AN: I know, I know, I have WAY too many stories in my profile to consider writing another one, but goddammit, this little idea refused to get outta my head. With the release of Mass Effect Legendary Edition around the corner, I figured it was time to hop back into the fandom and see how well I could write a Mass Effect story!

Also, trigger warning for suicidal thoughts, extreme self hatred, suicidal attempts and actual suicide for this chapter.

Prologue: Why Do I Still Live

It was hard to believe, but once upon a time, Whitley was a happy child.

He had everything a child could want. He had two loving sisters, a proud father, and a mother who cherished him.

So where...where did it all go wrong?

While Whitley personally liked to believe it was when Winter left to join the Atlas Military, he couldn't help but think that there were many factors that could be blamed.

Could it have been the death of his beloved Uncle Nickel, pushing Father to being far more cruel and callous to his workers, and especially his family?

Could it have been when his mother began to retreat into the bottle, getting so thoroughly drunk that she'd forget she had a son on her good days, or trying to throw glass bottles at him on her bad days?

Could it just have been that he had always been weak and pathetic, being one of the few people unlucky enough to be born as a man who could never access aura in his lifetime?

Or could it have been that he couldn't control his emotions as well as his father and ended up ranting at Weiss about how her admiration of her sister was wrong, thoroughly driving a wedge between the two that would last for the rest of his life?

Whitley couldn't tell. And at this point, staring at the revolver on top of his father's desk, he didn't even want to bother.

It would be so easy. So simple. Just a quick grab and pull of the trigger and he wouldn't have to deal with this unending nightmare that was this household.

Whitley heard a loud knock on his door.

"Master Whitley? Are you in there?" a voice cried out.

Whitley sighed, before quickly putting the gun into a small drawer.

"What is it, Klein?" he asked.

"Your sister, she's returned from Beacon!"

Whitley stilled. While he had long learned how futile it was to hope, he couldn't help but wonder if maybe he and Weiss could make up for everything. If perhaps, he could get his sister back. The one who laughed at his jokes and helped cheer him up when he was bogged down with studies.

"I see. I'll be down soon."

Of course, it was too much to hope. Weiss had apparently fought in the Battle for Beacon, a devastating conflict that saw her Huntress Academy taken over by the Grimm. Whitley scoffed. It was certainly a tragedy, but the way Weiss was acting was ridiculous, as if the whole world had ended and she was the only one to walk it's ashes. What about him?! He's been stuck in this HELL for the past year, and he could still walk around and at least pretend things were alright!

"Good afternoon, sister." he said, coming ahead of her. "A pleasure to see you out of your room for a change."

Weiss frowned. "Hello Whitley. You're in a cheery mood today."

Whitley fixed on his best smile. "Klein made crepes for breakfast." Hmm, this was better than he expected. Perhaps this could be his chance to-

"What do you want?" Weiss asked, exasperated.

Whitley felt his fists clench behind his back.

It was his greatest flaw, the one that always fucked everything up beyond fixing.

No matter how many times he tried to rid himself of them, his temper and his pride always got the better of him.

He could feel the acidic retort on the tip of his tongue. At the very last moment, he held it in.

"I heard Father shouting with someone in his study, earlier."

"Mother?" Weiss asked, as if she knew their mother's habits quite well.

"No, she's already drinking in the garden. I think it was a man. I just wanted to warn you. I think he wants to speak to you."

Weiss looked away, abashed. "I'll be fine" she said.

Whitley's smile was a tiny bit brighter now. "I know you will."

Maybe this was his chance. Hmm. She always idolized Winter. Perhaps praising her would break the ice between them better."You're strong, just like Winter."

Weiss looked at Whitley, confused. "You've never liked Winter."

Whitley chuckled "True, but you can't deny her resolve."

Weiss stared at Whitley, suspicious of her brother's change in behavior.

"You seem….different."

Whitley's fists started to clench again. How he hated the way Weiss stared at him, as if he had no right to change, or to grow.

"And you've been gone." he growled. Quickly trying to reign in his anger, Whitley cleared his throat.

"I'll have you know, I didn't stop growing while I was away at Beacon. Anyway, good luck with Father."

Whitley didn't know what to feel. A part of him wanted to patch things up with his sister.

Another part of him kept telling him that there was no point to it. Nothing would change, and he was a fool for considering otherwise.

A Few Hours Later, After Weiss's Party Meltdown

Whitley walked into the room, wondering what to say.

"Hello sister.", he said. Good starting point, nothing inflammatory at all.

She dismissed her glyph and turned around. "Leave." she commanded.

Red started to cloud his vision again.

"How hurtful." he muttered. "And here I was about to offer you a favor. Father's taking me into town to see some business associates, and I was going to see if you wanted anything. But, if you really want me to leave that badly, then I'll leave."

As Whitley turned to leave, he heard Weiss scoff. "Are you jealous? Is that it?"

Jealous?

Jealous of what?! Because she had Aura when he could never use it?! Because she had the freedom he could never have?!

His teeth grinded together. "What do you mean." he growled.

"Is that why you hate me? Are you jealous of my abilities? Of Winter's?"

He turned around, the shadows of the mansion obscuring his features as they formed into a tight, emotionless mask.

"Believe what you want. It doesn't matter. Nothing will change."

He had held hope before, but now he knew the truth. No matter how much he wished it, nothing would change in this household. Father was a megalomaniac, Mother was a drunk, and his sisters would walk over his corpse on the street if he died. That was the way it always was, and that was the way it would be, no matter what.

A Few Days Later, after Weiss's Departure

Whitley's Father took out a bottle of scotch.

"Son, you're never going to believe it! The company accepted your idea on the automation of our business! Soon, 95% of our workforce will be replaced by your machines!"

Whitley smiled. "That's good." he muttered to himself. He had seen the conditions of the mines himself, once. It was a sight that had stuck with him ever since. Perhaps this was the first step into fixing them.

"Of course, I had to make a few...adjustments."

Whitley stilled. "What do you mean?"

Jacques sighed. "Whitley, I know you are an intelligent child, far more intelligent than most of your peers, but you must see it from the view of the board. No one wants to accept the idea that the improvement to our logistics and business as a whole is the result of the work of a 15 year old boy. So, I had to tell them that I created the idea, that I had been hard at work trying to find more humane and profitable ways to run our business."

"But….it was my idea. I made the designs, I created the prototypes. I spent years of my blood, sweat, and tears on this."

Jacques patted Whitley's shoulder. "I know, son. One day, when I step down and you take my place in the SDC, your genius will pave the way forwards. For now, however, you must realize that this is the best way to proceed until you come of age."

Whitley severely doubted that statement, but it was all he had left. So he nodded and smiled.

Even if the smile didn't hold any emotion to it.

Months Later

Whitley heard the doorbell ring. Strange. All the guests were here already.

Well, if there was one thing Father had drilled into his head, it was to be polite. He opened the door.

And was greeted by a horde of Huntsmen and Huntresses.

His vision immediately fixated on Weiss.

"Good evening everyone." he said, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Where's Klein?" Weiss asked.

Whitley felt that familiar red haze clouding his vision again. All those months his sister had been gone and that was the first thing that cropped into her head?!

"What an interesting way to say 'Hello, dear brother! How have you been!'"

He snarled at Weiss, his face coming within inches of his sister as he leaned down from his growing height.

"You won't find him here. Klein was let go. I can't imagine why." he drawled sarcastically, taking pleasure in the hurt look on his sister's face.

The Next Day

Whitley could hear his mother crying in her room.

What now? He thought, exasperated.

Against his better judgement, he opened the door, fully expecting a glass bottle to hit him in the face yet again.

To his surprise, he wasn't. Instead, he was treated to the sight of broken furniture and bottles littering the floor. In the middle of the room was his mother, sobbing into a white dress.

"Willow?" he asks, unable to bring himself to use the term of endearment he once had for this woman.

"I don't want to do it anymore." she sobbed.

Whitley sighed, deciding to play along this once. "Do what?" he asked.

"Can't you call it off, Papa?" she cries. At that moment, Whitley realizes that white dress his mother was holding was a wedding dress.

"I don't want to marry him anymore. It's-" she chokes, shaking her head. "It's going to be awful."

"Willow" he repeats, trying to get the woman's attention.

"Please Papa! He's a horrible man. I know it! If we get married, then-" She couldn't continue. She sobbed even harder.

Whitley sighed. He should just leave her to this delusion of hers. She'd never defended him, never bothered to help him, and on top of that, she mistook him for Father every time he tried to help her. Shouting, screeching, and throwing all kinds of objects at him in a drunken rage was a norm he'd quickly gotten used to.

But leaving someone like this felt wrong, in a way that twisted his stomach into knots. Even if it was the woman that had tried to kill him with a wine bottle.

"Ok." he said.

"Wh-what?" Willow asked, in disbelief.

"You don't have to marry him. I will stop this arrangement. I promise." Whitley has lied before. It never felt particularly pleasant whenever he had to, but this time felt particularly bitter.

"Really? You'd do that, Papa?"

A small heat builds in his eyes before it is extinguished. Whitley had no more tears to shed. Not anymore.

"Of course, Willow. I would do anything for my children. You know that."

The lie is all that Willow needs to lunge forward and embrace him. The first time in almost….he can't even remember.

"Thank you, Papa! Thank you!" her voice cracks, the relief palpable to everyone in the room.

Even though it was bought by a lie, Whitley can't resist the temptation to hug his mother back. For a few moments, he could almost believe that he had his mother back, that everything was going to be alright and that this broken family could piece itself back together again.

A Few Days Later

Whitley had to give credit where credit was due. If there was one thing Weiss excelled at, it was bringing all his work and effort crashing down with extreme ease. In an instant, Father had been thrown in prison, the Schnee's were only a few steps away from losing everything, and he had nowhere else to go. He stared at the revolver on his Father's desk. He took it slowly, cocking the hammer back.

It would be so easy. So simple. Just a quick grab and pull of the trigger and he wouldn't have to deal with this unending nightmare that was his entire existence, a nightmare that grew worse every bloody day.

He unconsciously started putting it against his chin.

Suddenly, he heard a loud knock echo across the house.

Whitley sighed, before putting the revolver back in it's place. He ran downstairs to see what the commotion was about.

Surprise, surprise, it was Weiss. At this point, Whitley wasn't even shocked that his flesh and blood was aiming her weapon at his throat. He was the monster, after all. The carbon copy of Father that she and Winter and Willow despised merely for existing. Her friends glared at him as well, like he was a Grimm they were hired to slay.

Whitley found himself unconsciously trying to get the fugitives out of their house.

"Things are already bad enough after what you did to Father, and now you want us to harbor fugitives, too? Our family has a reputation."

"That's what you're worried about? Your reputation?" the Faunus snarled at him.

He turned to Weiss, almost begging. "Weiss, our reputation...it is all we have left. The debtors and creditors are doing everything in their power to seize what we have, and the board smells blood. We have no money and no allies left now. We've lost all the house staff, and Willow has locked herself in her room." Weiss and Willow had always gotten along better than he did. Perhaps Weiss would show some concern for her.

Weiss didn't even blink.

"Maybe you haven't figured what's going on, Whitley, but we're busy trying to save Atlas."

Considering that communications were blacked out right now, no. Whitley hadn't figured out what was going on. Before Whitley could point it out, however, a girl in red stepped between them, holding up her hands.

"Look, our friend is hurt. We just need a place to lay low while she rests, and then we'll be out of your way."

Whitley had to give credit where credit was due. At least the girl was trying to be diplomatic.

"Fine." he sighed. "What do you expect me to do then?" Whitley had long given up hope, but he couldn't help thinking that this could be a moment where he could fix things between him and Weiss. Perhaps-

"Go to your room." his sister said, pointing upwards.

Whitley could only stand there for a few moments, before slowly heading upstairs.

So that's how it is.

As soon as he closed the door to his Father's study, he slid on the wall.

What a fool he'd been. To think that anything could change. That he could find some small sliver of happiness.

But he was Whitley Schnee. As far as the world was concerned, he didn't deserve any happiness.

He sighed, pulling out a scroll. He'd do this one final act of kindness, one small bit of good, so that when he died, he could at least say he did something worthwhile with his life, short as it was.

"Master Whitley, what's going on? Are you alright?"

Whitley growled "Don't pretend to be concerned for my sake now, Klein. You haven't cared for years." He sighed. "There's a girl here. Orange haired. Huntress. She's a friend of Weiss, and she's been badly wounded. She needs your medical expertise."

"I'll come over right away." And with that, Whitley hung up.

Whitley took the revolver out from his Father's drawer.

"So be it." he muttered softly, loading the one bullet that had been placed next to the gun in the chamber. He cocked the revolver and held it against his head.

"Rational thinking only."

And with that, he pulled the trigger.

BANG

And this time, the gun fired.

However, there was something Whitley didn't know. The dust round that had been put inside the revolver wasn't an ordinary dust round, or even an elemental dust round. Rather, it was a prototype bit of dust that had started being utilized in secret projects involving space travel. This particular sample had been shaped into a small bullet so Jacques could sneak it out of the labs without it drawing too much attention. Needing a decent hiding spot, Jacques had decided to put it in the one place he was sure no one would look for it.

His own revolver, untouched since the day he bought it.

And at that moment, when Whitley pulled the trigger, it activated.

A loud explosion went off in the mansion. However, when Weiss and the others ran into the room to investigate, all they found were a few pieces of metal, blood, and a note with three words written on it.

You win. Goodbye

Citadel Station, 2174 A.D

Hannah Shepard sighed. Her daughter had recently gone off to train in the N7 program. Now, Hannah couldn't contact her daughter for the next few months, at least. She couldn't help but feel lonely.

Suddenly, she heard a loud explosion going off outside her office. She rushed out, wondering if they were under attack.

What greeted her eyes was a bleeding child, with his right eye and right arm covered in shrapnel.

She could see the crowd slowly gathering around, wondering what was happening. She slowly picked him up, putting her ear to his chest.

It was there. A heartbeat. Small, and growing slower, but present.

Hannah quickly got up and ran to the nearest clinic.

"MOVE!" she shouted, clearing a path between her and the crowd.