Chapter 1: Fate or Chance
This story is a work of fanfiction based on the RWBY series. I do not own the copyright to the original series mentioned. This work of fiction has been created in order to explore the vast possibilities of the imagination and, above all, to provide entertainment. I hope you find pleasure in reading it, I do not own batman...that's obvious.
—{}—
Dawn filtered through the silk curtains, bathing Whitley Schnee's room in a golden glow. The young heir to the Remnant's wealthiest family stretched out in his four-poster bed, adorned with satin sheets and feather pillows. His blue eyes, as cold and calculating as his father's, slowly opened, revealing a weariness that belied his young age. He was only eight years old.
—"Good morning, young Whitley," greeted his maid, a beautiful faunus woman with fox ears and a fluffy tail that moved gracefully. Her voice was soft, almost melodic, as she bowed slightly in a curtsey. Her name is Ema. —"How did you sleep?"
—"As always, perfectly," Whitley replied, his voice dripping with innate eloquence. However, his thoughts were a whirlwind of sarcasm and disdain. — "It would have been better if the smell of pesticide wasn't so present in the night," he thought, as he watched the maid prepare his clothes for the day.
The faun, though polite and professional, could not entirely hide the slight tremor in her hands or the wary look in her eyes. Whitley noticed these details with an almost cruel precision, and while part of him was amused by the servants' imperceptible reactions, another part felt a pang of pain. — "Why is she afraid of me?" he asked himself, as he got out of bed and headed for the bathroom.
—"Anything else you need, young Whitley?" the maid asked, keeping a respectful distance.
—"No, that will be all for now," he replied, with a smile that did not reach his eyes. —"Have they taken care of the plague at the mansion?"
—"You mean bats? The exterminators are taking care of that, but..."
—"They're sneaky, aren't they?" ,Yes, those little vermin have been a complete nuisance for a few months in the mansion. It's unknown where they came from or how they managed to establish themselves without being noticed. They practically did maintenance on the mansion once a month, but at no time were these bats detected.
In fact, it was he himself who managed to notice the plague. It's hard not to notice if you wake up with one on your face. This plague, which they are trying to eliminate in a way, clung fervently to life, like any living being in the cursed land of the Remnant. They did not disappear no matter how hard they tried to exterminate them; they always reappeared stronger, it seemed.
He had to admit that he was in awe of these creatures. Their ability to survive was impressive, almost inspiring, but also deeply irritating. As he dressed in the clothes the maid had prepared, he couldn't help but think of the bats' tenacity and how, in a way, they reflected his own struggle to find his place in a world that seemed determined to challenge him at every turn.
After dressing with the help of the maid, Whitley made his way to the dining room of the Schnee mansion. The walls were adorned with portraits of his ancestors, all of them bearing the same stern, authoritative gaze. The long, stately dining table was covered with a lace tablecloth and fine china. His breakfast, a feast of fresh fruits, freshly baked breads, and exotic juices, was laid out with impeccable precision.
Whitley sat in his usual place at the end of the table and surveyed the feast before him. —" All this and yet none of it is what I really want " ,he thought, as he picked up a piece of bread and bit into it slowly. The servants moved around him with silent efficiency, always attentive, always fearful.
—" Is this what it means to be a Schnee?" ,he wondered, as he looked at his reflection in the silver spoon. To be feared and respected, but never loved? His thoughts were a whirlwind of contradictory emotions, his loneliness contrasting with his impeccable outward demeanor.
Whitley sat in the dining room, surrounded by luxury and opulence, but feeling more alone than ever. Breakfast spread out before him, a metaphor for his life: abundant in appearance, but empty in essence.
The fact that he was eating breakfast alone didn't help. His sisters weren't exactly examples of morning people. Well, only his older sister Weiss. He didn't like the term "older" when it came to his sister; there wasn't much difference between them, just a year apart.
And even though she was a year older than him, and therefore higher in the hierarchy than him, she behaved like a spoiled child. You'd think that would be normal behavior for a girl raised in high birth, but it didn't necessarily have to be that way, not when her father was Jacques Schnee, a man so severe and calculating that he didn't allow insubordination, no matter if it was from his workers or, even more so, from his children. He had them more imprisoned.
He may have been a child and didn't understand many things about life. He didn't have to understand them either, since he had a lifetime to learn. But he did understand one thing about his surroundings very well: life would be simpler if he simply obeyed and did exactly what Jacques wanted.
As Whitley bit into another piece of bread, he couldn't help but smile wryly. —"Maybe I should ask the bats to teach me their trick of disappearing when they don't want to be found", he thought sarcastically. The thought of little bats imparting lessons in evasion drew a quiet laugh from him, a rarity in his morning routine.
The fact is that the family dynamics were slowly beginning to change. Her older sister, Winter, was beginning to defy her father, and the friction in the family was becoming more and more evident. The arguments between Winter and her father were intensifying by the day.
Her sister's attitude became increasingly hostile, contradicting the orders of the family patriarch and refusing to obey. She spoke of another kind of life, of the things her father was doing wrong. She spoke of change, of how this was not her path, of wanting to do something more.
She was talking about justice.
Many of the words her sister had spoken she did not yet know, she did not know the meaning of many of those things. But justice, yes, she understood the term of that word very well. Many of her servants mentioned it, and when she wandered around the city of Atlas shopping, indulging her whims, many people spoke of justice.
He didn't know why, but they echoed in his mind every time he heard it. All day long that word echoed in his head like a hammer hitting metal.
Her father talked about disinheriting Winter, and she didn't seem to care. He talked about the Atlas army, he talked about not belonging in this family.
Winter didn't know the meaning of those words or understand the consequences that could be behind her actions. She was the heiress to her father's company. Who would take her place? Him? Her sister Weiss? Although Whitley was young, she understood that her family's company had to be in the hands of her older sister. She was perfect, focused, competitive, intelligent, everything you could admire in a person, perfect in every way.
—"Why would you risk a purposeful life?" Whitley didn't understand. He didn't understand why someone would throw away the greatest wealth in the world. What could be more important than all that? What did it matter that you might feel an emptiness in your chest every time you woke up in this mansion, that every time you felt like part of you was being lost, replaced, that you felt alone?
In any case, it seemed that Winter's fighting spirit was beginning to rub off on her older sister, Weiss.
He, too, felt Winter's spirit beginning to... what was that word? Inspire him! Yes, that would be the word. But inspire him to what? To contradict his father just because? Or was there something else she was trying to tell him? In any case, he decided to keep it to himself. It was better this way. He wouldn't risk his life of opulence for whatever Winter was trying to find.
—"Is my father still in his office?" Whitley asked as he continued to eat his breakfast. He had to ask, since his father rarely left his office. Even things like breakfast were something the patriarch of the family didn't take much part in. Well, neither did any of the family, they focused more on working. In fact, I don't think they've ever seen him take a break once in his life.
—"Mr. Schnee is currently at the company offices, he had to run some errands", the maid replied respectfully and in a soft voice. She was a servant of the mansion, but you could say that she was more like a kind of personal servant to him, since his father appointed her and she was always there for him. Just like each of the family members had someone who attended to them personally. Although of course his mother and two sisters preferred the services of Klein, a butler who has been serving the family for a long time, since the time of his grandfather Nicholas.
—"My sisters?"
—"Miss Weiss is not awake yet and Miss Winter is in her morning training. She will join you for breakfast shortly."
—"I see." Although the words (joining him for breakfast) sounded nice, the truth was that by the time she finished training, he would already be done.
—"And my mother?"
—"Mrs. Willow is feeling a bit... under the weather at the moment. She slept a bit late", the maid replied a bit carefully, not wanting to say anything wrong in front of him. Though in a way, the boy knew what she meant by "slept late." She had started drinking again. Though young, he didn't understand that what his mother was consuming wasn't good for her at all; it made her act erratically, very embarrassing.
Whitley sighed. — "Well, at least someone in this house has an exciting life ," he thought with a smile.
With a sigh of satisfaction, he set his napkin down on the table and stood, ready to face another day of privileges. Beside him, Ema, the beautiful faun maid, waited patiently for him. Her fox ears moved slightly, picking up every sound in the vast dining room.
—"Come on, Ema," Whitley said with a mischievous smile. —"I don't want to miss today's show."
Ema nodded and followed him out of the dining hall, through the halls adorned with portraits of the Schnee family. They arrived at the training campus, a place where discipline and skill were the norm. Whitley settled himself on one of the bleachers, his blue eyes shining with anticipation.
In the centre of the field, his sister Winter and the sparring master, a stern-looking man with a rapier in his hand, were preparing for sparring. Whitley watched in fascination as the two greeted each other with a formal bow before beginning their duel.
The metallic sound of clashing rapiers echoed through the air. Winter moved with the grace of a ballerina, her rapier glistening in the sunlight. The combat master was no slouch, his movements precise and calculated. Whitley couldn't take his eyes off the fight, obviously the master was holding back and Winter is good, but not as good as a hunter or a hunter in training from the great academies, but she's good enough to impress him, and she also had all the time in the world to improve.
—"What if the combat master tripped and stabbed himself with his own rapier?" Whitley thought, a harmless smile playing on his lips. —"It would be a sight to see."
Winter launched a quick thrust, which the master blocked with ease. The two moved in an almost hypnotic rhythm, each attack and defense perfectly synchronized. Whitley leaned forward, his eyes shining with a mix of admiration and expectation.
— "Maybe I should suggest Winter use an electrified rapier ," Whitley thought, his mind wandering. —"That would make things a lot more interesting."
The fight continued, becoming more intense. Winter launched a series of quick attacks, forcing the master to retreat. Whitley chuckled, enjoying the spectacle.
—"Come on, Winter, make him bleed a little or sweat at least" ,he muttered to himself, his thoughts contrasting with the elegance of the fight.
Finally, the combat master managed to disarm Winter, his rapier flying through the air and landing a few feet away. The two stopped, breathing heavily, and bowed again.
Whitley clapped his hands enthusiastically, impressed as he was every morning when he watched his sister's training. — "Maybe next time they should use real swords , " he thought, his smile widening.
As Winter and the combat master left, Whitley sat in the stands, his gaze wandering across the campus. Suddenly, something high up caught his attention. A bat was perched on a window, watching the training ground with glowing eyes. Whitley stared at it.
—"slippery," Whitley said, his smile turning into a smirk of amusement.
The bat seemed to stare back at him before taking flight and disappearing into the distance. Whitley stood up, ready to face the rest of the day.
—"Come on, Ema," he said, turning to the maid.— "I think I've had enough entertainment for today."
Ema nodded and followed him back to the mansion, leaving behind the training campus and the echo of rapiers clashing in the air.
—"Let's go to Atlas, I want new shoes"
—{}—
Whitley Schnee walked through the glittering streets of Atlas, the floating kingdom that hovered majestically in the skies. At her side, her faithful maid Ema, along with a group of ex-Hunter guards, formed her entourage. She was there to buy shoes. Not that he needed them, of course, she just wanted them. And whatever else he fancied, no matter how expensive.
As he walked, Whitley looked at the shops with a mixture of disdain and boredom. —" Who needs so many shoes?" he thought, although he knew that he was the one to blame for this demand.—" Maybe I should buy an entire shop and close it, just to see the faces of the shopkeepers," he said to himself, smiling mischievously.
Ema, always attentive, noticed the smile and sighed. —"Mr. Whitley, would you like to come into this shoe store?" she asked in her usual calm, professional tone.
—"Of course, Ema. Although I doubt they'll find anything worthy of my feet," Whitley replied, enjoying the slight frown he caused in his maid. He loved making her nervous, it was one of his favorite pastimes, of the many he had.
They entered the store, where the owner, a middle-aged man with a smile that was too wide, greeted them enthusiastically. If someone from his family entered a store, it meant money! Obviously, they were happy. —"Welcome, welcome! How can I help you today?"
Whitley strolled around the store, looking at the shoes with disinterest. —"I want the most expensive ones you have," he said finally, not bothering to look at the owner.
The man nodded quickly and hurriedly brought out a box of finely crafted leather shoes.— "These are our best shoes, sir. Handcrafted from the finest materials."
Whitley took them and examined them with a critical eye. —"They could be worse," he said, tossing them back into the box.— "I'll take them."
Emma took care of the shopping details while Whitley continued exploring the store. He found a pair of leather gloves and a silk scarf that he decided to buy as well, just because he could.
—"Mr. Whitley, are you sure you need all this?" Emma asked, trying to keep her tone neutral.
—"Need? No, Emma. But want, that's something else," Whitley replied with a mischievous smile. —"Besides, what would Atlas be without my whims?" ,he had to take advantage of it because very soon many responsibilities will fall on her shoulders just like her sister Winter, things like walking down the streets will no longer be common.
It took them all day
The faun, who had remained silent the entire time, watched the scene with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. Whitley noticed her gaze and winked at her, causing a slight blush to appear on her cheeks.
Finally, with their new acquisitions in hand, Whitley and his entourage left the store and headed toward their personal bullhead. An airship, it was waiting for them with its doors open.
Whitley settled into his window seat, looking down at Mantle, the old place where Atlas belonged before it took to the heavens. —"How gloomy," he said, staring at the blinking lights of Mantle. —"Like an abyss."
Emma, sitting in front of him, watched him with a mixture of concern and resignation. She knew that behind that facade of a spoiled and cruel child, there was a young man who was only looking for his place in the world. But for now, her duty was to serve him and make sure that his whims were fulfilled.
The ship landed gently, leaving the bustling streets of Atlas behind. Whitley, with a satisfied smile, closed his eyes and let himself be carried away by the soft hum of the engines, dreaming of the day when the entire Remnant would be at his feet.
—{}—
Whitley was currently sitting on his bed, staring at the huge television screen that dominated one wall of his room.
The news was talking about the upcoming tournament of the Four Great Academies of the Four Kingdoms, which would be held this year in the kingdom of Atlas. The fact that the opening was next week had him excited, Whitley, with his eyes shining with excitement, watched the fights of the previous tournament that were played on the screen. The warriors of all the academies showed off their unique skills and weapons, each one more impressive than the last.
—"Look at that guy with the giant sword! How can he even lift it?" ,Whitley thought, laughing to himself. —"And that girl with the ice powers, it's like I'm looking at my sister Winter!"
Adrenaline was running through his veins as he watched the fighters perform impossible stunts and launch devastating attacks. —"That had to hurt," he thought with a smile.— "I'm almost tempted to ask my father to hire me a teacher," yes, that idea crossed his mind, but it disappeared as quickly as it appeared. He was tempted by the idea of doing flashy stunts, moving at superhuman speeds and super strength, but there was only one thing that stopped him from asking for training, and that was that he didn't like pain and it seemed that being a hunter is very painful.
The images on the screen changed rapidly, showing a spear-wielding fighter moving with the grace of a dancer, followed by another wielding a giant hammer with tremendous strength. Whitley couldn't look away, fascinated by the variety of weapons and skills displayed before him.
—"Wow, that guy can fly! How does he do it? I want one of those suits!" he exclaimed, even though there was no one else in the room to hear him. —"And that girl who can control fire, that's incredible! How hot can she get?"
Suddenly, the news changed tone.
—"In the following news, the theft of donations that would help the most vulnerable in Mantle, it seems that these acts will no longer be tolerated and the military organ of the kingdom has become involved, the citizens expect justice and endorse all use of the force of the law,"
The screen showed footage of a robbery, donations intended for Mantle's poor. The presenter's voice became grave as he described how the funds had been siphoned off by unscrupulous criminals.
Whitley frowned, his amusement interrupted by the seriousness of the news. —"Why do they always have to ruin everything with such sad things?" he thought, feeling a pang of discomfort. —"Although, I suppose if they can't protect their own donations, they shouldn't complain so much. I shouldn't complain either, apparently, our donations were among those thefts, too."
Just then, a soft tapping at the window caught his attention. Whitley got out of bed and walked over to the window, opening it curiously.
The cold night air blew into the room, and Whitley looked out across the snowy landscape. In the distance, he saw bats flying about, their dark silhouettes outlined against the moonlight.
—{}—
And that was Whitley Schnee's routine, the days would pass and it wouldn't change, it didn't have to and she didn't want it to change.
—{}—
The festival had begun, and the normally quiet Atlas was bustling. The opening of the championship was starting today, and people from different places in the world were coming to Atlas. More specifically, people from all four kingdoms were coming to Atlas, including those from outside the kingdoms' walls as well, excluding, of course, the locals.
He was ecstatic too. Well, he couldn't help it, he was excited. He would see up close these student hunters fighting in a no-holds-barred battle. Sure, there were rules that had to be followed, but it was still exciting. Weapons of all kinds, unimaginable powers that only a civilian could dream of having. And he, even if he had all the money in the world, didn't have those capabilities. He could have them if he dedicated himself fully to training to be a hunter.
...but I wasn't going to do that.
His life was good at the moment, why change it?
Well, he was an emotional child, so he didn't wait a minute to grab the first bullhead he found in the mansion and head to the inauguration. Said inauguration would take place at the Atlas Academy, which also serves as the kingdom's military base.
The Kingdom of Atlas was more of a militarized society. The fact that it was the only kingdom that still had its military forces in place was something to be admired. The other kingdoms had already discarded that function in favor of leaving the safety of the people in the hands of the hunters.
He didn't quite understand why all the kingdoms did that. Wasn't it better to have as much help as possible against the Grimm? Frankly, an army was of great use. Hunters themselves aren't very numerous, and the military, whether with aura or not, are trained people. A gun would be enough to defend against the Grimm. They wouldn't be as effective as hunters, but they would ease the burden of responsibility on the hunters.
—"Come on, Atlas! Let's hope they don't drop the flag at the inauguration this time!" he thought with a smile as he headed to the academy.
Now, on that bullhead, piloted by a pilot exclusive to The Mansion, there was a small problem. Whitley had gone alone, absolutely alone. He didn't wait for his maid and bodyguards to come with him. He didn't think anything bad would happen. Why? He was going to the opening of the Festival, a place surrounded by military force, the only military force in the entire world, and of course the best, since there is no competition. He highly doubted he would be in any danger. Besides, his maid and bodyguards would be following behind him, and there were also hundreds of VIP seats specifically reserved for his family.
He leaned back in a seat, half humming a song. It was more of a humming of a song his sister was singing. He had to admit, she was good, but too sad and soft for his taste.
—"As soon as I get there, I'm going to try the famous Mistralian chicken," Whitley licked his lips, imagining the smell and taste of that dish he'd never tried before. Recently, he'd been wanting to try foods from different regions, and this festival would be the perfect opportunity to satisfy his curiosity.
His reverie was short-lived, as he heard small footsteps on the roof of the bullhead. Why would that be? For a moment, Whitley felt afraid, thinking it might be a Grimm, but there was no alarm nor had the pilot alerted him of anything. In fact, the pilot had not spoken since the moment they rose into the sky.
Then the hatch of the ship opened and a group of people entered.
—"But what is happening?"
Whitley couldn't finish another word as a bag covered his face.
And all he could see was black.
The excitement was replaced by fear.
—{}—
—"Alright, what does this mean?! Who are you and what are you doing?! Where did you take me?! Where am I?! Do you know who I am?! What family do I belong to?!"
The bag covering his head was abruptly removed, revealing a group of people. He recognized them immediately: they were the same idiots who had kidnapped him.
—"Yes, we know who you are, Whitley Schnee, the youngest of Jacques Schnee," said a man, apparently the leader of the group. —"Hello, my name is Jack. It's nice to meet you. I know this is a little traumatizing for someone your age, but I guarantee that nothing will happen to you... that will depend on how you behave and the answers I receive from your father."
Whitley realized that his hands were tied, though his feet weren't. Not that it did him much good; he wasn't going to outrun these guys. The only thing he had going for him was absolutely nothing.
—"You're crazy. I don't know if you've even thought about the consequences of this. The army is probably already looking for you, not counting the hunters my family will hire," Whitley said with a confident smile, a confidence that disappeared when he saw the smile on the faces of those men.
—"Let me show you something then," Jack said as he turned on a television, the only one in the place. The place looked like an abandoned house, with rotten wood forming the walls and floor, and a tin roof with holes in it. Was that a fucking rat he had just seen out there? Whitley shuddered at the sight. This place was very different from the walls of his mansion, where there were gold frames, the highest quality carpets, and floors made of the finest wood that could exist. Unlike this place, which was about to fall apart.
In any case, what Whitley saw on that television was cheering, applause and celebration. The festival was going on as planned. What did this mean? Quite simply: the world was going on regardless of whether he was there or not.
—"Don't worry, I'll explain this to you. The festival is going on, and it's not because they're trying to keep up appearances, but because everything that's happening here," Jack raised his hands pointing at the horrible place, —"isn't really happening."
—"What?" Whitley asked, still confused and afraid. His body was shaking, and it wasn't because of the cold seeping in through the crumbling walls.
—"Look at me carefully, don't I look familiar to you, Whitley?" Jack pointed at himself, running his hands over his body, humorously waiting for the answer in Whitley's eyes. And it was exactly as he expected: a surprise that made him burst out laughing.
—"Are you the pilot of the family?"
—"Correction, I'm one of the many pilots in your family. You should be a little more observant, boy."
—"Why are you doing this?"
Jack raised an eyebrow, wondering if that was actually a question, but he also sighed, knowing that this child, and yes, it was a child, wouldn't know the implications of this whole thing. —"Extortion."
—"Extortion?"
—"Yeah, well, I've been working for your family for a month now. The pay is good, but that wasn't really the point of the job. This here thing has been a while in the making, and the plan itself kind of failed, to say the least," Jack touched the back of his head as if embarrassed. —"You weren't really the target. The target was your entire family, including yourself as well, or at best, your father."
Whitley frowned, trying to process all the information. —"So, this is all about money?"
Jack gave a bitter laugh.— "Yeah, kid, money moves mountains. But in this case, it looks like the mountain came crashing down on us."
Whitley looked at Jack with a mixture of fear and curiosity. —"What now?"
Jack smiled, a smile that didn't reach his eyes. —"Now, kid, we improvise."
Whitley just watched as this man chattered on, feeling a growing sickness in his stomach. Good God, he had gotten himself into a very big problem, one that would possibly cost him more than a couple of blows, maybe even his life.
—"In any case, there's the fact that, well, you got excited and dragged me along, ordering me to take you to the opening of the festival. So... I couldn't refuse your orders because I would then arouse suspicion. I'm content to have you as blackmail material for your father."
Laughter echoed throughout the four walls of the house, which, despite being luxurious, had an air of abandonment. Jack apologized, —"Sorry, I got carried away. You asked me why they wouldn't look for you. Well, the fact is that, as far as everyone else is concerned, you went to see the opening of the festival and you're probably doing some other rich things. No one knows about this because, in the first place, you weren't mugged or anything. You just strayed from your course... maybe on a whim of your own. No one really cares about you."
Those words hurt a lot, and even more so the fact that no one was looking for him. It was a very painful blow.
Then something rattled in Jack's pocket. He opened his eyes and smiled, glaring cruelly at Whitley and gesturing for him to be quiet.
—"Let the show begin. Everyone, be quiet," Jack pointed to his accomplices.
—"Hello, Mr. Schnee, how are you? Yeah, don't worry, Whitley's here with me." Jack paused dramatically, —"Oh, about that... I lied to you. Whitley isn't in a restaurant in Atlas eating Mistralian food. Actually, I have him here in... well, that's a secret. Your son is my bargaining chip. If you want to see him alive, you'll have to follow everything I tell you to the letter."
Jack looked at Whitley and gave him a sinister smile that made him shiver.— "If you divulge all of this, if you dare bring the army into this matter, or if you make public what is going on, I will cut off one of your son's fingers and then I will keep going and going until there is nothing left but pieces of flesh scattered all over the place, staining the walls. I also don't want you to be late because I am a busy man," Jack said this in a funny voice, as if he was telling a joke. It was cruel. How could such a cruel man exist in this world?
Those men left the room, leaving him alone.
Whitley could only stare, feeling the ground slip away beneath his feet. —" What now?" he thought, not daring to say it out loud.
Suddenly, a brilliant idea crossed his mind. He looked around and saw an old floor lamp, one he recognized used oil to keep it lit, wobbling precariously. With a mischievous grin, he stood up and began swinging the lamp until it fell with a crash. In desperation, he grabbed the oil and smeared it on his hands, making them slippery. The noise attracted one of the kidnappers, who ran into the room.
—"What the hell are you doing, brat?" the man screamed as he searched for him in the darkness. He crouched down, but before he could react, Whitley had already grabbed a piece of wood from the ground and hit him on the head. The kidnapper fell to the ground, unconscious or so he thought.
—"Yes!" Whitley whispered, feeling a surge of adrenaline. He quickly left the room and began running through the dark, cobweb-filled hallways of the house. His heart pounded as he heard the screams of the other kidnappers noticing his escape.
—"Get him!" shouted Jack, the leader of the kidnappers, in a voice full of fury.
Whitley ran as fast as his legs would carry him, dodging broken furniture and jumping over debris. He could hear the footsteps of his pursuers getting closer, but he didn't stop. —" They won't catch me," he thought, with fierce determination.
Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his leg. He looked down and saw that he had tripped over a rusty nail sticking out of the ground. —"Ouch!" he cried, but he didn't stop. Limping, he continued his run, knowing that stopping would mean the end of him.
The kidnappers were getting closer. Whitley could hear their heavy breathing and their curses. In a moment of desperation, he darted through a side door and found himself in a room filled with old boxes and furniture covered with sheets. He hid behind a large box, trying to control his breathing.
—"Where's that brat?" one of the kidnappers growled, entering the room. Whitley held his breath, praying they wouldn't find him.
The kidnapper came dangerously close to his hiding place, but at the last moment, another of the men shouted from the hallway. —"I think I saw him run into the basement!"
The man in the room cursed and ran off, leaving Whitley alone. Seizing the opportunity, Whitley emerged from his hiding place and continued his escape. Limping and with the pain in his leg stabbing, he made his way out of the house.
Finally, he came to a large wooden door. With shaking hands, he pushed it open and found himself in another room of the house.— "It can't be!" he thought, feeling despair take hold of him. The house was an endless labyrinth, and each door seemed to lead him deeper into the house instead of toward freedom.
But Whitley didn't give up. He knew he had to keep going, that he couldn't let fear get the better of him. With one last look at the room behind him, he closed the door and prepared to face whatever awaited him on the other side.
The chase wasn't over, but Whitley was determined not to get caught. With every step, with every breath, he promised himself that he would find a way out of that house and back to his family. With that determination, he continued his fight for freedom.
The ruined house was abnormally large, it had surely been the mansion of some aristocrat before Atlas separated from Mantle. Many of the rich people who belonged to Mantle abandoned their mansions in search of new opportunities in the kingdom of Atlas. They abandoned their lands and many of those rich people became common men. Others, like his family, knew how to take advantage of the change very well and adapted to the new. Of course, there was also a bit of regression, a regression that hit his family, as he understood from anecdotes he heard from his relatives.
Whitley knew that during his grandfather's time there had been a major economic crisis that nearly bankrupted them. That bankruptcy was averted by the commitment of his mother and father. Somehow, his father managed to lift the family out of its hole and raised it to levels never before seen in the entire family history.
He had to admit that his father was a complete bastard, but he was a very clever bastard. In any case, he was trapped in one of the many mansions of those damned rich people who lost their fortune or who went somewhere else. Now he wished he were in the house of an ordinary woman or man.
Walking from room to room, he opened another door. Carefully he entered, but what he saw inside chilled his blood. He was speechless; he had never seen anything like it in his life, or in his short life.
In that dark room, where the wood was falling apart and the barely perceptible light of the moon filtered through, there were people of all kinds: men, fauns and, above all, children.
Their appearance was disgusting. They were ragged, dirty and smelled very bad. Some had horrible scars and bruises, signs of abuse.
This sight made him feel sick, very contrasting to the life he had, where worries simply did not come to his door. These people had seen better days. The reality of his bubble was bursting before his eyes. While he enjoyed very good food and a warm blanket, they surely did not eat and felt cold.
—"Help," a boy was heard saying. It was pure instinct; he approached the boy and checked him.
—"What happened?" he asked, hoping for some answer that would satisfy him, but he didn't really want to know. Maybe he didn't want any more of that sick feeling in his stomach.
—"Please help me," the boy began to cry, —"I don't want to be here anymore, I want to go home." The boy's pleas made Whitley shrivel up in sadness. He quickly searched the room for something that could help him cut the ropes that held them all. Then he saw a piece of glass lying on the floor. That would do the trick. He grabbed it and quickly cut the boy's ropes.
But then footsteps were heard outside the room.— "Listen to me, put your hands behind your back and be quiet. All of you, be quiet, okay?"
Whitley hid in a corner of the room, found a blanket lying around and covered himself with it. When the man entered the room, he checked each of his hostages. He saw that nothing was out of place and left.
Whitley quickly began cutting each and every rope that held these people.
—"What are you doing here? What do you want with you?" Whitley asked. A female faun approached. She could barely stand up; she looked emaciated, she probably hadn't eaten in a long time or hadn't eaten well.
—"These guys catch us and sell us as slaves in Vacuo."
—"Slaves? But slavery was abolished 150 years ago," Whitley said, surprised. This was too much to process.
—"Yeah, well, in some regions outside the kingdoms they don't give a damn," said a man holding a child. He was hugging him, because the child was crying and he was soothing his sobs.
—"You are Whitley Schnee, I've seen you before," a faun pointed at him.
—"Yes, any problem with that?"
—"Why are you here?" asked the faun who was accusing him.
—"Obviously because I was kidnapped and they're demanding a ransom for my rescue. I managed to escape, but these guys aren't going to stop until they find me," Whitley said wearily. —"Okay, you've probably been here for a long time. Do you have any idea how to get out?"
A young human boy raised his hand and approached. —"Yeah, I know the way, I know how to get out of here." Whitley looked him up and down; the guy was taller than him, obviously much older too, it was obvious.
—"How do you know?"
—"You're not the first one who tries to escape"
—"All right, let's get going. Lead the way," Whitley said determinedly.
The young man led them carefully and quietly, trying not to make the wooden floor creak too much. They walked in single file, following the young man. At times, Whitley felt hopeful. He could get out of here, and when he managed to get back to Atlas, he would go back to Mantle, find those idiots, and make them suffer.
But it seems that a man's happiness is short-lived, because they were close, too close. The kidnappers were too close; he could hear their voices and their footsteps.
Whitley was silent, all of them were silent, afraid of what might happen. They were so close to freedom, but now it seemed like their hope was fading away. Whitley saw the hopelessness in every man, woman, faun... in every child.
This was stupid. He didn't know what the hell was going through his head. In fact, he didn't even think about it; it was just strange, as if his mouth and body were acting on their own.
He looked straight at the group. They looked at him, their fear reflected in their eyes. He didn't know why he was doing this. He simply took steps backwards, slowly and slowly walking away until he looked at another intersection, another hallway, and started screaming.
—"Hahahaha! Where the hell am I?! When I manage to escape, I'm going to burn this whole place down!" His screams echoed throughout the place. From how he could already hear the voices of Jack and the other kidnappers, he assumed that his unconscious act of idiotic heroism had worked. Then, he quickly looked towards that dark hallway, looking back at the group of kidnapped people. — "Get out of here, get help, okay?"
Then Whitley looked across the hall and there was Jack, who glared at him. —"You idiot, brat, get over here."
Without looking back, he ran as far away as possible, making the kidnappers follow him. The fucking pain in his fucking leg was unbearable, but he had to endure it if he wanted to live.
He felt like the kidnappers were catching up to him, he could almost feel their breath on his neck. Then he guessed that he had entered something that looked like a food warehouse. Well, he couldn't quite make it out, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he was trapped there. There was no other door to escape through, just one fucking window, but it was too high up.
—"Holy God... what now?" he said to himself in fear. When he heard Jack close to him, too close to enter the room, he hid behind a wooden box.
Pain and fear were feelings he had never felt before. Well, he had never felt them together and with such intensity. He wanted to cry, he felt helpless, he curled up in his own body.
—"You're a damn kid, you know? Very slippery, really. Do you know how long it's taken us to do all this? A lot! Resources and time. Listen to me very well, you better come out on good terms or else I'm afraid I'm going to find you and this time I'm going to make you suffer. The point is to deliver you to your father... but in perfect condition? I'm going to hurt you, kid."
Whitley tensed, Jack's tone sinister. A tear fell down his cheek, his heart was beating rapidly, feeling like it was going to burst out of his chest. What could he do? What was he going to do? Nothing, absolutely nothing. He should have escaped when he had the chance, should have let those poor kidnapped people stay and taken the opportunity to leave. But he didn't know why the hell he did that.
—"Wow, Whitley, you've gotten yourself into quite a mess this time ," he thought bitterly.—"What kind of a cheap hero am I? I can't even save myself, let alone anyone else."
He wanted someone to help him, but he got no answer. All he could hear was the laughter of Jack and his minions, and an annoying squeal he recognized. Up in the window of that room, he saw it perched: a bat. Its eyes glowed in the darkness, staring at him. Its small claws clung to the wood, and its sinister teeth seemed to form a smile.
He didn't want to admit it, but he admired that creature. A small creature, weak, but clinging to life. No matter how many times they try to take him down, he always comes back stronger, ready. He emerges from the abyss rejuvenated; he is defeated, but never finished.
The bat screeched, as if it wanted to tell him something. Whitley didn't understand, but like that small, fragile creature, he would cling to life. He would not die here. His family had been present in that realm for generations; his lineage would not end with him. He would fall and be reborn stronger.
—"Wow, Whitley, now you're inspired by bats. What's next? Talking to the walls?" he thought with a mix of sadness and humor. But deep down, she knew he was right. She couldn't give up.
The bat screeched again, and Whitley felt a strange connection to it. —"If this little guy can survive this place, so can I," he told himself. —"Besides, I can always write a book about this if I make it out alive. 'How a Bat Saved My Life.' Sounds like a bestseller."
Jack and his henchmen were getting closer. Whitley could hear their footsteps echoing in the hallway. —"Come on, Whitley, think. What would a hero do in this situation? Oh, sure, he probably wouldn't hide behind a wooden box, shaking like a scared puppy."
Suddenly, a crazy idea crossed his mind. —"What if I try to negotiate? No, that's stupid. What if…" But he didn't have time to finish his thought. Jack was right on top of him.
—"Come on, Whitley, this is no time to give up. If that bat can hold on to life, so can you," he thought, trying to gather courage. —"Besides, I can always say I was inspired by a bat. That should impress someone, right?"
Whitley Schnee backed away slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on Jack and his henchmen. The gloomy room, with its mold-covered walls and debris-strewn floor, seemed to close in on him. There was no easy way out, and a direct confrontation was out of the question. He had to be resourceful.
Jack stepped forward with a sinister grin, his eyes glinting with malice.— "Come on, kid, you've got nowhere to go," he said, his voice echoing around the room.
Whitley looked around, desperately searching for something he could use. His eyes landed on a piece of broken glass on the floor. With a quick movement, he picked it up and hid it behind his back.— " I won't be caught that easily," he thought, trying to gather courage.
—"What are you going to do, little one? Cut us off with that?" one of the henchmen mocked, taking a step closer.
Whitley didn't respond. Instead, he backed up to a stack of wooden crates. With a quick movement, he pushed one of the crates toward the minions, creating a temporary barrier. He took advantage of the confusion to run to the other side of the room.
Jack growled in frustration.— "Get him!" he ordered, and his men launched themselves after Whitley.
The boy knew he couldn't confront them directly. Instead, he used his surroundings to his advantage. He ran to a dark corner, where the dirt and debris were thickest. He crouched down and picked up a piece of wood, sharpened at one end.
When one of the henchmen got too close, Whitley threw the piece of wood at his feet, making him trip and fall.— " One down !" he thought with a mixture of relief and fear.
But his victory was short-lived. Jack lunged at him, and in the struggle, the shard of glass Whitley was holding slipped and cut into his left arm. The pain was intense, but he couldn't afford to stop.— "Damn it!" he screamed, gritting his teeth to keep from crying, and used the glass and cut Jack.
With his injured arm, Whitley crawled over to a pile of flour sacks. Why was there flour there? He didn't ask, he didn't have time. The henchmen were getting closer, and he could hear their footsteps echoing on the wooden floor.— " Think, Whitley, think ," he told himself, trying to stay calm.
Suddenly, a crazy idea crossed his mind. With his good hand, he ripped open one of the sacks, letting the flour spill out onto the ground. As the minions reached their position, the flour in the air momentarily blinded them, giving Whitley a few precious seconds to move.
—"Damn brat!" Jack yelled, rubbing his eyes.
Whitley took advantage of the distraction to run to the high window. He knew he couldn't reach it, but there was a stack of boxes nearby. With all his strength, he pushed the boxes towards the window, creating a kind of makeshift ladder.
He quickly climbed up, ignoring the pain in his arm. The minions recovered and closed in again.—"Come on, Whitley, you can do it!" he encouraged himself.
Finally, he reached the window and, with a final effort, he threw himself towards it. The wood creaked under his weight, but he managed to get out the other side, falling into a dark and dusty corridor.
—"I did it!" he said, his heart pounding. But there was no time for celebration. The minions were right behind him.
He ran down the hall, his footsteps echoing in the darkness. Every breath was a reminder of the pain in his arm, but he couldn't stop. Finally, he saw a door at the end of the hall. With all his strength, he threw it open and threw himself across, slamming it shut behind him.
He leaned against the door, breathing heavily. —"I'm safe for now," he muttered, though he knew the real battle was just beginning.
Now, where was he? He had to find a door and continue his journey. He had to get out no matter what. Whitley looked around, but all he found was... food?
In front of him were boxes and more boxes as far as he could see. He was confused. Where did they get all this from? They were just kidnappers; he highly doubted they would use their earnings to buy so many supplies. He also doubted they would donate it; that would be too good for these morons.
Out of curiosity, he looked through some boxes to his right. His surprise was evident. He didn't know how to proceed with this. He took what was in that box and stared at it.
At that moment, Jack found him.— "I found you. Looks like you've had enough of running away. You finally realized it was useless," Jack boasted. Then, he pulled out a gun from his pocket and pointed it at him. —"I'm tired of you. To hell with this, I'll kill you. I don't care about the ransom."
—"You're the ones who stole the donations for Mantle?" Whitley's voice was soft, like a whisper that drifted into the room.
—"Yes," Jack said unimportantly.
—"Because?".
Jack didn't give an answer, he just laughed and shrugged.
—"This is wrong. This was supposed to help the most vulnerable. This is cruel," Whitley's voice rose in rebuke.
—"A Schnee talks to me about cruelty? How poetic. What does it matter? Just donate more stuff. It'll be easy for people like you," Jack said. Whitley then faced him. He turned to him. Jack expected to see surprise and fear on Whitley's face when he noticed he was pointing a gun at him, but what he got was a look of hatred. He backed away.
—"Donate more? So you can keep stealing it? That's not what bothers me the most," Whitley's shoulders shook, his teeth clenched, his voice coming out like the rumble of a drum. —"What bothers me the most is this!" Whitley pointed at what he held in his hand, a vial of powder. —"A price?! This was meant for orphanages! It would power generators that would warm those in need. It's a donation! It shouldn't have a price tag!"
Jack even flinched at Whitley's raised voice, but he didn't look affected or embarrassed, just amused. —"Is there a problem with that?"
—"You're not only a thief and a kidnapper, you're also a trickster! You steal what once belonged to them and then you have the nerve to sell them what you stole!" The rage in Whitley seeped through. This was wrong, this feeling was indescribable, it made him feel sick, there was a tightness in his being. —"This is unfair."
Of course it was unfair. He wondered how many times this happened. Whether it was good-hearted or not, these donations would help people in need. How many times had the help that was sent not been received? It wasn't fair, this was wrong.
—"You are a disgusting being, devoid of all humanity. You are so repulsive that your mere existence makes you vomit. You are pathetic." Jack became angry, his face scrunched up, Whitley's words upsetting him.
—"I'm going to enjoy the nonsense, kid."
—"Jack!" One of Jack's henchmen entered the room.
—"What's wrong?" Jack shouted frustrated.
—"Hunters!" said the henchman.
—"Hunters? How did they find us?"
—"That doesn't matter, we have to go!"
Jack shook his head, trying to process the flood of information. They were screwed. One hunter was enough to take them all down, and his assistant said they were hunters, plural. He had to get away. He glanced at Whitley, but was brought out of his thoughts by his henchman.
—"Forget about the kid. If they catch us, we're screwed. We'll spend our whole lives in prison, and if these hunters are hired by Jacques Schnee, it means there will be no trial for us. They'll kill us."
As if his consciousness had returned, Jack glared at Whitley, turned and disappeared through the door.
Whitley just stood still, staring into the darkness, silent.
—{}—
In a room adorned with unimaginable luxuries, a young boy sat on the edge of his bed. Despite being surrounded by wealth and fortune, his heart felt raging, like a forest fire. His eyes, which had once been filled with melancholy and boredom, now reflected intense fury as he stared at the outside world through a window adorned with velvet curtains.
He had been rescued and treated by the best doctor money could buy. Everything was resolved properly and none of it was made public. His kidnapping was known only to him, his father, and a group of hunters he had hired. And so it would remain.
It turns out that these kidnappers were idiots; they forgot that the bullhead had a tracker, which made it relatively easy to find them. However, for the others, all of their injuries were caused by a fall down some stairs and no further questions were asked.
He was upset, not only because he had to live through that experience, but because the kidnappers managed to escape. They disappeared like a shadow in the sun. He insisted that they look for them, but the hunters said they had escaped and if they couldn't find them, then no one could. Besides, they had no time for petty revenge. Petty revenge? This wasn't about revenge.
It was for justice.
People like them should not be free.
Whitley clenched his fists, feeling anger bubbling up inside him. He remembered every detail of his captivity, every insult and every blow. He couldn't allow these criminals to remain free, harming others. His mind filled with images of the orphanages that depended on these donations, of the children who would suffer because of the greed of a few.
He was furious. Every day, when he looked in the mirror, he saw the face of Jack and his henchmen reflected in it. Little by little, this anger he felt inside became unbearable. His fists clenched tightly, his knuckles white with tension.
That night, he tried to forget about everything, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't. Every time he closed his eyes, he thought about how wrong this all was. An evil man was free, doing as he pleased, without consequences. He felt frustrated, powerless in the face of injustice.
The moon softly illuminated the room, casting dancing shadows on the walls. A bat appeared flying in front of him. The boy watched it with curiosity, without fear. The bat, with its shining eyes, seemed to want to tell him something.
—"I must be crazy, but I feel like you want to tell me something... You want me to do something, but I don't know what you want me to do?" Whitley murmured, his voice barely a whisper in the stillness of the night.
The bat slowly approached, and the boy reached out his hand, feeling an inexplicable connection. At that moment, the two stared at each other, as if they shared an ancient and deep secret. Whitley felt that the bat was transmitting a message to him, but he did not fully understand it.
The bat fluttered around his head before landing on the windowsill. Whitley watched it, his mind racing. Was it a sign? A call to action? The anger and frustration he felt was mixed with a new sense of purpose.
but something was missing... where to start?
—{}—
The streets of Atlas were still bustling. The festival was in full swing, a week had already passed since the kidnapping incident. Everything seemed fine, as if nothing had happened. People were oblivious to the disgusting underworld, unaware of the darkness that lurked beneath the kingdom.
Whitley couldn't enjoy this festival. He wanted to do something, no, he needed to do something. All he could do at the moment was wander around, trying to let the applause and cheers cloud his mind.
That was all Whitley could do.
Meanwhile, the streets of New York were in chaos. Buildings were smashed, cars were overturned, and the sound of sirens was everywhere. Amidst the destruction, Loki, the god of trickery, laughed as he cast spells and wreaked havoc.
Suddenly, a web attached itself to his scepter, knocking it from his hand.— "Showtime, Loki!" Spider-Man shouted, swinging through the rubble.
Iron Man landed with a thud, his armor glistening in the sun.— "Did anyone call for some metal justice?" he said, firing a repulsor beam that Loki barely dodged.
Loki tried to get away, but Colossus, with his steel skin, charged at him. However, the god teleported just in time, appearing behind him. "Is that all you got, tin giant?" Loki taunted.
Magik appeared in a flash of light, her glowing sword in hand. —"Do not underestimate the power of magic, Loki," she said, casting a spell that pushed him back.
Whitley felt alone, feeling that his life could never be the same as before. He could bear the pain of the kidnapping, maybe even a beating, but not the injustice. For too long he had been indifferent.
He felt alien to all this, as if he were walking alone, apart from the world.
Venom, with his terrifying appearance, roared and lunged at Loki, his black tentacles extending. "Let's have some fun!" he said with a sinister smile.
The battle was a whirlwind of blows and spells. Spider-Man moved nimbly, shooting webs and dodging Loki's attacks. Iron Man flew around, firing missiles and repulsor beams. Colossus used his brute strength to try and catch Loki, while Magik and Venom attacked with magic and ferocity.
Whitley had a recurring dream, a dream where he fell into the abyss, where the darkness seemed to grab him and drag him down. He struggled to get out, but always failed and was defeated. This dream haunted him, filling him with a hopelessness he could not shake.
At one point during the battle, Loki cast a spell that caused the ground beneath them to open up, and they all fell into a massive comic book store. Shelves collapsed, and comics flew everywhere. —"Watch out for first editions!" Spider-Man yelled, dodging a falling stack of comics.
Fear, hopelessness, indifference, but above all anger... That feeling dominated the darkness, an anger that burned the heart and devastated the soul. Images of injustices that were unknown to him flooded the abyss: a ragged, beaten faun, a thin woman who had not eaten in days, a crying child begging to return home.
Iron Man stood up, brushing off the rubble. —"This is a mess," he said, firing a repulsor beam that brought a bookshelf crashing down on top of Loki.
Loki broke free with a burst of energy, sending Colossus flying through a wall. —"This is too easy!" he laughed, but his laughter was cut off when Venom caught him in his tentacles.
Deep within the abyss, where it seemed like light couldn't even filter through, echoes of pleas and calls for help could be heard. Where there was absolutely nothing but darkness, a figure was always watching him. No matter how close he got to it, it always moved away. That figure's gaze was indifferent, if a shadow could even have a gaze.
—"Not so fast, Loki!" Venom roared, but Loki teleported again, appearing behind Magik.
—"Magik, now!" Spider-Man shouted.
Magik raised her sword and opened a glowing portal.— "Let's send him away from here!" she said. The portal was dripping with power, absorbing everything it could. Objects entered it and Loki would do the same.
But before she could throw Loki into the portal, he teleported away once more, disappearing in a flash of light.
The comic book store fell silent, with the heroes looking around, trying to understand what had happened. Spider-Man approached Magik. "Where were you going to send him?" he asked, still panting from the battle.
Magik smiled.— "I don't know," she replied.— "You said as far away as possible, even if it had to be to the farthest corner of the universe or dimension."
Whitley took the first bus home. The festival was annoying him and he didn't want to react badly. He literally took the first bullhead that came his way. It was strange because it was actually the first time he had ever been on a public bullhead.
The expressions on people's faces were a sight to behold; seeing the youngest son of the richest man in the world was a pleasant surprise for the common people.
Obviously, this bullhead wasn't going to take him straight to his mansion, as security wouldn't allow it. Only authorized personnel are allowed onto the family grounds. So he opted to get off at the edge of the mansion grounds.
Luckily for him, and at the insistence of his father, who since the incident has been a little more... what can you call that word? Concerned? No, that word is too good for his father. It would be more like saying 'a little more active in his security'. His bodyguards never took their eyes off him for a moment and his maid was always at his side. He felt loved, and he says it with obvious mockery.
he took this opportunity to take in the cold, lifeless landscape until he reached the gates of the Schnee mansion. he walked through the halls of the mansion with one clear objective: her room. Finally, he reached the door to her room. Without even looking to her sides, he spoke directly to her bodyguards and also to her maid.
—"I'll be in my room, I don't want any disturbances. If my father likes my presence, tell him I'm tired and I won't be available until tomorrow. The same goes for the other members of my family... Of course, if they deign to ask," Whitley said as he opened the door to his room and entered.
Whitley leaned his back against the wall, sighing heavily. He was finally in his room, away from the hustle and bustle and that happiness that was actually annoying. He had nothing against celebrations; in fact, he enjoyed them, but right now he didn't feel like it. Right now, he just wanted to lie in his bed. But there was a problem.
—"What... happened... here?" he said in surprise.
His room, normally neat and clean, was a complete mess. It looked like a hurricane had passed through it. He highly doubted that he had been the cause of all this, and although he was a man who practically did not lift a finger because everything was served to him, he was not messy. He also highly doubted that his servants had done this.
Everything was lying around. He walked slowly to the center of his room, looking at objects he didn't recognize in the slightest. There were toys, those famous figures from the Mistralian collections. He had seen them before on his visit to a comic book store in Atlas.
Slowly and expectantly, he picked up what looked like a comic book from under his feet. He looked at it.
—"Interesting," he murmured.
Detective Comics #27,
The Batman.
—{}—
Hello! First of all, I want to express my sincere thanks for taking the time to dive into the pages of this chapter.
This is more of an introductory chapter, so don't expect too much action. Although, to be honest, I'm not very good at writing it either. I look forward to your feedback.
While this story is a fanfic of the RWBY series, it won't be 100% faithful to the original canon, so there will be some inconsistencies. I hope this won't be a bother to fans.
To clarify, Whitley is only a year younger than Weiss, or just a few months younger.
I hope this is well received.
I again invite you to share your impressions of the chapter. And if you liked what you read, don't hesitate to follow me for more adventures. Until next time, dear readers!
Ah, the writer's life! Always searching for inspiration amidst laziness and work ethic. Sometimes I wonder if my muse has gone on a permanent vacation. But hey, here we are, fighting procrastination and waiting for the words to flow like a river... or at least a small stream. Thank you for your patience and support!