When Arthur Watts was a boy, his very first dream was to change the world. He didn't know how or in what way back then, but the details hadn't mattered much to him at that age. He just wanted to make an impact on Remnant. The origin of such idealistic (yet vague) ambition could be sourced directly from his parents.

Arthur's father was a full blooded Atlesian, a highly respected nobleman who could trace his roots all the way back to the first settlers of Solitas. In contrast, Arthur's mother was Mistral born, an art auctioneer that had moved to Atlas for a change of clientele (and escape from her former work peddling contraband for Mistrali crime syndicates).

Both had instilled in Arthur (at a very young age) a deep respect for Atlas, and an entrepreneurial spirit. They were born in the same generation as Nicholas Schnee after all. They had seen what the work and grit of a single soul could accomplish with enough fire in their belly. They had truly believed the acts of one individual—of one man—could shift the very axis the planet spun upon.

And at the time, Arthur agreed with them. It's what led to him enrolling in Atlas academy. Not as a huntsman (dear gods no), but to explore the many paths that could lead him to greatness. Perhaps he wouldn't be on the forefront of pioneering the dust trade like good old Nick, but Arthur was perfectly fine with that. He'd find his own path to glory.

When he shipped off to the academy, his parents wishing him luck as he settled into the campus dormitories, the only thing certain in Arthur's mind was that his future could only curve upward from there.

Then his family home exploded and his entire worldview fell apart.

A bomb had been snuck into the Watts family estate, and the resulting blast had left Arthur's parents severely burned and in critical condition.

Sitting by their hospital beds as their blistered skin bubbled with pus and infection, Arthur Watts had felt utterly powerless. But, like a gift from the gods, it was in that very moment that Arthur unlocked his semblance:

Preservation.

His aura had spilled from his fingertips, enveloping his parents in a green glow that did not help heal them or boost their own tapped out auras, but rather preserved their organic tissue to prevent the damage from getting worse.

Before Arthur unlocked his semblance, the doctors had informed him he'd be lucky if his parents survived the next couple hours. With his semblance factoring in, they survived the next three days, until Arthur's aura was completely spent. During that near 72 hours of focus and determination, his parents had only one request:

For him to stop and let them die.

His semblance not only prolonged their life, but also their suffering. What was already an agonizing, excruciating slow road to death, was spread out to even longer, unexplored depths of pain.

But he ignored them, and dragged them through each tumultuous, labored moment. He was just one man—but as his parents had taught him, even one man could change the world.

At the end of those three exhausting days, Arthur learned that "one man" couldn't even save two people, much less contest the whims of the world itself. All his effort accomplished was to exasperate their passing, pushing his parents so far (in their final moments he shared with them) to curse the name of their only son.

All he had wanted was to help, and they hated him for it.

The explosive was later discovered to have been planted by goons of a Mistrali crime family, apparently slighted by one of his mother's past deals. By the time Arthur learned of this, he didn't have the heart to care anymore—

Because his parents had lied to him.

Effort and willpower could only get one man so far in the world. Despite all their talk of helping to cement Arthur's legacy, their own achievements meant nothing after they died.

Arthur's father went on and on about their noble pedigree, but how many people in Remnant actually cared (or even knew ) about the Watts family? Even among the lesser houses of Atlas' elite, the name Watts held little renown or recognition.

Arthur's mother circled some of the most sought after social cliques in Remnant's art world, selling and establishing the works of countless prolific artists. But did anyone remember her name when they hung those same masterpieces in both mansions and museums? They remembered the creators, perhaps. But never her.

The world didn't mourn his parents, Arthur did. They simply never achieved anything deserving of the world's collective grief… they weren't worthy of that honor.

When he returned to Atlas Academy to continue his studies, he walked onto that campus a changed man. A man that (unlike his parents) would be worthy of the world's attention. And if effort and willpower weren't enough to achieve that…

He'd find other ways to stack the odds in his favor.

Arthur had scarcely held his doctorate for a few days before he began conducting human experimentation. Or, more accurately, faunus experimentation. A distinction that ethically shouldn't have made a difference under Atlas law.

But it did. And Arthur was ever so thankful for that leniency.

After his parents' deaths, Arthur had plunged himself into the forefront of medical innovation. His semblance had proven exceptionally useful for conducting surgery, and allowed him much more wiggle room for testing out ideas and new techniques. One such idea was so brilliant and well received, he was hired on the spot upon graduation: Cybernetic prosthetics. Capable of connecting to the human nervous system directly. His designs were sound, but untested. And considering the permanent alterations required for a human body to test said designs, few were willing to volunteer. But with a recent change in SDC leadership and safety regulations, well…

There certainly were many faunus laborers in need of prosthetics once Jacques was in charge.

Arthur couldn't just grab them off the streets, like some petty human trafficker (this wasn't Mistral, after all). But any down on their luck faunus that suffered permanent mutilation while down in the mines was given… incentive to participate. And if Jacques just so happened to be paid a stipend for every one of his workers that undertook the program, well… that was just good business.

By the end of Arthur's first year of tests, he had practically developed a pavlovian response towards news of any big workplace accidents at the SDC, anticipating the new wave of volunteers with ravenous enthusiasm. Sure, the mortality rate was rather high at the start of his development, but after a couple more years and a few more adjustments, his basis for cybernetics had become standardized enough for the public sector—

And he could finally start charging the animals for his generosity.

What truly cemented his position in the Atlas military, though, was James' training accident.

Hard light dust wasn't as safe to use back then, still in the process of being studied and utilized for Kingdom security. One particularly brazen researcher attempted to utilize hard light dust for portable barricades. Small dust-fueled cartridges designed to throw hard-light walls between soldiers and the Grimm.

That was the intention anyway.

What the first models of the portable hard-light shields actually accomplished was something more akin to a plasma-enhanced shrapnel grenade, and a very effective one at that. Its destructive capabilities were quite thoroughly demonstrated when the hard light shattered James Ironwood's aura and shredded through almost the entire right side of his upper torso. An absolutely bloody affair (pun entirely intended).

The organ damage alone would've been impossible for a man of lesser intellect to accomplish. Fortunately for the young general, Arthur Watts was anything but lesser.

It took several operations, and over a year of rehabilitation for James, but the cybernetic implants had no complications. If anything, it was an improvement, giving the general a greater edge in combat than his inferior human parts could ever attain. It certainly made up for the general's pathetic excuse for a semblance, too.

Mettle was no substitute for real metal.

That moment should have cemented Arthur's legacy as the father of modern cybernetics.

But then Pietro Polendina came under James' employ and ruined everything.

The first time Arthur met Pietro in person was during one of Arthur's proposals to the general. James, Pietro, and a small select group of scientists were all listening to Arthur in a private conference room secured within an Atlas military compound.

Arthur had just finished running through his slides, expertly breezing through the improvements his new cybernetic model had over his previous, when Pietro asked him a question at the very end.

"Dr. Watts," Pietro began. "This is some brilliant work. The reduced weight you propose alone would decrease the chances of nerve damage in the patient significantly."

"I know," Arthur had responded dryly. "That was one of the major points I already went over."

The dimwit had the nerve to smile sheepishly at him, scratching his disgustingly unkempt beard with his nubby, fat fingers. "Oh, did you? Sorry, I can be mighty forgetful sometimes."

"Can you now?" Arthur had been tired of him instantly. "I'm sorry, who is this?" He had directed his irritated inquiry to James.

Pietro either didn't notice his irritation, or didn't care. "Oh, pardon my manners. Dr. Pietro Polendina. But you can just call me Pietro, if you like."

"Ah, you're that new Mantle hire." At the time, Arthur had found that fact amusing; that some crippled upstart had been plucked from the slums of Atlas' shadow due to James' sentimentality—probably for some drivel about diversifying the workforce.

What utter nonsense.

"Indeed I am! Born and raised in district three." The blathering fool had smiled brightly, as though such mediocre origins were something to be proud of.

"I see," Arthur had said, ready to never speak to this idiot again. "Well, unless there are any other questions, I think we can proceed to the vote. All in favor of—"

"Well, hold on," Pietro had interrupted, causing both Arthur's eye and mustache to twitch by laws of causation. "Sorry, I guess I wasn't clear. That wasn't the end of my questioning."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. There was actually a discrepancy I wanted to run by you, in case you hadn't accounted for it."

"A… a discrepancy?" Arthur had to hold back an aneurysm. "What do you mean a discrepancy? I fleshed out every detail of the design myself."

Pietro had had the gall to laugh. "Well, maybe I'm just overthinking it, but it doesn't hurt to check, right?"

Arthur had narrowed his eyes. "If you find it absolutely necessary, fine. Out with it; what discrepancy have you found in my work?"

While the rest of Arthur's colleagues had shuffled awkwardly at the tone of his voice, Pietro hadn't even flinched. Still smiling, he had swiped his hand over his scroll and projected a file to the main monitor.

"If you look here, Dr. Watts, one of the neural nodes you drafted in the schematic is protruding a little too close to the armor plating of the arm."

He had zoomed in on the image, circling around the spot in question, just around the artificial elbow joint. "Due to the placement, whenever the arm bends all the way, the node will chafe against the shell. This could lead to faster degradation of the node and require more frequent replacements of that part."

Arthur had spent days drafting that schematic. Almost fifty-two hours clocked on his timecard, pouring over his notes for every single possible misstep. And in barely the twenty minutes Arthur had presented the model, Pietro Polendina found one almost minuscule mistake.

That one mistake had been the beginning of the end.

From then on, every design Arthur had painstakingly drafted and engineered to perfection, Pietro always (in some blasted way) found a way to improve it. No flaw, no matter how small or inconsequential, seemed to escape Pietro's discerning gaze. He even started coming up with designs of his own, ones that began to make Arthur's models almost obsolete in comparison.

After that, it was only a matter of time before Arthur's colleagues went to Pietro for advice first. Eventually, even James preferred calling on that crippled, obese imbecile instead of Arthur.

Despite his years of service, in almost no time at all, Pietro Polendina usurped him from his path to greatness. When historians looked back at the innovators behind modern cybernetics, would they remember Arthur Watts, the actual pioneer who invented the technology? Or would they remember Pietro Polendina, the charlatan and plagiarist?

Judging by how much approval Pietro was given by both the general AND the public, Arthur had not liked his odds.

But then, James offered him one final chance to reclaim his spot in the history books. The general called upon all of his greatest minds (which, of course, included Arthur) to devise a project that would shape the very future of Atlas—

A project grand enough to change the world.

And just like that, for a brief moment, Arthur felt like a boy again, idealistic and optimistic, ready to grab Remnant by storm. All he needed was one good idea. Just one. And everything he ever dreamed of, everything he had ever worked for, would be his.

So long as James chose his idea over Pietro's, Arthur's legacy would be secured.

More than a decade later, and an entire continent away, Pietro Polendina was still finding such creative ways to make Arthur's life hell.

It wasn't enough for him to steal James' favor and ruin his last chance at acquiring happiness through legal means. No, somehow, even after Arthur had faked his death with those blasted Paladin prototypes and joined Salem's inner circle, Pietro's little pet project wormed its way back to relevance in the eyes of yet another one of his employers.

If it had been up to him, he'd have scrapped the worthless puppet the moment that nevermore dropped it by Salem's feet. Instead, she had looked at him expectantly and asked, "How does it work?"

When he couldn't provide an answer, she frowned. "Then find out, Arthur."

As there was no denying Salem (not without violent retribution, at least), he sought out to do just that; figure out how it worked and report back his findings.

At first, he thought working on Pietro's puppet was beneath him. Its entire body was just a modified version of his own prosthetics after all; how complicated could it possibly be to decipher? He predicted the work would only take a few days—a week or so at most.

Then those days ripened to weeks, and those weeks festered to months, and yet he still hadn't cracked how to turn the damn thing on.

Now, it wasn't about Salem's demand at all. It was a matter of pride. He would not be outdone by Pietro's work again.

Salem wanted her aura cores? An army of machines with souls at her disposal? Fine. Just as Pietro took Arthur's designs and improved upon them, so, too, could Arthur make Penny Polendina obsolete.

…As soon as he figured out how to turn it on, at least.

Apparently, turning the thing on was the easy part.

Arthur would not lie to himself; he was not a nurturing man. He was not patient with children (or anyone else he found incompetent). To be suddenly stuck taking care of a machine that thought it was a real child was even worse.

But he couldn't do much about it. The moment his own AI failed to utilize what made Penny so aggravatingly unique, his fate was sealed. Salem needed someone to look after the puppet when she wasn't around, and since he was the one trying to reverse engineer it and write the convoluted cover story to keep it ignorant, naturally the role fell to him.

Now, instead of helping to orchestrate the end of the society that shunned his brilliance, instead of cementing his legacy and proving once and for all that there were none who could match his intellect... he was stuck babysitting the world's most expensive chatbot.

Already, one month supervising Pietro's surrogate daughter (a rather kind way to say pretend) was too much. Even back when he was the middleman mediating between Jacques' and James' joint projects, Arthur had never felt more exhausted from mere conversation.

Constantly pestering him with questions, glued to his side when all he wanted to do was work. If Salem hadn't forbidden it, he would just leave her in Cricket Mode except when absolutely necessary to turn it off.

After the war meeting, though, he reached his limit. Because it was constantly pestering him about one thing and one thing only:

Ruby Rose.

A girl he had previously half the mind to thank for Cinder's condition, but now all he felt for the silver eyed brat was contempt.

What had she done to make Penny so obsessed with her? Every day had become the same conversation whenever he let Penny stay online:

"Dad," it would begin behind his shoulder, making those incessant squeaking noises as it refused to stop fidgeting in place. "Can I see Ruby?"

"She's busy."

"For how long?" it pestered.

"Until she isn't anymore," Arthur would reply simply. And for the first couple times, that worked.

But he could only repeat himself so many times before it would ask even more questions.

"What's she busy with?"

"Is she in the base right now?"

"Has she asked about me at all?"

To cease its incessant interrogation, Arthur would turn Cricket on and return peace to his workshop.

But then Salem would inevitably drop by, bringing dresses and little board games to play house with her precious doll, and she'd chew him out every time she walked in (unannounced) to find Cricket instead of Penny.

"I don't understand what is so difficult about this, Arthur." She shook her head, chastising him as though he were a misbehaving child. "You're an adult. Act like it."

"I apologize, your grace… but I truly don't understand the issue. It's distracting me from my work. If I could simply mute it, I would. Cricket is the best compromise I could come up with."

"The issue is your dismissal of her is rather obvious to everyone—especially to Penny."

"Is that a problem?" he replied absently, already drafting up a program to test his next attempt at simulating the core. "I've cataloged everything I need surrounding its aura composition, even if it's tainted with a shard of my own. There's not much else I need from the AI directly—not until new ideas come to mind."

"I think that despite your opinion, Arthur, she is closer to being a person than a mere machine. And like all people, she has needs that must be met to properly manipulate her. Needs that I do not believe you are fulfilling for her."

Rolling his eyes (while still turned away from her, of course), he sighed as he swiveled around. "Such as?"

"Parental affection."

Arthur scoffed. A mistake he sought to rectify quickly as he noticed the darkening storm brewing over Salem's face. "Apologies, your grace, but I don't have the patience for such a task. Besides, if you want me to make progress on making more cores, I can't keep wasting energy holding her hand all the time."

"I see. Then perhaps… someone more suited to the role should oversee her. Someone with more experience looking after dysfunctional maiden candidates."

And just like that, Penny was someone else's problem. "Who did you have in mind?" Arthur didn't know why he asked in the first place—

The answer was rather obvious.

After Salem turned Penny on, she took the android out for a playdate with "Ruby". And for a couple hours, Arthur had the silence he craved so desperately for his workshop. Maybe with a bit more uninterrupted bouts of tests, he could finally put this Penny job to rest—

Only for Emerald to barge in and interrupt him, dragging Penny by the hand behind her. "What's up doc? Don't worry, I brought your baby girl home safe and sound, as requested."

Arthur couldn't restrain his groan. He was mere lines away from cracking the next simulation, he just knew it. "Splendid," he replied through clenched teeth.

Penny shuffled by Emerald's side, looking to Arthur like it (somehow) had more questions for him. "Hi, dad. Did you need any help with—"

"Cricket," Arthur cut Penny off instantly, already tired of its pointless chatter. "Pod, now."

Red eyes, blank and obedient, overtook the puppet and complied with his command instantly, plugging itself into its charging station and shutting down for the night.

Emerald whistled. "Wow. Salem wasn't kidding; you're really quick to shut her off, huh?"

"Quite." Arthur turned back to his computer. "Close the door on your way out."

"Yeah, I know." She yawned. "I wasn't planning on staying here any longer that I needed to either, Watts." Her footsteps receded towards the door, but Arthur sighed as he heard her swerve around.

He didn't bother facing her. "What is it?"

"If I'm going to be doing this for you, is there any other bullshit I should be aware of when talking to her? I know you gave us all a general rundown, but I'm gonna need a list or something to keep track of it all."

That was annoying, but… admittedly fair. "Fine. I'll send you the relevant details over your scroll. Just don't let Penny see any of it."

"Cool."

Still not hearing her leave, Arthur continued, "Anything else?"

"Are there, like, things you'd recommend I do to keep her busy or—"

"I cannot stress enough how little I care." Why was she even asking him this? "Just do whatever you normally do in the castle and take it with you. Whether your room, the training hall, or the library, it doesn't matter. Just read over the files I just sent you, and don't let it go outside. Are we done now?"

Emerald's answer was slow and quiet. "...We have a library?"

It was official; Arthur hated children so, so much. "Leave. Now!"

"Okay, okay, calm down." She finally headed back out the door. "Pedantic prick."

And with what was hopefully the last interruption for the night removed, Arthur returned to his work, coding yet another simulation of Penny's core.

If he could figure this out, it would mean more than appeasing Salem. It would mean taking his legacy back, reclaiming his place in history. It meant wiping that smug smile off of Pietro's face and seeing how he liked being replaced, to be made obsolete.

When Arthur Watts was a boy, he had dreamed of changing the world.

And whether the people of Remnant liked it or not, change was coming for them all.