Foreword: three years ago, an author named AirForceMuffin started posting a role-reversal AU they called "War Machines". I liked that story a lot, and looked forward to all the places it could go.

It never did. The author last updated in 2021, then seemingly disappeared from the face of the Earth. After a long period of inactivity, the story vanished as well.

That is, as far as I'm concerned, a crying shame. I want there to be a story like that in existence.

So here's my shot at the same premise. I intend to update this every Sunday night until completion. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed its inspiration.

WAR MACHINES

PRELUDE

Colonel James Ironwood flexed his right hand in nervous anticipation. It was a powered prosthetic hand, a new model newly installed, and it didn't seem to have all the kinks worked out of it just yet. It was slower than he'd like, stiffer, and though the techs assured him that this would fade in time, that was cold comfort. What if he needed it at full power tomorrow? What if he needed it at full power ten minutes from now?

There was nothing for it. It wasn't like he could go and ask for his flesh-and-blood arm back, and this prosthetic was stronger and more durable than the last one. It would require less Aura to protect and it would enhance his melee combat. The upgrade was worth it. He just hated the breaking-in period.

Or maybe, he thought to himself, it was this trip that was his main source of nerves.

He looked out the window of the Star Streak-class airship that was carrying him over the glaciers of Solitas. They were far into the wilderness away from Atlas by now, out into the middle of nowhere. The jagged, fang-like peaks of mountains were separated from each other by deep, snow-filled valleys and ravines. Even in high summer, it never melted enough for someone walking through to touch the ground. It seemed bizarre that anyone would willingly come out here.

And yet, he knew, threats to Atlas could arise from anywhere, even from a place like this.

The Star Streak banked right and descended towards the back side of a mountain. Ironwood saw the threat coming into view: a pristine trio of modern-looking buildings sitting on a rare terrace on the mountain's flank. They were built in a triangle enclosing an open space in their midst, and none of them looked more than a year old. If Ironwood didn't know better, he would have thought they were an Atlas military outpost, or perhaps a remote research facility, something akin to Arrowfell. Well, he supposed, that latter notion was close to the mark, except it wasn't Atlas they were working for.

More details came into view as the airship continued its approach. Two Manta airships, the workhorses of the Atlesian military, were already on-site. From this angle he saw blast marks from recent explosions on the ground and on the face of the closest structure. Two Atlesian soldiers stood watch at the entrance to the complex. A specialist, a military Huntsman, was waving the airship towards an open landing spot.

Soon the airship touched down, and Ironwood braced himself for whatever nasty surprises this place had waiting for him. A colonel in the Atlesian military, especially one being groomed to assume Generalship, had many demands on his time, yet the dire language in the request could not be ignored.

When the airship door unsealed, the cold hit Ironwood like a thousand piercing needles. His Aura and warm clothing saved him from the worst of it, but it was another stressor on top of all the rest. This was as bitterly cold as anywhere on Remnant, much colder even than the environs around Atlas, and an unprotected person would go hypothermic in minutes. It was a strong security measure in its own right.

A morbid thought.

"Sir," said the specialist on the ground with a snappy salute, "Specialist Stetson at your service."

"Report, Specialist," said Ironwood briskly.

"We've completed our search of the grounds and the facility. There were some booby traps left over for us. We disarmed most, but one went off."

There was a blast of cold in Ironwood's chest that had nothing to do with the outside air. "Casualties?"

"One, but she'll be okay. She's already been med-evacuated to Atlas."

"Good. I'd hate for a dead man to still be taking lives from us."

"Yes, sir. We think we've gotten them all, now. Dr. Polendina is inside. We called him in to investigate whatever research was being conducted here."

"And he called me in turn," said Ironwood. "Carry on."

"Yes, sir."

Ironwood walked for the open entrance; the door had been blown apart. There were fewer blast marks on the inside than there'd been on the outside, but this still had clearly been the location of armed struggle. Bullet holes and char riddled the walls, while the wrecked chassis of drones littered the hallway in both directions.

"Oh, Colonel, you came. Am I glad to see you."

"Dr. Polendina," said Ironwood respectfully. The older scientist held Ironwood's complete attention. With his tufty, curly gray hair, his gentle eyes set behind modest glasses, and his warm and welcoming voice, Pietro Polendina seemed more like someone's favorite grandfather than one of the greatest minds on all of Remnant. Ironwood knew better. Even if he hadn't, the mechanical chair of Pietro's own invention that he was riding would have been a strong clue.

It was a different model then Pietro usually rode in, with thinner, spindlier legs and a couch that was a third the size of Pietro's usual model. It looked like it would give a much bouncier, much less comfortable ride, but it had the advantage of being more maneuverable in tight spaces and when working around debris. In a place like this, those things mattered more than comfort.

True patriots made sacrifices for the good of Atlas, Ironwood noted, and Pietro was a true patriot.

"What have you found?" he said.

"More and less than I'd hoped," said Pietro. "Most of the data in the computers was either erased or under heavy encryption I haven't broken yet. All the communications logs were wiped. We may never know who Watts was talking to or why."

Ironwood nodded, but he had his own suspicions he didn't dare voice to Pietro. "So we don't know what Watts was doing here, then?"

"We can infer quite a bit. Watts was a polymath, and it looks like he was pursuing several lines of research all at once. The number, power, and build of the computers here suggests he was working on high level cryptography, probably on how to breach the security of Atlas' best systems. There were around twenty Atlesian Knights here, and several in no condition to fight back—like they were test subjects. I'd wager they were Watts' top target."

"Well, that's alarming," said Ironwood. He'd been reassigned from combat duty to head up Atlas' military research and development, part of "broadening his experience" to prepare him for command. Ironwood had resisted at first; now he was starting to see the value of the policy, because he could speak on this subject, when before he'd been ignorant.

"Atlas is producing more AKs every year," he explained, "to reinforce the soldiers and specialists we historically relied on. They'll be everywhere our soldiers are today. If those AKs could be corrupted, they'd go from being Atlas' greatest advantage to being its doom."

"And even that's not the most unsettling piece," said Pietro.

Ironwood frowned. "What could be worse than that?"

Pietro hesitated, then said, "It might be easier to show you." He turned his chair around in the tight space and led Ironwood deeper into the compound.

The installed lights were out, though whether from damage or lost power Ironwood couldn't tell. Temporary lights, placed here and there by the storming Atlesian troops, cast the hall in alternating dark and bright. Pietro's shadow loomed large on the walls. This was not a welcoming place. Unhappy things had happened here, Ironwood could feel it.

He expected Pietro to lead him to something grisly. A private laboratory, a room where body parts floated in test tubes, some sort of abattoir, maybe. Instead, Pietro opened a door leading to the interior of the complex and parked his chair there, blocking the way.

"Are we open for visitors?" said Pietro.

"I think we are," came an answering voice. Pietro gestured at Ironwood and stepped through the doorway into the open area beyond.

This place seemed unfurnished, but that could have been an illusion created by the snow. There were several high snow-covered lumps, as if furniture or gear had stood there and been snowed on until completely concealed. Next to one such lump was a soldier in a lieutenant's uniform, standing at ease but looking not at ease at all.

"Good afternoon," said Pietro, and Ironwood could hear how warm and nonthreatening the man was trying to make his voice. "Could I visit you today?"

No voice answered. The lieutenant looked behind the lump, as if something was back there with her. "Go on," the lieutenant said, to no obvious effect.

"I have someone new for you to meet," said Pietro. "Someone who very much wants to meet you. Someone nice."

Ironwood couldn't remember the last time someone had described him as 'nice', but he didn't dare contradict Pietro. Instead, he stood there in the grip of uncertainty, waiting for whatever, or whomever, Pietro was calling to reveal itself.

To his great surprise, a child's face appeared around the edge of the snow mound.

"Good afternoon," said Pietro, and his chair lowered him until its belly rested on the ground, so that he was only just above the child's eye level. "I'm glad to see you again."

"Hi," the child said, and a hand wearing a mitten appeared and gave a shaky wave of hello.

"I have someone new for you to meet," Pietro said again. "This man's name is James. You want to meet James, don't you?"

Ironwood saw confusion, caution, and curiosity at war on the child's face. Ironwood dropped to one knee to look less imposing, a look he rarely aspired to. "Hello," he said clumsily. He decided to take his cues from Pietro, and said, "My name is James. I'm happy to meet you."

The child looked at Ironwood with gray eyes, looked back up at the lieutenant, and said, "Did the same person dress both of you?"

Oh. The uniform. Ironwood gave a small smile. "You could say that."

He must have passed muster with the child, or curiosity was their strongest emotion after all, because the kid emerged from behind the snow mound. Ironwood processed more details as the range closed: this was a little girl, probably four years old or younger. She had dark hair that seemed to fade to red at the tips, cut short so that nothing hung down her neck. Her outfit was warm and bulky, and bright orange without a stitch of decoration on it. Ironwood could see multiple ways for it to partially open: zippers along the outside of the arms, more along the outside of the legs, two on the front, and he'd guess more on the back.

It was like whoever had designed the outfit had wanted to make different parts of the child accessible without completely stripping her down. More warnings blared in Ironwood's head.

"Hello, Mister James," said the child. She stopped outside of arm's reach.

"Hi," said Ironwood, struggling to conjure up things to say. He rarely interacted with anyone younger than seventeen, and even those youths he struggled with. "You have good manners. What's your name?"

"Ruby."

"How old are you?"

"Dunno."

"Where are you from?"

"Dunno."

"What do you do here?"

Ruby frowned in concentration. "Whatever the man tells me," she said with difficulty.

'The man'. Watts, Ironwood was sure of it. "Do you know where the man went?"

"Dunno. I don't like talking about him."

"That's fair." Ironwood searched for more things to say, and looked over the child again in hopes of finding inspiration. She met his eyes.

He nearly fell over in place. He hadn't realized before, but at this range it was unmistakable. Her eyes weren't gray. They were silver.

Ironwood couldn't help the glance he shot at Pietro. Pietro gave a meaningful nod.

"Well," said Ironwood, his voice shaky beneath the weight of revelation, "you'll never have to do what the man says again, okay?"

"'kay," said Ruby. As Ironwood looked more, he saw the depth of the bags under Ruby's eyes. He wondered how much sleep she'd been allowed to get before the raid, or how much sleep she'd gotten since. Being out here in the cold probably didn't help.

"Lieutenant," he said, looking up at the officer, "is there a place for her to sleep here?"

"Yes, sir."

"And we've verified it safe?"

The lieutenant opened her mouth, then shut it in confusion. "I'm not…"

Not good enough. Ironwood looked back at Ruby. "Would you like to sleep on board my airship?"

She stepped away from him, then turned and ran back to the lieutenant and buried her face against the lieutenant's leg.

"Too much," said Pietro gently. Groaning, Ironwood pulled himself back to his feet.

"Have your soldiers verify the sleeping area safe," Ironwood ordered the lieutenant. "Then get her in bed."

"Yes, sir."

Ironwood heard Pietro withdrawing through the open door. "It was nice to meet you, Ruby," Ironwood said. Then he followed Pietro, though his legs tried to give out on him with every step.

"Thoughts?" Pietro said as they reentered the hallway, but only after Ironwood had shut the door behind them.

"She was the other research subject," Ironwood said, feeling gross with every word.

"I'm nearly certain of it."

"Nearly?" Ironwood repeated. "That data got deleted, too?"

"Yes. Or maybe there's something about her in the encrypted section I haven't cracked yet. Still… even without that data, I have an inkling as to what this was about."

Ironwood looked sharply at Pietro, who seemed hesitant and unsure. "An inkling?"

Pietro wrung his hands together. "I'm honestly a little afraid of what you'll say. My theory will sound… childish. Unbecoming a man of learning. It's the only one I have to go on, though, and the pieces fit."

If this had been Major Ironwood, or even Lieutenant Colonel Ironwood, he might have ended things there. He might have said to Pietro that something that sounded childish likely was childish.

Colonel Ironwood was different. Colonel Ironwood's worldview had been changed, like it or not, only a few weeks prior.

What's your favorite fairy tale?

Colonel Ironwood was more willing to put stock in childish things.

"Her silver eyes," he said.

Pietro slumped in relief. "Exactly that," he said, his tension flooding out with the words. "I'd heard those legends before. 'The great silver-eyed warriors,' valiant fighters that could save whole cities and lead armies to impossible victories over the grimm. They say Mistral would have fallen three times over if not for silver-eyed defenders rising up each time. They say that Vale wouldn't even exist if silver-eyed warriors hadn't cleansed the original site."

Pietro must have realized he'd gotten carried away, because he slumped in embarrassment. "I'd never thought much of those stories. Like I said, I'm a man of learning, not a man of superstition. But then again, I'd never met anyone with silver eyes. It's easy to be skeptical of something you've never seen. It's a little harder when they're right in front of you."

"And it's harder still," said Ironwood, gesturing around them, "when someone thought enough of the legend to dedicate a whole research site to studying it."

"Exactly," said Pietro. "That's what Watts' other line of research was. The other building has a well-stocked medical suite. I don't know how complete it is, I only know enough medicine to work on prosthetics, but it sure looks impressive to me. And yet, there were only two people here that suite could have serviced."

"If it wasn't for Watts," Ironwood said, coming inescapably to the same conclusion as Pietro, "it must have been for Ruby."

"Yes."

Silence overtook the men as they chewed on these thoughts. Ironwood could scarcely imagine what Ruby might have experienced here at the tender mercies of Watts.

Ironwood had only known the man in a professional capacity, and only briefly. His first responsibility upon taking over the R&D division had been to award the research grant for Atlas' next great weapons project. It had not gone to Watts, and Watts… hadn't coped with rejection well.

Specifically, he'd taken a prototype mobile armor out on a joyride in the tundra and smashed the thing into a million pieces.

Forensics had, at the time, declared that no one could have survived a crash like that. Forensics had obviously screwed the pooch. Watts had faked his death, Ironwood had to conclude, only to reappear at this remote site months later.

A man like that with a child in his hands and the freedom to 'investigate' that child however he wanted… Ironwood shuddered. He felt more sympathy for Ruby than ever.

"Is there any way to return her to her home?" said Ironwood.

"I'm not sure there is," said Pietro. "That was the second thing I did, after checking to see if she was hurt. I tried to look her up in Atlas' citizen registry."

"You didn't succeed, then."

"Do you remember the Mantle undermining incident from eight months ago?"

Ironwood clenched his fists. Centinels were the plague of Solitas, and this was their biggest, most catastrophic attack yet: they'd dug under and collapsed two city blocks down in Mantle. Between the collapse, and the frantic fight to contain the damage that'd drawn in half of Mantle's Huntsmen and two of Atlas' battleships, not to mention the second-order grimm invasion pulled in from the terror and panic sparked by the collapse…

It had been fifty of the longest hours of Ironwood's life.

"I do," was what he said.

"Hundreds of people died that day," said Pietro, "but we may never know the true toll. All the fighting buried those poor souls, dead or alive. Only a handful of bodies were ever recovered. What makes it worse is that one of the buildings lost in the collapse held Mantle public records. Birth and citizenship records included. And she's too young to have registered with the school system."

"A little girl completely cut off from her past," said Ironwood. "Do you think Watts noticed her at that time? Or maybe an associate of his…"

"The timing fits well enough. The medical wing was a new addition, probably from about that same timeframe… but with the data erased, I can't know for sure." Pietro shrugged helplessly. "Or she could be from outside the main cities. Public records out in the hinterlands are patchwork at best. The odds of finding her family would be poor, if she even has family still alive."

"Which she probably doesn't," said Ironwood. At Pietro's alarmed look, Ironwood felt himself firm up. "Our reality is that there are far more orphans than childless families, and that's just for the general population. Since Ruby has silver eyes, one or both of her parents must have had them, too. Whoever was trying to study them wouldn't have wanted those parents to come looking for her."

Ironwood saw Pietro trembling in his chair. "Excuse me," he said in a choked voice, and his chair turned to the side so that Pietro didn't have to look at Ironwood. Even then, he crumpled over in his chair, eyes closed and face twisted in pain.

Ironwood remembered too late: Pietro had no children of his own. Talk of orphans and childless families hurt him double.

Ironwood had taken a hit of his semblance almost without thinking about it. Forcing Mettle to relax its grip on him, Ironwood bowed his head in apology. "Sorry, doctor. I didn't mean to imply anything about you."

"It's not about me," said Pietro. "It's… well, it's everything about this situation. It's a little girl with no parents. It's parents without their little girl. And all because of something she couldn't control. It's not her fault!"

"No. She didn't ask to be born with silver eyes. Then again, I don't think anyone asked to be born into…"

Ironwood had to stop himself from finishing the sentence. Too many things that were too revealing might have completed it.

Pietro only saw part of the truth. Not by any failing of his own; no one had told him the whole truth, the foundational truth about Remnant and the forces that shaped its civilizations. Ironwood knew better. It wasn't just some random mad scientist who'd abducted Ruby. It was an agent acting under orders.

"Doctor," Ironwood said, slowly, carefully ordering his thoughts into formation like he might marshal troops on the parade ground, "were you able to find who paid for all of this?"

Pietro dabbed at his eyes before turning a confused look at Ironwood. "Who… paid?"

"Watts didn't build all this on his own," Ironwood said, gesturing around him. "Someone paid for it. Someone who was also interested in attacking Atlas and turning our drones against us."

It took a few moments for Pietro's mind to change tracks, but with stakes this high, Ironwood had to be patient. "I didn't see anything like that. Doesn't mean it's not there, but I'd wager it was erased, too."

"The point is, someone did," Ironwood pressed. "Someone wasn't studying Ruby out of idle curiosity. Someone wanted to use her. If silver-eyed warriors really are what the legends say, think how dangerous that would be to Atlas, to unleash a trained one on us at the same time that our drones betray us."

Pietro nodded as he began to see the shape of it. "And whoever it was, they won't stop just because Watts… well, what did happen to Watts?"

"According to the official report," Ironwood said, "he tried to escape in a miniature airship, but it crashed into a mountain and was buried in the ensuing avalanche. Given that Watts has faked his death once already, I'm going to assume he's alive unless we find his body."

"So he's still out there, and probably still after Ruby," Pietro said.

"And even if he isn't, his mistress is."

Pietro gave Ironwood an appraising look. "You're going somewhere with this. You already have a plan."

"Doctor, what would you say to taking on a second project?"

Pietro's eyes widened. "You mean like Watts was doing?"

"Not like he was," Ironwood said hastily. "We don't even know what exactly he was studying. What I mean is, let's teach Ruby how to defend herself."

Pietro frowned. "Colonel, I… I'm not sure—"

"We just said the enemy is out there," Ironwood said as impatience welled up within him. "If we pass Ruby to an orphanage, the most likely outcome is she grows up alone and unhappy. The worst-case scenario is Watts or his mistress find her again, and she's helpless against them.

"No, the thing to do is to bring her in. Help her maximize her own potential. That way, if the enemy tries to take her again, they'll see what a silver-eyed warrior can do first-hand."

That at least seemed to catch Pietro's imagination, but he still looked troubled. "So we'd choose for her that she'd become a warrior," he said. "She'd never have the chance to be anything else."

"The world won't give her a chance to be anything else," said Ironwood. "Watts has already seen to that. She's a target no matter what we do. The question is whether we'll equip her for that destiny or pretend it's not real. Me? I've never been one for pretending. This is the best way, maybe the only way, to give her a fighting chance."

"If that's so," said Pietro, his face more distressed than ever, "the world is a lot more dangerous for her than I expected."

You have no idea, Ironwood thought. In his head, he'd already decided that he'd be bringing Ruby back to the R&D Department. The only question left was whether Pietro would be on the project team. Ironwood would rather Pietro be involved; if anyone could maximize Ruby's talents, it would be a man with a brilliant mind who already believed in the potential of silver-eyed warriors. But Ironwood didn't need Pietro for this to work.

"I'll think about it," said Pietro, still frowning. "You already authorized the grant money for my main project, and I wouldn't want to give that short shrift. But maybe we do need to give her help. More help, I mean."

"More?"

"Her Aura is already unlocked," said Pietro. "Probably Watts' doing. You know what that means. She'll be more attractive to the grimm even if she does absolutely nothing, just by existing. Even if Watts is gone, she's still in danger."

"Exactly. Which is why you shouldn't think on this too long," said Ironwood. "Ruby will be coming back to Atlas with the lieutenant as soon as she wakes up from her nap. I hope you'll be ready to help her then."

His mind made up, Ironwood walked back to the entrance of the facility to board his airship. He'd seen all he needed to see, and now he had orders to issue, security to arrange, funding to assign, and other leadership tasks to attend to. Not to mention that the Atlesian Knight team probably needed a shakeup and the addition of a couple more cyber security specialists. Even the idea that Atlas' weapons might be turned against it filled Ironwood with revulsion.

Turning weapons against their owners… that was one of the two purposes of this facility, that and weaponizing Ruby. Wouldn't the irony be delicious if Ironwood could do the same right back at Salem? Turn her silver-eyed experiment into his great trump card?

Ironwood had plans for Ruby. Yes he did.

Next time: Her First Friend