at the entrance to what was once the mineshaft supervisors office, now the operational hub for Robyn Hill.

"I know it was a risky move," said Robyn to another over holocall, "but I'm telling you we have the situation handled."

"So you keep saying," Robyn's lieutenant responded, annoyedly. "Meanwhile Atlas has men and aircraft swarming the outer perimeter, and it's getting more difficult to keep my own people safe while scouting out holes in their security for you to exploit. I'm telling you, last night was a flop and now I think you should postpone any more ops until the heat dies down."

"I can't do that now, Crimson, not when we are so close…" Robyn sounded desperate.

A sigh came through the other end of the line. "I'll keep making my rounds and feed you regular updates. You tell your people to lay low for a while in the meantime, until we can get new time maps laid out?—we'll talk later." At that, the connection was severed.

Robyn took a couple steps back, and then she collapsed in her chair. A long stream of air escaped her while the weight of her body compressed and shifted into the shape of the disheveled and worn armchair, with her head laid atop and looking at the ceiling. Her eyes were absent from life, just for that moment when she did not want to think of anything else, when she wanted to just stop and let her mind wander without any particular thought in mind. That being said, there was one thought that kept running around and around, and she had a feeling she'd be having some words with one of her top agents about it very soon.

"Ms. Hill," announced one of the guards, "Ruby and Thistle are here to see you."

Robyn gestured for them to come in. She turned her chair and looked up to meet their eyes as they walked in. "Welcome back," she told them, her voice somewhat raspy. She cleared away some papers as she asked them, "Did the supply run go as bad as I heard it did?"

Thistle looked at Ruby, who returned the gaze with a shrug, to which she gave a slight eye roll and made herself the one to speak first: "We gathered the usual payload: Dust, explosives, monthly schedules, the works."

Robyn nodded. She appeared to approve, but the expression on her face did not convey the optimism either of them were hoping to see, especially when her words finally came out: "That is good news, but…" her gaze shifted to Ruby, "I want to hear what else happened, and I want to hear it from you."

"I already talked to her," Thistle came forward, her words were firm. "There's no need for this, it was already hard enough right after the fact."

"It's okay, Thistle," Ruby stepped forward and took her seat. "It will only be a minute."

And so Ruby spoke, and told Robyn everything that had happened about the night at the White Knight plant. She did her best to not leave out any details, and Robyn listened, but whether the Happy Huntress leader was sympathetic, intrigued, troubled or indifferent, was hard to tell. On Ruby's part, rehashing the same details while doing her best not to feel much of anything through it, but her face telegraphed everything clear as day. It was a relief when she finally finished.

"I am sorry you had to go through that," Robyn told her.

"You're not upset?" Ruby felt some slight shock, having expected a stronger reaction from her.

Robyn shook her head. "It is distressing, but in the end you did what you had to do. I don't need my semblance to know that. I shudder to imagine how different things would have been if you and Thistle weren't there and it was just Fionna and May."

Ruby nodded. There was some relief, but only a little.

Robyn took a deep breath, stood and told her, "Go ahead and take some time to yourself. I'm having our operations grounded until further notice. It should give you a chance to recuperate."

"What about preparations for our next major op?" Ruby asked.

For a moment, Robyn seemed unsure how to respond. That is until she told her, "That is still on. Crimson says it might be a lost cause now, but I'm not letting that train slip through our fingers."

All around the office, on the walls and on adjacent tables, there were maps and blueprints for the Atlesian Military rail system, the sets of track exclusively operated by the kingdom that ran almost parallel with the civilian lines. Solidas was a massive landscape of ice and snow, and many of the rail lines were always buried in thick layers of snow—on any given day a train ran through, the tracks would be hidden away again hours later in the nightly snowfall. The map of the train routes hung on the wall behind Robyn like a trophy, and it was scribbled with bright colored ink detailing which lines were which, and a red line that led up into the glacial flats near the north pole. Beside the map was a list of names and faces, a handful of whom were circled. It was clear the map route was a prison transport.

Thistle was looking at the list, at every face from top to bottom, and there was a glint in her eye like something, or someone, was missing.

"Too many people have been punished for speaking out against Atlas, arrested just for saying what everyone else is afraid to, and fighting when they know something needs to be fought," Robyn said, in a round of words that have been said so many times it came out second nature, "If we can free the people on that train, we'll be that much stronger and more able to carry on greater battles."

"I just hope we can get everyone out…" Thistle said, in a whisper, but still aloud.

Robyn, having heard her, nodded and responded, "I can't promise your brother will be on that train, trust me, I have been scouring the lists. Whether he is or not, I want you to stick to the plan. Can you do that?" She wanted to make her compassion come through, but she knew it was overshadowed by a looming undertone she tried to keep hidden.

Ruby went and took Thistle's hand. Thistle tightened her grasp in turn, while her breath trembled slightly. They shared a brief look, then she turned to Robyn and asked, "Is there anything else you needed from us?"

Robyn shook her head, and gestured for them to go. She told them, "I need to head down to the hangar. You two go and get some rest. I'll call you when I need you."

The two nodded, and left without another word.

The barracks were the old resting area for the workers deep in the mines. The air was always noticeably stuffier as one traveled further down below the surface, and it got warmer too as the heaters had an easier time fighting the cold that came from outside.

Ruby and Thistle reached a branch to another part of the cave on their path, lined heavily with grid-wire and electric cables leading into where the group had designated the general communications area, a place where anyone who felt homesick or had to make contact with someone else could call safely—within reason, most calls were encouraged to be kept short.

Ruby broke away from Thistle to go down that way. "Go on ahead, I'll catch up in a bit."

"Calling that old friend again?" Thistle asked.

Ruby nodded. "It's been a few weeks. Might as well, right?"

"Might be a good idea to touch base then" said Thistle. She patted Ruby's shoulder as she turned to walk off. "Say hi to Snowflake for me!"

Ruby giggled. "Will do!" she called back, then she turned to enter the communications center.

It wasn't the most welcoming place to stroll into, but looks came second where it concerned bands of rebels who only needed for things to function. Barely lit with adequate lighting, loose wires hanging from the roof of the cave, and of course the ugly grid wire that prevented their signals from being tracked. Then there was the main floor of the place, dotted with terminals that were almost always ripped out of public areas or from the scrapyards, some of which were a few years behind the newer and faster communication systems that were built after the attack of Beacon; nothing a little retrofitting couldn't fix, of course.

Ruby took a seat at one such terminal, which flickered on and showed her the main menu. Prompted by a contact input bar, she entered the desired number and clicked the dial. Then all she had to do was wait, something that always took a little while it seemed.

Finally, the receiver picked up and the connection was established. There was no picture for Ruby to see, but the soft, cool voice on the other end was unmistakable:

"You finally called again, it's been a long time this time," it was Weiss. She sounded relieved.

"Yeah, it has," Ruby answered. For additional safety, neither of them were supposed to use their names during the call; one could not be too careful. They carried on casually, as Ruby added, "How have you been?"

"Dreadful as ever," Weiss' tone ran as typically cold as ice. "Things keep getting worse here. There have been three riots just in the past week, and Atlas is sending more units down to keep the peace."

"I heard about those," said Ruby, "the things I've heard have been awful."

"It's a powder keg is what it is," it sounded as though Weiss was almost on the verge of irritants, but then she digressed and asked, "How about you?"

"Last mission was a bit of a toss up," Ruby said, in as vague of terms as she could manage, "Got what the team was after, but not exactly a smooth or clean run."

"Oh?"

Ruby sighed. Out with it, might as well, "Let's just say I saw a familiar face."

"I see," a short pause on her end. "She's still as stubborn as I remember?"

"Unfortunately," Ruby sighed. "But my friend and I can handle her."

"I hope so," Weiss answered. "You know I have my own share of family issues—and as it happens I have to deal with one of them today."

"What for?" Ruby asked, knowing she wouldn't get a clear answer.

"Concerning a mutual friend of ours," Weiss told her. "Another directive was given out and I have to go deal with the aftermath."

This made Ruby slightly uncomfortable. She did know who Weiss was referring to, and the way she worded her answer did not bode well. She looked at the timer beside the screen, if she took too long then the operator would cut them off, and besides that she couldn't inquire any further on principle as is. The best she could respond with was as follows: "Then I hope all goes well."

"Same here."

Without another word, Ruby ended the call.

Mantle, the city cast beneath the shadow of Atlas, an uneasy respite to foreigners, and a hell to those who lived there. Airships patrolled over the streets at all hours, cameras and spotlights peering down unceasingly for anyone who might be breaking curfew, their hulls loaded with shock troops for when the need for them came. Down below, pillars of smoke rose over the tallest buildings from the riots that happened days before, still burning rubber, oil and Dust with seemingly no end. On the outer brim of the city, large mechs patrolled the ground around watchtowers which dotted the perimeter, ready to keep the Grimm and any other force out—and, to an extent, everyone else in.

One such resident, many would find to be a shock to behold; others, an insult.

Weiss closed the burner scroll and set it back in a nearby drawer. Then she returned to the window and looked down at the streets below from her penthouse—which was in every respect the best she could find in Mantle—peering with dull eyes that had become nearly gray, gently swirling around a mug of coffee that had become lukewarm. In her offhand, she twiddled with the silk sash of her robe. She wouldn't be able to head out for another hour, so why get dressed when being in a hurry was treated with criminality now? Not that she got out much in the first place; only ever when it had to do with her relatively minor business dealings.

A quiet boom drew her eye. Another plume of smoke rose from behind a building a few blocks away. Airships near the area went in to investigate, one of which opened its doors to allow a squad of shock troops to dive in and quell whatever mayhem had unfolded down there. There was probably gunfire too, but that was muffled from the hardened glass she had installed after she moved in. Can never be too careful. But then again, Mantle was probably the last place someone like her should've been. She slowly turned her head away from the scene of the incident, back down to the streets which she could see clear as day.

That hour rolled by, and right on cue with the sun rising and the streetlights shutting down, an alarm howled, followed by the local public announcements system blaring out it's routine message:

"O' six hundred hours, O' six hundred hours…curfew is lifted, curfew is lifted."

Well, now it was worthwhile to get dressed, so she went and did so. Her bedroom was through a door just next to the living room, and on the foot of her bed sat her wardrobe for the day, a white skirt and matching blazer. Simple, easy to put on, easier to take off. She went to neaten up her hair next, brushing it out and tying it back in her signature ponytail. She took a look at herself in the mirror for one final check about her appearance; not a single blemish to be found, which was her cue to finally get on with her day.

The streets of Mantle looked just as bad as the city itself did from afar. Not once could a person look and not see something on fire, or a fight breaking out, or armed patrols on both sides of the streets, or the graffiti that seemed to grow more and more pervasive as the days went by like vines growing on the trunk of a tree. Driving was a nightmare, especially for Klein as he drove Weiss to their first destination.

Eyes red, a raging growl escaped his mouth as he said, "I swear these streets get worse every day!"

Weiss sat in silence looking out the window at the people who walked down the sidewalk going the same way, filling a growing line of transients who were probably just on their way to grab a morning coffee before work. There was a checkpoint just ahead, guarded by a Paladin (the ban on military robotics required mechs to be manned; the automation software was completely wiped) and a platoon of soldiers. Large screens were posted along the walls of the buildings, all of which displayed countless faces of people who Atlas placed on the kingdom watchlist, everyone young and old, human and faunus, all of which could be innocent or felonious, but all treated the same. Sometimes she could even find faces on the streets that had been shown before, ghosts who were careful about where they walked, anxiously hoping for their luck not to run out. There were moments where some faces would blink red, then fade away and be replaced by another, a sign that the checkpoints were already finding and detaining people. Minutes went by, as did the faces, and she wondered when the day would come when Ruby would wind up on those boards next—if what she'd been told held true, it would be very soon.

After what felt like forever, Klein and Weiss made it to the checkpoint to have their identities checked. Klein rolled down the window and was greeted by the checkpoint inspector.

"Identification, sir," said the officer, his voice digitally muffled behind his mask. He scanned the car, seeing Weiss in the infrared and telling her, "You as well, ma'am."

"I have hers here," said Klein, handing over their identification cards.

The inspector was reluctant, but he could be heard letting go a sigh, then he took the cards and held them in front of his mask for a cross scan. His HUD showed green checks all around, but he still needed one more thing. "I need to see her face. Please roll down the window."

"Why don't I roll you down…" Klein muttered under breath.

The inspector leaned in closer. If it weren't for the mask, everyone would see the man behind was narrowing his eyes like daggers at him. "What?"

Kleins eyes snapped light blue, letting go a harsh sneeze before telling him with a higher tone, "Pardon me, I caught a sniffle…hah-choo! Let me roll the window down, uh…here, yes!" He reached and pressed the button.

Weiss didn't react to the window being rolled down, nor being presented with the inhuman glare of the inspector looking down on her. She just looked up blankly at him, allowing her face to be scanned.

The inspector nodded, turning back to Klein and asking him, "What is your purpose and how long will you remain in this district?"

"Business meetings, we should be back by late this evening," Klein replied.

The inspector looked back at Weiss, to which he asked, "Is this correct?"

Weiss looked his way, giving a soft nod.

But the inspector stepped closer to her, saying, "I need you to verbally reply for the polygraph."

She ultimately sighed, telling him, "I have a meeting with my brother, and then the local clinic in the late afternoon. Late this evening or earlier is when I expect for us to return."

The inspector nodded, handing their identifications back to Klein as he told them, "You're clear to pass. Please cross the line and do not stop or slow down."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," groaned Klein, eyes red again as he had already started driving and rolling up the window. He turned the overhead mirror to find Weiss, asking her, "To think, he probably knew who we were too, didn't he?"

Weiss didn't answer, still looking out the window as she had been the whole ride.

Klein's eyes went back to brown as he took a deep breath, continuing to drive through the busy streets, being careful not to move too fast or too slow, lest they'd be pulled over and have their identifications checked again.

Down one street as they passed through an intersection, Weiss spotted another protest line facing down a squad of Atlas troops and another Paladin. She heard their cries, their angry woes, vengeful curses, all unintelligible, but all understood. While the crowd's chants and voices were muffled by one another, the pilot of the Paladin could be heard loud and clear: "Disperse! Cease and clear the road!" This was received by empty bottles and rocks thrown at the mech, but it did nothing but allow the troops on the ground to move in and detain the aggressors, dragging them from the crowd and throwing them to the ground in cuffs. It then devolved into a small brawl, but it was quickly brought down after the Paladin fired off smoke pellets, which the rest of the troops went in and detained the remainder of the confused crowd.

Weiss sighed at the sight, knowing there wasn't much she could do about it. She looked away from the window and opened her scroll, swiping through the latest news. The Vale Council admonished Atlas again for yet another city-wide riot turned to a near warzone, making a point to remind the other kingdoms what happened during Beacon; Vacuo was in the midst of its own internal conflict that had been going on since Desert Schism, skirmishes between guerilla insurgents and joint-kingdom forces; it seemed Mistral was the only kingdom giving overtures to Atlas, which wasn't surprising after Ironwood's forces pretty much wiped out nearly all bandit and criminal activity in just a few months—but there were rumors being reported that one bandit tribe remained elusive, however there was nothing that could be made official; negotiations between Menagerie's estranged government and White Fang envoys fell through again, and the former were asking again for support from the surrounding kingdoms. So much chaos, so much misery, it almost seemed as if another war was just around the corner.

The headquarters of White Knight was up on the floating landmass of Atlas, the same tower that belonged to the SDC until Ironwood issued the directive to seize control of the company and all its assets domestic and abroad. The SDC sign was replaced by an intertwined WK, and a new metallic cage around the building gave the facade the appearance of a checkerboard. And who had Ironwood appointed to be the head of the company?

None other than Whitely Schnee.

Weiss had to board an escort ship to be brought up to the tower, scheduled courteously by her brother. It wasn't hard to spot the building as the airship rose over the edge of the city; when she first saw it she almost laughed. Of course he went with such a design, he always beat her and even Winter at chess. Maybe the whole thing was one big pile of sand in her face, or maybe it was just his own ego. Maybe both.

Arriving at the headquarters was always the same. The airship would land, Weiss climbed out, she'd be greeted by any one of the guards assigned to escort her, and then they'd walk through a series of highly secure doors and hallways on the way down to Whitley's office. Coming out through a glass double door, Weiss and her escort entered into the anteroom, where a secretary sat at her desk looking her way.

"Mr. Schnee is on a call right now, he asked not to be disturbed," said the secretary.

Weiss crossed her arms, looking down at the woman while non verbally expressing her disdain to hear that. She told her, "Are you certain I can't just go inside and wait?"

"I'm afraid not," she replied, her tone unchanged. She pushed back her glasses and met her eye, telling her, "You should know better than I do that Mr. Schnee doesn't like being interrupted while on call…" she gestured to a row of chairs, "please have a seat."

Weiss sighed, turning swiftly and taking a seat along the wall. She tapped her foot against the floor, the sound of her heel echoed within the room; the original carpet floor had been replaced by black and white marble. It seemed removing as much of the SDC from the building as possible was high on the priorities after seizing the company, right down to the carpet floor. She slumped over and rested her chin in her palms, looking down at her vague reflection in a black square tile at her feet.

At the sound of a sharp beep, the secretary and Weiss looked up at each other. The secretary smiled and told her, "Mr. Schnee is ready for you."

Weiss promptly stood up and went to the door, which opened automatically and invited her into Whitley's office, which too bore the scars of the indiscriminate renovations. Even the pair of arma gigas displays were swapped out for stark white knights riding on horses of quartz.

Whitley had grown to appear older than he really was. For a young man barely in his twenties, he was now taller than Weiss, and had a faint pale shadow for a beard-in-the-making, and his face was sharper. He wore a blinding white suit complete with a black shirt and blue tie.

"Sister," his voice had deepened and acquired a sharper nasally drawl that took after and even surpassed their father's. He straightened his tie, giving a slighted grin as he told her, "It is good to see you again."

"Let's get down to it, Whitley, I have other places to be," she told him. She found her seat and sat down.

"Right to the point, as always," he sighed, taking his seat in a chair much larger than he was. "How disappointing, how much matters of business take away from family matters."

"I just don't want to spend any more time breathing this place's air than I have to," she spat.

Whitely rolled his eyes. Then he decided to get to business: "I hope we can come to an agreement regarding the General's latest directive; it would be very productive for us both to come to terms we can agree on."

"Sadly you'd be mistaken," she told him. "I'm not going to cede control of the clinics—especially not to you."

It was not a fact well known except only by those who were involved, that Weiss had been an investor in the clinics of Mantle shortly after taking up residence there. The seizure of the SDC left both she and Whitley with sizable fortunes, on top of their inheritance and trusts, and while one chose to enrich himself through his work under Ironwood, the other opted to use her money to help others affected by the former two. Weiss knew it was thankless, and often losses were more than she could count, but she did keep them standing when they'd otherwise have failed years ago.

That being said, Ironwood's latest directive changed things: nationalizing the clinics meant she'd have to give up her holdings and take another stipend in return, just like the SDC. Existing staff would either have to sign on to become Atlas personnel, otherwise it was either leave with a stipend or be kicked out onto the streets for treason. She wasn't blind to it. Ironwood and Whitley had every intention of tightening their grip over Mantle, and whether they wanted to admit it or not, it was going to make things worse, and she knew it.

"Must we go over this again?" Whitley exclaimed, sighing while his head fell lazily to the side. He got up from his chair, making his way around to explain like he had many times before. "I am simply doing my part to help the kingdom I serve. Your ill-will towards me won't stop that any more than it did rebelling against our father—and what a waste of time that turned out to be."

But Weiss remained resolute. "I'm not changing my mind."

"Must you always act like a child?" he hissed. When he got no answer from her, he continued his vitriol: "I don't understand you! How can you live down there and not see things the way we do? What do you gain from it? Our name means nothing down there! That city is becoming more and more like a jungle every day, and while the General and I fight to make things civil again, you have it in your head that you have any moral superiority by holding onto a few run down clinics who serve rabble and thugs!"

"You spend too much time in this tower," Weiss snapped.

For a moment, Whitley had been gripping the edge of the desk tightly in his hands, until he digressed and carried on with forced smoothness to cover the shrill of his tone: "And you need to see the world for what it is. Our father did."

"I do," she told him, standing up and taking steps close enough to be face to face with him. "You can berate me, threaten me, or whatever you want, but it will be a cold day in hell before I give up the clinics to you or Ironwood."

"You are talking about treason," Whitley answered, nearly on the verge of screaming.

Weiss' head twisted slightly, while her expression hardened. "Then arrest me."

Impossible. No, difficult. Whitely had a task and he knew he blew it as she turned and left the office. When the doors closed behind her, he had allowed himself to relinquish all control of his inner rage; his chest started rising and falling and fiery heaves came and left his lungs, and his eyes burned with an intensity like he could shatter glass with a single look.

However, like cold water thrown over a flame, he doused it and regained control of his faculties. Softly, he said aloud, "Fine. You want to play that way, I'll play and I'll win—just like I always did."

A sour taste had been left in her mouth the entire trip back down from Atlas to Mantle, and during the car ride from the terminal to the downtown district. Just like before, Weiss viewed the streets with the same morbid blankness, seeing how pale and gray the city was turning, how pale the passing peoples faces were becoming, and the gradual muckiness of the soldiers armor. It was like a rot setting in, one that was quite grimm—for a moment, she wondered if there had been a difference between the monsters outside and the ones looming within.

After turning another corner, Klein parked the car in front of a building with a large green clinic logo on the side. There was a line of people leading out halfway to the far corner of the block, all with various injuries that needed care.

"Take us around the corner," Weiss said.

"Of course," Klein replied, putting the car back into gear and driving around the building. He took them to a backlot behind the clinic, where thankfully there was no one else around to navigate past.

Weiss stepped out, straightening her skirt before she made her way to the backdoor steps. She stopped at Klein's door and told him, "Go ahead and start making your rounds, I'll be done by the time you come back."

"Right you will, Ms. Schnee, I won't take too long." Without another word, Klein rolled the window back up and moved out of the alley.

Once he was gone, Weiss reached into the inner pocket of her blazer and pulled a keycard. She swept it over a sensor pad and the door clicked open, allowing her entry inside.

Two out of three times the clinic was full, and it seemed today was going to be another one of those times; she could see the silhouettes of people who were waiting inside, half of whom may be lucky to have their turn in the course of the day.

The part of the clinic she was in had seen better days, though there was a noticeable degree of care given to the many articles of equipment and supplies that were strewn about in a somewhat organized manner.

Then she spotted who she was meeting: an old gentleman with snowy hair in a large walking chair. "Good morning, Dr. Pollendina."

"Ms. Schnee!" Pietro turned to face her, bearing a big smile which contrasted against his tired baggy eyes. "I'm pleased you could make it."

Weiss walked over to shake his hand, though she looked again at the shadows behind the opaque glass and told him softly, "I apologize for coming through the back unannounced, the front looked crowded and I didn't want to draw attention. Seems you're already at your limit. Did something happen?"

"Another clinic closed down. My clinic and others have taken the overflow," Pietro told her, rubbing his brow. "Jiminy tried to hold out as long as he could, but-"

"I could reach out to him if you'd like," Weiss told him.

Pietro sighed. He looked back at the people who lined up in the main lobby, then to a door behind Weiss that said SURGERY above it. He called out, "Penny, cover for me, will you dear?"

"One second!" Penny called out from behind the door. Then, more quietly, she was heard telling her patient, "Okay, sir, just close your eyes and take a deep breath…" the very next moment, the sounds of tools hissing and howling blew through, as did some uncomfortable groaning from the patient she was working on. The sounds stopped as quickly as they started, and Penny could be heard again cheerily telling the patient, "There you go, good as new!"

The patient left the room not long after—a sheep faunus with a broken left horn and a shiny new prosthetic arm. He spotted Weiss out the corner of his eye and seemed to shrink in her presence.

Penny came out right behind him, dressed in a white and green nurses scrub. She too spotted Weiss and immediately lit up like a lightbulb, zipping in to hug her tight. "Hey Weiss! It is so good to see you again!"

Weiss returned the gesture as best she could, although she was having trouble breathing. She grunted out, "Good...to see you...too."

"Oh! My bad," Penny said as she let her go. "Sorry about that. I still don't really know my own strength."

"It's fine, no harm done." Weiss looked back at the faunus, who was getting cleared by Pietro, noticed him looking back at her and he glanced away. When it seemed like a good opportunity to talk, she walked up and asked him softly, "What's your name?"

The faunus looked back at her, seemingly shocked that she was talking to him at all. He was however thrown off by her tone, having thought she was going to scold him for simply looking at her. He took a steep breath and told her, "Ovid."

"What happened?" Weiss asked, looking at his injuries.

Ovid blinked, looked at his arm and told her, "I got mixed up in a riot a couple days ago. The soldiers thought I was one of them and chased me through the alleys. I made a wrong turn and one of them shoved me onto the street in front of one of those convoy trucks…" he started fidgeting with his broken horn, running the tips of his fingers over the freshly cracked bone. "It-...it hurt, a lot…"

"I'm so sorry to hear that," Weiss told him, letting her genuine compassion be known to him.

Ovid nodded. Now he had the look of deep curiosity, and was compelled to ask her, "I, uh...I know who you are...but what's someone like you doing in a place like this?"

"I help fund the clinic," Weiss told him.

"A miracle she does too," Pietro added. "If it weren't for her, I'd have closed down ages ago."

Once again Ovid was shocked. He met Weiss' eye again, gratitude waning on his lips as he told her, "I had no idea there was a Schnee in the world that really cared about us. Thank you."

Weiss smiled, offering her hand to him, which he quickly took and shook hands with. She told him, "Be careful out there. Okay?"

Ovid nodded. "I will." He gave Weiss, Pietro and Penny a wave goodbye and left.

Pietro looked Penny's way and told her, "Can you please watch the clinic for a while? I need to attend a meeting with our benefactor."

Penny gave him a big wide smile and a salute. "You can count on me!" She zipped to the door, opening it to allow the next patient through. "Okay, ma'am, let's see if we can get your eye fixed."

Pietro flicked his head for Weiss to follow him to the elevator leading up to his home where things were a bit more comfortable, and quieter. Even still, the murmurs and chatter among the patients could be heard through the windows that were cracked open. They were closed shut for the sake of privacy.

Weiss took a seat on a sofa in the living room, and Pietro guided his chair to a spot just near the fireplace across from her.

"I'm glad you came," said Pietro, a shade disheartened. "Things haven't been easy."

"I know," Weiss answered. "And it won't get any easier under Ironwood's new directive." She leaned forward, her tone more grave as she added: "You won't be able to keep Penny safe for much longer. I can stall maybe for a short while, but sooner or later something will have to be done to protect her."

"Don't you think I know that?" he almost growled. "A whole year I spent rebuilding her—time, money, resources and even my own heart and soul!—and now I risk losing her again!"

Weiss felt his despair like it was a wave of heat. Yet she herself remained composed as she told him, "I know people who can help get her out. It's a big risk, but the only safe bet is that you and Penny leave Mantle and find somewhere else to keep her safe."

Pietro seemed a hurricane of mixed thoughts and emotions, and she could sense his stubbornness from where she sat, his acknowledgement that she was right, and his refusal to accept it.

"I- I can't just leave…" he finally came out and said.

Weiss heard it in his voice: the torture of being both a father and a healer, one clashing with the other. It came out like a metal cable facing the incredible strain of forces tugging in both directions.

He was trying so hard to have it both ways, and was finding he couldn't have one without sacrificing the other.

"I have people who depend on me here too," he told her. "I provide things that some of the other clinics don't, things that even keep people from the verge of death. Some days people come in and tell me coming through here is the only good thing that happens to them on any given day. If I leave, I'm leaving a lot of good people behind—good people. And if I go, who will be able to provide what I do?"

"Are you willing to give up protecting Penny if it means staying here, knowing she'll be taken away and destroyed?" Weiss told him, and before he got heated and defensive, she just as quickly added: "It's not just your career on the line, or her life either—your own life will be over too for breaking the ban on robots and be given the highest sentence that can be handed out because she is a sentient machine. By all accounts, she is a living being as far as I am concerned, but they aren't going to care what you did to give her life—she's nothing but nuts and bolts to them."

There it was. Pietro looked as though struck by a wrecking ball. Weiss knew it was cruel to speak in such a way, but it was the only way to get through to him without drawing out the conversation needlessly with pointless can's and cannot's. She had to break through those walls he'd been putting up as quickly as possible—and the way he turned and looked down into the fire was evidence enough to her that she succeeded.

"I know this is hard," she told him, softening up. "And believe me, I would want nothing more than to be able to stay and figure it out if it were myself in your position. But you need to make the hard choice: keep Penny safe, or risk losing her for good. If any one of those people downstairs were given the option, I'd bet my life they'd choose to save their daughter."

Pietro stayed silent only for a moment longer, mulling things over in his mind, checking her statements against his own, finding more and more that she was right. He had been trying so hard to believe otherwise, but in the end there was only one option that was truly the right one.

He sighed, and asked her, "Who do you know that can help us?"

Klein had returned to the clinic a short while ago, wearing a new pair of glasses from the local optometrist. He checked his scroll for his list of errands, smiling at the sight of all the little green checkmarks next to crossed off tasks—glasses, check; groceries and other items needed, checks all around; Ice Dust for a .300 Magnus, check—all that was left now was to wait for Weiss to end her meeting. And once Weiss concludes her meeting, that would mark the end of the day's activities.

Before too long, Weiss came out the back doors. To Klein, she appeared to be very tired.

As she entered the car, he turned and asked her, "Is everything alright, Ms. Schnee?"

Weiss did not answer for a moment. She appeared contemplative, looking at herself in the opaque reflection of the window. Of course, she had it in mind to answer "no, not really" to him, but that was par for the course as far as days went these past few years.

"Take me home, please," she finally said.

Once she was home, Weiss dismissed Klein and immediately went for a shower, wanting to wash the day off of her. She would have eaten dinner once she was done, but skipped it since her appetite felt abismal at that point.

Then she was alone once again, looking down at the city of Mantle as the people below got ready for the evening curfew siren.

"Attention," went the announcements. "Curfew will take effect at nineteen-hundred hours, all civilians caught after hours will be subject to identification check; you will be detained if you refuse to comply. You have thirty minutes to return to your homes, or otherwise find lodging to stay until dawn tomorrow. Thank you for your compliance."

Weiss went into her bedroom. Her path was going to talk her to her bed, but she stopped and made a slow turn, and her eyes fell on Myrtenaster. Her weapon sat in a glass case propped up in front of the window, like a relic frozen in time.

She went and opened the lid, running her fingers over the cool metal handle, grabbed it and went to pose in front of the mirror.

Myrtenaster felt heavier than she remembered, so much so that her wrist strained and she struggled to keep the point straight and true ahead of her. Her form had been off too, and no matter how much she tried correcting it, it always faltered in one way or another.

She stopped and let her arm fall like a weight attached to it. A deep sigh left her as she looked up and down at herself—five years of inaction had taken its toll on her body, she was even sure that dancing might be an impossible task now; everything had been so diminished that the thought of fighting felt like a dream.

No. She could still fight. Maybe not in the way she used to, but she was more resourceful than before. She knew what she had to do, an idea of how to accomplish it. But still the questions rang like a bell. At what cost? She had money, naturally, but that did not matter much to her anymore. Her home? She just wanted to disappear, fade into the background and help people in an unseen way—maybe she could still do that, if it really came down to it, it would only be more difficult if the worst case occured. What about Klein? If something happened to her, he'd take part of the fall too. In fact, the same went for Pietro in the same circumstances; he's a father desperate to make a good life for his daughter, and was doing all he could to keep the walls from closing in on her. Perhaps if nothing else, it would give him solace knowing she was safe.

She rubbed her eyes. She felt her energy waning. But she had one more thing to do before she went to bed.

She returned Myrtenaster to its case and clasped it shut. Then she retrieved her burner scroll and opened the interface. She remembered the trouble she had to go through to meet Ruby again and receive it, and recalled what she told her about how difficult it would be to use—for the sake of both of their safety, it was a necessary sacrifice if it meant they had a line to each other, as strenuous as it was.

There were no saved contacts, for one thing. The scroll was coded to automatically delete and erase all call records and numbers, and generally it was only ever used to receive calls. If she wanted to send a message, she had to do so by contacting a specific terminal line that was only given out to very few people. For Ruby, Weiss was the exception.

"Let's see…" Weiss brought up the number pad and tried to recall the terminal line Ruby gave her. She could only remember it, never write it down. "XG29…312-…KE295…44…" Then she pressed call.

It worked! The call was going through!

It took only a moment until the person on the other end picked up. However, nothing was said on their end. Weiss was the one who initiated the call; she was the one who had to speak.

"A dove lands at one of the ten gates to heaven; a red bird joins to share the seed; the sun shines to mourn the day."

The call ended when she finished. And yet she was not in the least bit surprised or concerned. She didn't know who was there to receive her message, but she had the look in her eye that she was confident it didn't go unheard.