The train's whistle blew, loud and clear, through the blazing afternoon light. Winter wished all of those things had dimmer settings. She could do with a quieter, less shrill whistle, and a softer sun.

Those were more symptoms than causes, though. The whistle was sounding because the train was behind schedule in leaving Skjulte Perle. Everything should have been ready: the cargo was loaded, the caboose was hitched, even Ilia was aboard so she could continue her duties as Winter continued hers.

(Ilia had begged off of previous trips, claiming trains gave her motion sickness; either she'd found a prescription since then or she hadn't been telling the truth in the first place. Winter had too much on her plate to worry about which it was.)

Only Weiss was missing.

Which was why Winter was standing there by the mining site office, waiting with mounting frustration for her sister to arrive. She should have been here already, to take over administration/security duties at the mine while Winter went with the train, as per agreed and as they'd done in the past. Instead, this.

At last Winter's keen eyes found a van picking its way along the mountain road towards the mine. It looked like one of the vans that carried miners in for their shift, and it was the right time for third shift to start reporting. If Weiss wasn't on-board, Winter was going to have words.

Weiss was, but Winter was not her first concern.

"…but our odds just went way down," she was saying to the other workers as they debarked. "Team PeCe withdrew earlier today!"

"No way!"

"They were our best shot!"

"I know," bemoaned Weiss. "It's highly irregular, something is going on there. For that matter, one of Beacon's teams withdrew, too—RVBY, I think. I have to wonder if those things are related… somehow…"

At last, at last, Weiss noticed Winter staring daggers at her. Weiss swallowed. Without breaking eye contact with Winter—she seemed unable to—she waved at the other workers. "Go on and get started, I'll be by to talk to the supe in a few minutes."

There was general agreement that Winter ignored. She had eyes only for her sister.

Weiss' guilt was as obvious as it was deserved. "Yes, sister?" she said, and it was so clear to Winter why Weiss would be using a familial mode instead of a formal one—she was trying to head off the explosion she knew to be coming.

"You were supposed to be aboard the last truck," Winter said. "You were supposed to be here in time for the train to be gone already. But you already know that."

"Something came up…" Weiss said feebly.

"Would that 'something' have to do with Team Peace?" Winter said scathingly.

Weiss said nothing, but that was answer enough for Winter.

"If this is impacting your performance," Winter said, "then when I get back, we won't get to have this conversation as sisters. We'll have to have it as business partners. I don't think you'd like that."

Weiss looked queasy, like she didn't dare speak for fear of what might come out.

Winter wanted to continue, at least to demand some sort of response, but the train whistle sounded again. "We'll continue this later, if you give me cause," Winter threatened. Unable to wait any longer, she turned away—looking at her sister would interfere with her summoning.

Her Manticore deposited her neatly on the roof of the caboose. The moment she was inside, she hit a button on her scroll, sending a message she'd queued in advance. All aboard. Start the transit.

There was a clang, a shift. A speaker at the ceiling rang out, "Skjulte Perle Special is now departing."

At every one of these things, Ilia's head snapped about (her long hair flicking along with it). Blind panic was clear on her face.

"Are you sure you want to come along?" Winter asked her. "You can still get off before we pick up speed."

Ilia's head jerked to Winter, like she was still on-edge—but then she closed her eyes. She breathed. Winter recognized what she was seeing. These were regulated breaths, disciplined breaths—the breaths of someone smoothing their emotions and regaining self-control.

Such exercises were known and practiced by people all over the world, but were particularly common amongst Aura-users.

Ilia opened her eyes again; the agitation had mostly faded from them. "I'm sure," she said. "If you're still working on these trips, you'll still need a hand."

"You're not wrong," said Winter. "Very well."

She sat down at the table and pulled up her scroll.

Ilia looked no more relieved when she did.


The night was stretching on.

It had taken Ilia some time to convince Winter to take a nap. Apparently, Winter felt she needed to be awake at all hours during these train trips, to be able to respond instantly if there was a problem. What good was a guard if they slept through the crisis?

Ilia had countered that an exhausted Winter did no one any good, that Winter was already exhausted from all the late nights she pulled normally, and that they could sleep in shifts. Ilia could take first watch until the train got to Junction, and Winter could take the second from Junction back to Skjulte Perle. Only after Ilia promised to wake Winter at the first sign of trouble did Winter consent to going to the rear of the caboose—where bunks were stacked two-high atop a locker, leaving the headspace of the average coffin—to grab some shut-eye.

Ilia did not do this entirely for the sake of Winter's health.

Tension rippled under Ilia's skin, so strongly she thought it'd yank control of her scales at any moment. She held out a faint hope she was worrying over nothing… but she'd never been that lucky. She'd never been able to count on things not getting worse.

Even… even this.

For a few days after sending her duress code, she'd thought she was broken. She didn't know what to make of herself if she couldn't do what she'd longed to do. She'd sleep-walked through the next few days, caught between a broken nightmare and an impossible reality.

It had taken time, but she'd kinda-sorta worked something out. Maybe, if the Schnees were helping the Faunus, then helping them was helping the Faunus, in some strange mathematical way. If this company brought hope to the Faunus, that was worth fostering. She was continuing her mission, just in a different mode than she'd expected. For a while, she'd clung to that.

She'd gotten carried away, doing that. It'd been… nice. Distracting.

Of course it couldn't last. She'd been flirting with disaster from the start. Now the other shoe was dropping. She'd given the right response to her duress code, but apparently someone hadn't believed it.

Maybe this was a false alarm. Maybe she was worked up over nothing. Maybe this would go smoothly.

The world had punished her too often for her to hold out that kind of hope.

So she sat, trying to stay alert, running through all her training on how to stay focused during downtime, and dreading at any moment that she'd see something…

Something.

Out the window, ahead of the caboose—attached to the last cargo car. Wires.

Ilia knew this routine.

The White Fang's best could board a train without any special equipment. Their more typical operatives used grapples and powered trolleys. Sure enough, a figure was riding the wire up and clambering onto the base of the cargo car, where there was a small platform at the back. The darkness might have concealed the figure's garb from a human, but Ilia saw it clearly.

White tabard with red logo. Long, dark sleeves. White mask, cut to resemble the face of a grimm.

The Fang had come.

Ilia stepped to the front of the caboose. It had two doors for noise and air control. She could only hope they'd do the job and ensure Winter stayed asleep.

The cold of the Solitas night hit her like a bomb blast, but she brought her Aura to full power to deflect it. She wasn't concealing anything, not tonight, not from fellow Faunus. She stood on the front balcony of the caboose with only a thin railing enclosing the space.

She noticed almost immediately another wire on the other side of the cargo car, so that it was bracketed. Three uniformed White Fang fighters were aboard already, with a fourth ascending.

As they noticed her, she reached into her oversized coat pocket and drew her weapon before they could draw theirs. She'd carried it every day of her infiltration for her own protection, hoping against hope no one would notice it or that she wouldn't have to use it. The time for caution was past.

Lightning Lash was a segmented sword. With its segments "tight", bound to one another with tiny amounts of Gravity Dust, it was a passable smallsword, light and flexible but with all its kill power concentrated on thrusts. With the flick of a thumb button, the Gravity Dust deactivated, loosening the segments, extending the weapon's length, and transforming it into a barbed whip. In whip form, the weapon relied on Lightning Dust for its damage; every segment carried a small payload of it, so that a brush with any part of the weapon could deliver a dangerous jolt.

It was not a weapon for fighting grimm—too light, too conditional, not enough ability to guarantee kills against an armored carapace. It was clearly specialized for fighting people. Just possessing a solely anti-personnel weapon made its wielder suspicious in the eyes of the law or a too-curious customs official.

Ilia habitually addressed that problem by dodging customs. But if Winter saw it… Winter, who could identify its purpose instantly…

Ilia shook her head, refocused. When Lightning Lash was in her coat, she kept it in whip form, coiled up tightly. Now she reformed it as a smallsword, held it in a guard position.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

The White Fang grunts shared a look, though their expressions were mostly hidden by their masks. "What does it look like?" said one of them.

She supposed it was a stupid question. "I mean, Why are you here when infiltrating SDR was my mission?"

"And who are you supposed to be?" shot back one of the Fang.

Nothing for it. Ilia was taking a terrible risk, but she was out of options. She reached into her coat's other pocket. She never carried this if she could help it, but she'd feared she'd need it that night. Now that her fears had been realized, its time had come.

She donned her White Fang mask, custom-engraved as it was with chameleon-esque horns, and changed her scales' color to an angry red.

"I am Sister Ilia of the White Fang, brothers," she declared. With that combination of Faunus trait, weapon, and mask, impersonation was impossible.

"Sister Ilia!" said one of the Fang. He elbowed his brothers aside. "We'd heard you were… I'm Brother Tyrone!"

"Tyrone," said Ilia in recognition—but suspicion swamped relief. "I thought you were with the Vale Branch."

"I still am, part of Banesaw's Talon."

Ilia's grip on Lightning Lash tightened. "What is the Vale Branch doing in Solitas?"

"Leader Taurus has intensified attacks on all Dust companies," Tyrone replied. "Retaliation for how Faunus trafficking is still happening around the world. He said it would be a shame if a Dust company was left out just because it wasn't in Vale, so he sent us to attack SDR."

That was wild overreach. The White Fang wasn't a free-for-all. Ilia appreciated Adam's righteous wrath, it was inspiring, but this wasn't his turf, and sending his agents cross-continent was as wasteful as it was risky.

Not only that, but…

"I sent messages," Ilia said, her voice straining even as she shouted to be heard, "that SDR was not to be attacked!"

The White Fang started so badly one of them almost lost his mask.

"That's… impossible," said Tyrone.

"So is this company, but here we are," said Ilia. "If you hit SDR, you're harming the Faunus."

She'd focused on getting that most important fact out first… but it was the least believable fact. She felt their hesitation and doubt.

"Faunus own 49% of this company," she continued, rushing on. "They share its profits and they make its decisions. This is the most Faunus-friendly company on the continent! If you attack it, you impoverish the Faunus."

Again the other Fang looked about in confusion. Ilia understood. It had taken her months of direct exposure to SDR to appreciate its different reality, to overcome her expectations for how Dust companies—how the world writ large—worked.

These Fang were pumped up to do a mission, psyched into their combat modes of thought. Now Ilia was demanding they undergo the same transition she'd made, but in real-time while in a hostile mindset.

Too big an ask. She had to find another way. "Did Leader Taurus mention I was already here?" Ilia said.

"N-no," said Tyrone. "He said a White Fang agent had come here, but was… compromised."

Vague language. A way to lie without lying. "I'm not compromised, I'm right here," Ilia replied. "And he should have known that. I sent my reports as ordered. My handlers sent my duress code and I gave the all-clear. I don't even report to him, what would he know about my mission?"

"Are you saying Leader Taurus lied to us?" growled one of the Fang.

Ilia understood the warning immediately. Challenging Adam's charisma head-on was foolhardy. "I'm saying Leader Taurus didn't have all the facts," she said, trying to finesse it. "He didn't get my reports, so he doesn't understand about SDR. I do."

"He said you were compromised," Tyrone said slowly. "Compromised doesn't have to mean 'dead' or 'captured'. It could mean… turned."

Ilia's scales almost ached as they pushed the harshest, brightest red in their spectrum. "Turned, Brother Tyrone? Me, Ilia Amitola, turned against the Faunus?!"

"You're stopping us, aren't you?" he replied.

His words forced Ilia to consider that this might end with a fight.

Tactics-brain kicked in. During the conversation, the fourth member of their group had arrived. Still, the terrain was with Ilia. She had room to maneuver on the caboose's balcony; they were packed in tight with four people in a smaller space. She was a deadly fighter, one of the best in the Fang; they might not even have unlocked Auras. This job wouldn't have taken four of them if they did.

She knew they were armed, but none of them had drawn yet while her weapon was already in-hand. Anything they brought with them on a job like this would have to be light and limber; she would not be outgunned even if they all drew at once. If it came to blows, she'd win.

That was cold comfort. A fight against fellow Brothers and Sisters would be awful. Hurting them would be worse. It'd make her sick. And it would be noisy. A noisy fight would wake Winter. Then Winter would see her like this.

Even if Ilia won, she'd lose.

But she couldn't let them take the train.

"I would, if you made me," she said. "But I don't want to."

"We're kinda stuck then, aren't we?"

There was a holler from behind and below—from the vehicles that had brought these Fang here, that were pacing the train on either side, waiting for them to cut first the caboose, then the engine, free. This was taking too long. If whoever was in those vehicles had an itchy trigger finger, couldn't wait, didn't understand what was going on…

She felt their impatience. She saw the same from the Fang before her. They were demanding more than she could give.

What reassurance could she offer? What could possibly reach them?

Four Fang, not understanding, having been told wrong by a Leader they trusted completely…

A Leader who knew their pain…

Their pain…

Heart hammering in her chest at the terrible risk she was taking, Ilia lowered Lightning Lash. She knelt on both knees, raised her head to bare her neck in animal submission, and rapped a fist against her breastbone.

"I swear on the souls of my parents," she said, her voice cracking and her scales turning blue with her words, "this company is good for the Faunus. Attacking it would harm the Faunus. May Panzoa curse me a human if I lie."

The only sounds were the rushing wind and the clatter of the train. The silence stretched out. Ilia didn't dare move, even to look at her audience. She couldn't do anything that might break the spell.

To humans, the God of Animals was just a character in a fairy tale. To many Faunus- and especially the Faunus most inclined to join the White Fang- they were Panzoa, and they were the only god worth worshipping.

One did not invoke Panzoa lightly.

"You're… serious," murmured one of the group, almost inaudible beneath the clatter.

"If I'm lying, tell Leader Taurus, High Leader Khan, anyone, everyone," Ilia said. "Bar me from Menagerie forever and force me to live amongst humans. But this is the truth. If it were any different, I'd have killed the Schnees myself months ago."

She swallowed hard and said the impossible.

"But my mother and father wouldn't forgive me if I did that now."

Their jaws were slack with every word she spoke. At last, at last her intent seemed to break through somehow. The four infiltrators exchanged looks and words of wonder. Ilia's oaths had touched everything the Faunus—and especially the Fang—held sacred. It was the absolute most she could do with words alone. She could only hope they were enough.

She kept her eyes averted as the murmuring continued. Her neck twinged from keeping her head at the uncomfortable angle, but she had to bear it. She had to be perfectly sincere to win them over.

There was another holler from the trucks below. Time was up. The infiltrators had to choose—had to decide if she was trustworthy or not. Now or never.

"Leader Taurus," said Tyrone through gritted teeth, "will have a hard time believing us. What are we supposed to tell him if we come home empty-handed?"

Ilia understood. Adam's intolerance for failure was infamous. So was his vindictiveness against turncoats—which might include her, if he continued to not understand her situation.

What else could Ilia do, though?

She reached for her face and doffed her mask. She held it, trembling for several long seconds. There had been times in her life she'd considered this her true face, the proper manifestation of what she'd become.

Well, it'd serve that purpose still, she supposed.

She stood again and held out the mask to Tyrone. "Take this," she said. "It'll be proof you met me. It'll tell Leader Taurus who to bl…" her voice hitched, "…whose word to take."

He regarded it with shock she could see even despite his mask. "You're leaving the Fang?"

"No!" she shouted, before shaking her head and trying again. "No. I still serve the Fang, the Faunus, just not how Adam thinks I do. I'll make a new mask later."

Tyrone held her gaze with his own masked face for long seconds, as if waiting for her to change her mind, or say she was joking, or pull back and swing her sword. She did none of those things. She held firm.

She was done with doubt. She'd trembled and nearly failed before. She wouldn't tonight. She knew what was demanded of her now.

Tyrone extended a hand—an empty one, holding no weapon. Gingerly, he took the mask from her, almost dropping it for a terrifying second before grasping it firmly. He looked at and touched it, like he was prodding for evidence of counterfeiting. It must have passed inspection; he pocketed it.

"For the Faunus," he said quietly.

"For the Faunus," she echoed. "A necessary sacrifice."

He gave a firm nod, then whistled sharply, and the other Fang jerked into motion. The closest grabbed the powered trolley still in place on the wire. In an uncomfortable-looking but practiced move, he swung out into space and let the trolley take him back down towards the vehicles below.

One by one, the Fang grunts left, until only Tyrone was left. "Tell me," he said quietly, "how did you know we were coming?"

"A member of the Atlas Branch spotted your group at Port Solitas," she replied. "They reported it to Atlas' other Fang agents because they didn't know what you were doing here."

Tyrone nodded. "I'm starting to wonder that, too."

He grabbed the trolley and left.

When he was clear, Ilia detached the cables from the train. To either side of the caboose, the trucks carrying the Fang peeled away from the train and disappeared into the night.

Ilia stumbled back against the caboose door, light-headed and empty, like a wrung-out sponge.

She was so glad she hadn't had to use Lightning Lash.

Absent-mindedly she coiled the weapon back up and returned it to her pocket. Her concentration and willpower spent, she released her grip on her Aura. The cold hammered her immediately. It felt terrible, but also detached, like it was happening to someone else far away. Like nothing could touch her true self right then.

She patted the now-empty pocket where her mask had been. There'd been plenty of times—especially when she was passing as human—when she'd thought of that mask as her true face. Maybe… maybe her own face was good enough? True enough?

She'd have to make another mask, of course. She was still White Fang.

But… she didn't need it to help her people. That was novel.

Sucking in a breath, she hauled herself to her feet and shuffled her way back inside the caboose. Her eyes immediately went to the sleeping compartment. Even with Faunus night vision, there wasn't much she could make out. Winter looked like she was still there, though, turned away on her side so that her back was to the door.

Maybe she hadn't seen or heard anything. Well, of course she hadn't! If Winter Schnee knew she was locked in a caboose with a member of the White Fang, she'd have thrown Ilia overboard already.

No, Winter was none the wiser. Ilia had to hope that, at least.

She collapsed into a chair to wait for dawn.


From the mining site office, Weiss could see the train in the distance. Its tracks didn't run anywhere near the mine, instead following the path of least resistance to clear the mountains before breaking into the open tundra beyond.

That wouldn't stop Winter, though. Winter had said she'd be dropping by the mine on her way back, and what would be impassable terrain for others was merely inconvenient for Specialist Schnee.

Sure enough, after a few minutes Weiss could pick out the incoming Winter, riding a blindingly white Manticore summons. The trip must have been a good one, Weiss thought, and certainly more relaxing than usual, for Winter to have no problem burning a decent chunk of Aura just for expediency.

Weiss went out to meet her sister, who landed with aplomb right outside the office. To Weiss' slight surprise, Winter didn't dispel the summons immediately, instead putting a hand atop its head after dismounting. Winter seemed strangely unfocused.

"Welcome back, sister," said Weiss with a curtsy. "I'm guessing the trip went well."

Winter nodded absently.

"Company business proceeded as usual while you were out," Weiss went on in the absence of a response. "But there was one change made."

Winter blinked. Her eyes finally refocused and fell on Weiss. "Yes?"

"I didn't look at even a single minute of the Vytal Festival," Weiss said proudly.

Winter gave a minute frown.

Weiss' discomfort rose. "You were criticizing me for paying too much attention to it before you left."

Winter shook her head slowly. "If that's what you think, you missed the point."

Indignation kicked discomfort to the curb. "Then what was the point?"

"It was about your overall commitment to the company and your own health," Winter said. "We have to take care of such things."

"I believe I am," Weiss said, crossing her arms.

Winter huffed. "Whether you are or not, I'm not sure I'm in a position to…" She seemed to shift mental gears before Weiss' eyes. She picked up her scroll, swiped once, and looked. "Okay, I have an hour before my next call. We need to exercise."

"Why are we changing the subject in general, and why to that specifically?"

"Healthy body, healthy mind. And if the grimm aren't going to give us enough practice, we'll need to get back into our own routines. How long has it been since you and I worked at it?"

"I'll get the exact number if you want," Weiss said, though she was sure that wasn't what Winter was after.

It wasn't. Winter reached out with her hand; her manticore summons took two loping bounds and then lifted off into the air. "Try and bring it down," she said.

Weiss didn't uncross her arms. "You've told me before you hate it when people are cryptic, but you're not being very forthcoming yourself right now."

Winter sighed and reached for her scroll again. She tapped it. The first article up had a bold headline.

WHITE FANG CLAIMS RESPONSIBILITY FOR DUST RAIDS ACROSS REMNANT

Weiss' eyes skimmed the article, seeing the different times and places mentioned—most, but not all, in Sanus. "What do all of these have to do with us?" she asked.

"We're not on the list," said Winter. "SDR, I mean."

"I would know if we were," said Weiss, not understanding. "What's your point?"

"'What if our comparative advantage'," Winter quoted with visible difficulty, "'is that we don't have to worry about the White Fang?'"

Weiss's eyes widened.

"Your idea was correct," Winter went on. "We're doing better business by doing better by the Faunus. We don't have to participate in the… in the travesty of the other companies… and we're better for it."

Weiss could tell how hard it had been for Winter to say that. She wasn't sure she would have been able to, in Winter's position. "You signed on, too," Weiss said. "You embraced the idea and refined it and made it work."

"Yes, but it was your idea in the first place, and you deserve the credit for it." She looked at Weiss, a gleam in her eye. "Now let's see if you have any good ideas about combat."

Weiss brought Myrtenaster to bear. "Anytime, sister," she said.

Winter gave a small smile as her summons roared.


Next time: Malplaquet