A Semblance of a Team

by Ravell Aqim

In a world in which Pyrrha Nikos survived to join her friends in Atlas, the kingdom teeters on the brink as Salem extends her reach towards the relics. Faced with the arrival of half a team, Ironwood organizes a third team to work alongside the Ace Ops and RWBY. Will Atlas fall, or will this semblance of a team make the difference? (Pyrrha lives AU of V7-V8; revised version)

9. Chapter 9: Starting the Fire

Chapter Nine: Starting the Fire

"So go over this again."

Jaune looked up from his seat in front of her desk, textbooks open before him. He and Winter were ensconced in her office, a simply functional workspace, filled only with a single desk with a couple of chairs, a terminal, and a single bookshelf. Required texts, something Mister Arc had apparently gleaned after comparing some of the titles with those of the books he was reading.

"Er, this?" he gestured at open texts.

"Your idea, Mister Arc," she said, pacing around the room.

They'd gone over it several times, but to his credit he began explaining himself again. "Well, all we're doing at the moment is getting to the victims long after they've been murdered, and finding nothing."

"And you're assuming that won't change?"

"Seems a mistake to assume it will," he argued. "The killer – or killers – clearly know what they're doing; we can't keep trying the same thing and expect a different result. We've got to get ahead of them. The one thing we do know is the type of people they're killing."

Winter nodded. "Agitators, dissidents, political figures. But not major figures… how did you put it?"

"Small fry." He averted his gaze for a moment, but then Jaune looked back up with surprising intensity. "I know it's not much, but it's the only real lead we have. We can identify likely targets, and if we approach them first, we stand a chance. A chance to stop this rather than keep chasing bodies!"

"I'm persuaded, Mister Arc," she reassured him. "Just trying to iron out the details. I've got Marrow working with some analysts on providing your list."

"I'm surprised you don't have one already," he snarked.

"Whatever you think of Atlas, being unhappy with the government isn't a crime," she said with a sharp look. "Some of the victims had criminal records, but many had simply written articles or were involved with campaigns. Easy enough to piece together afterwards, but more of a challenge to isolate in advance. Especially if we're looking at 'small fry.'"

Jaune sighed, before nodding reluctantly. "Yeah, I guess. It's just now we have some idea of what to do…"

"…You want to get on with it." Winter allowed a small smile to cross her face, before taking her own seat behind her desk. "You're not the only one to struggle with impatience, Mister Arc. But either way, we have to wait, and in the meantime you have the opportunity to catch up with training."

His face fell back down to the texts with a sheepish expression. "I see your point." Puzzlement then crossed his face. "Though I don't think we were due to ever cover some of this stuff at Beacon: rank structures?"

"It likely wouldn't," Winter admitted. "Valean huntsmen tended to operate independently. Here in Atlas, huntsmen have to be prepared to work with the military, especially if they become specialists."

Jaune held up a copy of Atlesian Army Field Operations in one hand, and an Air Fleet Handbook in the other. "But why are they different?"

Winter surprised herself with a little chuckle. "Tradition and interservice rivalry, mostly. Specialists are technically attached to the army, but thankfully we have a more… condensed rank structure."

"Operative and Specialist," Jaune nodded, eyes turning back to Field Operations. "And Commander? That one wasn't entirely clear."

"It's rarely issued," Winter explained. "It's for a member of the Specialist branch who holds an independent command with authority over both army and naval units."

"Like Cordovin?"

"That's correct. With the CCT down, Argus is far enough away to need its own command. Since Cordovin is from the Specialist branch, she needs a rank commensurate with her authority. It's not a situation that comes up often this close to Atlas, where the General can command us directly."

"General, not Commander?"

Winter bit back another smile. "He is General of the entire Military. And he founded the Specialist branch. Cordovin actually took a demotion when she first transferred in."

"Huh," Jaune blinked as he processed that. "This still all seems a little overcomplicated."

"A large organization needs structure," Winter shrugged, "and a clear chain of command. If a leader were to die in battle, any confusion could be fatal."

"I get that," Jaune conceded, "but you don't need a large organization to deal with your average Grimm attack…" he trailed off. "Though we're not expecting an average attack, are we?"

"You tell me, Mister Arc."

"Another cheerful morning," the boy muttered.

"The best way of avoiding another Beacon is to be prepared," she offered.

"'If you want peace, prepare for war'," Jaune quoted to her surprise. Catching her glance, he rubbed the back of his neck but couldn't hold back a grin. "I've, er, been reading round the other books on the curriculum."

Perhaps she'd underestimated him. She confined herself to inclining her head and a simple "good".

There was a succession of taps at the office door.

"Enter!" she called out.

The door swung open as Marrow entered, Pyrrha right behind him. "I have that list you asked for," Marrow announced with his Scroll in hand. "And you told me to bring Pyrrha once I had it."

Winter nodded. "Send the list to each of our Scrolls."

Marrow quickly tapped on his Scroll's display, and a succession of chimes followed from each of their devices. "So what is this about?" Marrow asked.

Winter turned her gaze towards Jaune.

He took her hint. "These are our killer's next potential victims," he explained. "What we're going to do is to reach out to everyone on this list."

"Reach out?!" Marrow waved at his own Scroll. "Most of these people are no fans of the Atlesian military. They won't want to speak to us, let alone accept any kind of protection."

"That's where Pyrrha and I come in," Jaune replied. "You've encouraged us to work in Mantle for this very reason. They might be reluctant to speak to one of you, but with one of us there too…"

"You would be the best candidate, Mister Arc," Winter added. "It's your idea, and your assignments have had more actual contact with the citizenry." Strangely, a look of displeasure crossed Pyrrha's face at the latter, although it swiftly disappeared.

Jaune took it in his stride. "Okay, so Marrow and I make contact–"

"And do what?" asked Marrow.

"We forewarn them, tell them to watch out for danger. I know they won't accept more, but we make sure they have the details for Gendarmerie's hotline. Perhaps even one of our numbers, in case they come across anything suspicious."

"That's it?" Marrow tilted his head. "I know we don't have the resources to offer protection to them all, but couldn't we at least put some extra cameras around them?"

"It wouldn't work," Jaune shrugged. "Even if they gave permission, whoever's doing this hasn't shown up on any cameras. I don't think a few more will make any difference."

"But–"

"I know this isn't ideal," Jaune persisted. "If we knew for sure who would be attacked next, we could bait a trap or something. But we don't. This way we stand a chance of stopping the attack in progress."

"A slim chance," Marrow argued back. "We're not likely to get there in time, nor the Gendarmerie."

"Yeah," Jaune admitted reluctantly, "we might not. We might be all too late. But even if we catch the killer with a fresh victim we have a chance of stopping them in their tracks!"

Marrow froze, taken aback.

"Jaune?" Pyrrha voiced in concern.

"Look, I'd far rather stop the killer the first time!" Jaune said, standing up. "But even if we can't, even if we don't catch them, and all we can do is gather evidence before the killer has wiped their tracks, it's better than the alternative! Otherwise the murderer will just keep killing, and we'll just keep finding corpse after corpse."

Winter approved. Jaune clearly wasn't happy about the prospect of failing to rescue someone, but he was clear-sighted enough to realise the advantages of being fresh on the scene, even if it were only to witness the murderer's departure. "Arc's right," she interceded, "and unless we get any better ideas we'll pursue this for now. Better something than nothing. Marrow, you and Arc will begin in Mantle immediately."

"Yes Ma'am," Marrow saluted. "Er…what will you be doing?"

Winter glanced at Pyrrha then, seeing a slight look of confusion in the other's eyes. "We'll be here: I have a few things to go over with Miss Nikos." One could call it a little matter of destiny.

-000-

It hadn't taken them long to descend to Mantle, nor much longer to requisition a vehicle. Soon Marrow was driving them through Mantle's streets as they headed for the first name on their list.

'Honestly, I don't think I'm cut out for this door to door thing,' Marrow groused. "The Gendarmerie must have more experience with this sort of thing."

"They aren't speaking with the Gendarmerie either," Jaune observed casually from the passenger seat. "You were the first one to tell me that."

"Don't quote me!"

"Even when you were right?"

"Especially when I'm right!" Marrow huffed. "You know, you could have just gone round with the Gendarmerie yourself."

"It wouldn't be the same," Jaune smirked. "I don't know them. I know you, and can let people know you're on the level."

"'On the level'?"

"You know, trustworthy."

"That's it?"

"That's what they need to know," Jaune said. "I mean, I could add that you're the bravest, strongest, most deadly huntsman I know, but since I'd be making that up, it'd kinda defeat the point."

"Hey!"

"Seriously, you're good, but I'd still put odds on Pyrrha against you in a fight."

Marrow snorted. "And if I were against Winter?"

"Marrow, I don't know her well, but I think if I bet against Winter, I'd fear for my own life."

Marrow laughed, shaking his head. "Can't argue with that." He glanced over to Jaune to see him gazing at the passing buildings. "Seen something?"

"No, just thinking," Jaune shook his head. "Is all of Mantle run down like this?"

"Eh, mostly," Marrow shrugged, before making a turn. "There's some nicer bits, but it's all seen better days."

"Why?"

"'Why?'" Marrow strained at the question. "Ask a bunch of people, you'll get a bunch of answers, I think."

"I've heard a lot of people blame Atlas."

"And I think they've got a point, just not the way they think," Marrow replied. He could feel Jaune's gaze on him as he made another turn, so he continued. "Think about it: If you had a choice, where would you live, Atlas or Mantle?"

"I'm sure Mantle has its charms."

"The casseroles are that good, huh?" Marrow sniggered, and the blonde boy flushed red. Point to me.

"Okay, Atlas," Jaune admitted.

"Right, and if you were opening a factory, or starting a business, where would you go?"

"Atlas."

"And you see the problem: you want somewhere to live, you go to Atlas. You start a business, you look first to Atlas. You want workers, you look in Atlas, unless you're wanting to take advantage of cheap labour. Most people in Mantle can't get out, but a good half would if they could. And that's been the trend since the Great War. You only really choose Mantle if you need the raw materials."

"Dust?"

"Exactly, hence the SDC. But even that's running out. They already have sites elsewhere, and eventually even the SDC will leave. The embargo's hurting, but all it's really doing is bringing the pain early. Mantle's withering, and it's just a matter of time."

"What can be done?"

"I don't know; just because I can see some of the problems doesn't mean I have any solutions! Squeeze the companies, and they'll just go all the faster. Demand more support from Atlas, like Robyn Hill wants, and you'll just build resentment without fixing the underlying problem. Atlas needs Mantle's raw materials for now, but it's a dwindling pile, and Mantle can't stand alone either. It's all just too complicated. I prefer to focus on things I feel I can do something about."

"Like immortal Queens of the Grimm?" Jaune said with a half-smile.

"Hey, I didn't say that was easy, just uncomplicated. We may not know how to fix that, but at least we know what a solution looks like." He pulled their borrowed car to the side, pulling up to the curb. "Besides, if we don't succeed, none of that other stuff will matter anyway."

They sat in morbid silence for a few moments.

"C'mon," Marrow gestured, opening his door. "We're here, time for you to turn on the charm."

-000-

Pyrrha had followed Winter as they'd made their way down from the Academy, taking several transport tubes. As they wandered through gleaming corridors, Pyrrha saw a vast space forming a ring on the underside of the city through the windows. Glittering lights speckled the curved wall on the other side of the cavity, doubtless more windows dotting structures on the outer edge of the ring. More lights could be seen flying through this space, signs of the unending air traffic that flew under the city itself.

"It's known as the Donut," Winter said offhand. "Many of Atlas's essential services are located down here."

"Military facilities?"

"Amongst others. But that's not where we're headed."

After several more corridors, they neared a series of doors labelled M3, and passed within. After passing reception, it was clear they were in a medical facility of some sort, though Winter gave little indication of their destination. They entered a final corridor, lined with cameras and with four Atlesian knights at the end, standing guard outside a final door. As they neared the end of the corridor, Winter ushered Pyrrha through a side door. "Stay here, and observe," she said, before shutting Pyrrha in the room.

She was in what appeared to be a monitoring station, with several screens that softly chittered away as readouts flashed across them. No one else appeared to be in the room, but one side of it was dominated by a clear glass window. Pyrrha approached, and found herself looking down into another chamber. This lower chamber was a combination of living quarters and med bay, with a kitchenette and cupboards on one side and medical equipment on the other. What caught Pyrrha's eye, however, was the elderly, white-haired lady who lay in the sole bed in the chamber. She rested peacefully, giving little sign of any awareness of Pyrrha's presence. Pyrrha wondered whether the woman was conscious, but then she stirred as the door opened and Winter entered her room. A one-way mirror, Pyrrha realised.

The old woman rose a little and smiled at Winter, and then settled back as Winter exchanged words with her. Pyrrha couldn't make out what they were saying, but there was gentleness in Winter's mannerisms that she'd rarely witnessed before. Winter moved to the kitchenette and began preparing tea, eventually pouring out a little mug. As Pyrrha watched, Winter took the mug to the elderly lady, and passed it into her hands, seating herself beside her bed as she did. The two began speaking again as Winter tended to the woman, and finally Pyrrha realised who this patient was.

The Winter Maiden.

-000-

It was a little while before Winter rejoined her in the observation chamber. Pyrrha had seated herself away from the window, seeking to grant the two women a little privacy, but got back up again as Winter walked in and moved towards the one-way mirror. The two of them stood, side by side, looking down where the elderly lady now appeared to be resting.

"She's the Winter Maiden," Pyrrha said. It wasn't a question.

"She is," Winter confirmed.

"Why all… this?" Pyrrha asked, waving her hand around them.

"Fria led a very active life," Winter replied quietly. "She was a formidable Maiden, but age catches up with us all. Now she is frail, and her mind often wanders. Sometimes she forgets who I am. She could pass any day now, and until that happens, I am the only human being allowed to see her."

"You're the next Winter Maiden."

"You seem unsurprised."

"I suspected, but then I think you already guessed that."

Winter's lips turned upwards, ever so slightly. "So I did."

"But why show me?" Pyrrha asked.

"The General suggested it," Winter said, turning towards Pyrrha. "He'd cleared you to be briefed, but I was also minded to ask… we belong to a rather select sisterhood, after all."

"Hardly. Cinder stole the power."

"You were touched by it, nonetheless. You were both chosen, and chose."

"Is that how you see it?" Pyrrha asked.

"How can I not?"

Pyrrha paused, trying to lay out her thoughts, before she continued. "I suspect General Ironwood has been in a position to shape your career for a long time. He's been in a perfect position to groom you for the role. You're even named for it!"

Winter gave a wistful smile as her gaze returned to Fria. "That's not even a coincidence. I gather Fria knew my mother some time ago. Occasionally she presses me, asks me if I named my firstborn after her as 'I' had promised."

She paused, and Pyrrha could not form the words to reply. They were neither fitting, nor needed.

"You're right, of course," Winter added. "I suspect the General had this in mind for me a long time before he told me. Fria too had a hand in it when she was more herself."

"So it was chosen for you."

"And yet I've chosen it for myself. When they asked, they let me know what I was getting into. They gave me the choice. And I've embraced it, chosen it for myself. It's an opportunity to do so much more, for Atlas and Remnant. I feel called to it… destined, as you termed it."

"I know the feeling," Pyrrha said.

"And what about yourself?" Winter asked. "From our earlier conversation, it seemed like you had doubts about your earlier decision."

Pyrrha didn't speak for a moment, as she again tried to marshal her thoughts. This time was harder, entangled as they were with feelings of fear, doubt and guilt. "I do," she eventually admitted. "I didn't know what I was getting into: Salem or the rest of it. All I was told was of the four Maidens."

"None of it?" Winter raised an eyebrow, before she gave a hum of recognition. "The General told me he would have informed me long before, of both Salem and the Winter Maiden, were he not forbidden. Ozpin was… very circumspect."

"That's one way of putting it," Pyrrha sighed. "Not that I knew that at the time. But then I didn't even know if I were going to survive the process: they didn't know what the aura transfer machine would do. Just that fear alone, that I might end up not being me, that my body could continue with something else looking out, tore me apart. I feared I would lose everything, my life, my friends, my very soul! And yet I couldn't even speak to anyone about it! That fear, that worry, was something our enemies used against us."

"How so?" Winter tilted her head.

"Penny." Pyrrha barely managed to breathe out the name. In her mind's eye, all she could see was Vytal again, and the shattered android girl in front of her.

"Ah," Winter said carefully, "No one blames you for that."

"It's not about blame," Pyrrha said, as she took a slow breath. "Simply an acknowledgement that my own mental state left me vulnerable to Emerald's manipulations. Afterwards, as I've said, I've been back and forward about the whole thing. For the longest time, I blamed myself for not embracing destiny eagerly enough, for not discarding everything when called upon. More recently… I've learned much I was so sure of was simply not so. It's left me unsure of many things, including the matter of destiny."

"And yet you've kept fighting," Winter pointed out. "Do you still feel called to defend the world?"

"If I were to deny that, I would deny myself," Pyrrha replied, at which Winter smiled in evident satisfaction. "Perhaps it is the manner of fulfilling that call that I question?"

"It strikes me," Winter suggested, "that it is also the manner in which you were asked to assume the mantle of a Maiden that vexes you so?"

Pyrrha thought the matter over, but another question clawed its way out of her first, rushing out in frantic desperation. "And how are you being asked to assume it?" she asked urgently.

Winter held her gaze, before directing a soft glance down at Fria. "Entirely naturally, I assure you," she replied. "We don't face what drove them to try the aura transfer at Beacon."

Pyrrha felt an unexpected flood of relief, and as she examined the feeling, she suddenly laughed. Winter turned back to her with a quizzical look, but Pyrrha waved aside her concern.

"I think you must be right," Pyrrha explained. "I had wrestled with what the aura transfer required… it felt so wrong, and yet I didn't understand why Jaune regarded it with even more revulsion. Not until now, when I worried it might have been asked of you, when someone else was at stake, and found I hated it all the more.

"We're huntresses. We've pledged to offer our life and our blood to defend the innocent. But no one has the right to ask the soul."

Winter hummed in agreement. "Thankfully that's not being asked of me."

"No, and that does make a difference. Though it is still a heavy burden."

"And yet one I take gladly. It's not about power: it's a responsibility, a sacred trust."

"I'm not sure Cinder would agree."

"Which is what makes her a usurper. She can never understand what truly makes this special. You do." Winter looked back at Pyrrha, this time with a hint of amusement in here eyes. "So, any advice?"

"You hardly seem the sort to need it."

Winter huffed. "I hold myself to a high standard, but I'm as human as anyone else!"

"I'll try not to let your secret out."

Winter rolled her eyes. "More seriously, anything?"

"In truth I don't know what to offer," Pyrrha said. "You seem to have everything handled."

"I hope so," Winter confessed, turning away from the observation window and walking back into the room. "The General tells me that too, and I don't want to let him down."

"You seem close to him," Pyrrha couldn't help but observe, turning to keep her eyes on Winter.

"He's helped me shape the direction of my life," Winter admitted, looking over her shoulder. "I've long looked up to him as a mentor."

Mentor. Pyrrha could sense a lot of weight placed on that word. "It's good that he's close to someone."

"What do you mean?" Winter asked sharply.

"Well, it's just that I imagine in times like these he needs it more than ever," Pyrrha replied, thinking of the way General Ironwood seemed aged, worn compared to how he'd been at Beacon. Surely Winter saw it too?

"Needs?" Winter arched her brow. "I hardly think so. He's a strong man. He understands that a leader can't afford to show weakness. In times like these, a leader must inspire courage, not worry, in their followers."

"I'm sorry, I'm sure you're right." Pyrrha almost left it there. Yet memory moved her. First of Jaune, when he spurned her help, feeling a leader couldn't burden his team. Then of her own experience, the one she'd just been recounting: she'd held her fears in, and they'd nearly poisoned her. She caught Winter's eye, determined to push. "But that's just it; we're all his followers."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that General Ironwood's as human as the rest of us, and we all need someone to confide in. I've seen what happens when people don't; I've felt how crushing it is to be alone with one's problems." Pyrrha reached out, taking Winter's shoulder. "The General must have the weight of the world on his shoulders, and has few to speak to. We're all his subordinates, and as for his peers, he doesn't trust the Council, and Ozpin isn't here. You might be the only one he can confide in."

Winter pulled away from her, turning her back upon her. Eventually she spoke in a tight voice. "I'll take what you say under advisement."

"That's all I can ask," Pyrrha said, before she again reflected over they'd just said. "Although it does make me realise I have one bit of advice for you, too."

"What's that?" Winter asked, looking over her shoulder.

"Tell Weiss about this," she waved her hand towards Fria in the room below. "I was forbidden to say anything, and while I understand why my teachers asked it of me, it almost destroyed me. You can choose this, but you don't have to face it alone. The right bonds strengthen us. Tell your sister."

Winter searched her gaze for a moment, before she nodded. "Thank you," she said. "I'll consider it."

-000-

Jaune could feel Marrow's eyes on him as they walked along the street. "You're quiet," the operative said.

"Sorry. It's just that last door… you know…" He trailed off, realising how ridiculous it was that he was the one affected by it. "I'm surprised you're not–"

"If I lost it at every racist thing I'd heard, I'd have much higher blood pressure," Marrow shrugged. "I've heard worse, and there's much worse than words."

"Yeah," Jaune said glumly.

"Seriously, what's the problem?" Marrow pressed, as they turned down yet another grey-walled street, this one lined on either side with terraces of apartment buildings. "That can hardly be the first racist you've met, and it wasn't like he was being racist towards you."

"Yeah, I know," Jaune replied. "It's just… I'm just surprised, I guess. Like from what I've heard, I'd almost expect this from some in Atlas. But from people having a rough life, and when you're offering to help…"

Marrow hummed. "I guess we like to fit things into neat little categories."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we like to fit good people here, bad people there," Marrow explained. "For instance, what's the most racist place on Remnant?"

Jaune raised his eyebrow as looked aside at him. "This feels like a trick question…"

Marrow laughed. "Yeah it is. I guess you could say it's Mistral. Or a White Fang camp. But what I mean is Atlas and Mantle are divided, but it's not as easy as all that. You definitely had a few places that had a 'no Faunus allowed' policy in Atlas back in the day, and that wasn't all that long ago… but I reckon you're more likely to run across an out and out bigot in Mantle now."

"So… it's more of a problem in Mantle?"

Marrow shook his head. "No. It depends on what you see the problem being. Take old man Schnee: I don't know if he actually hates Faunus, at least any more than he dislikes anyone else poorer than him. But what's worse: someone like the man back there who says nasty things, and really means them, but doesn't do much about it, and might help the old lady across the street? Or Jacques Schnee, who may hold no actual malice, but gets a whole mine of Faunus workers blown up simply because he didn't care enough while cutting corners to boost his profit margins?"

"I… see what you mean," Jaune replied.

"Yeah," Marrow replied. "It's easy to think one just needs to divide goodies from baddies, and help the 'good'. But people aren't that simple, and doing good often means more than just picking some 'side'." He shrugged. "It's why it seems simpler going up against someone who genuinely is an embodiment of evil and destruction. At least that seems straightforward, even if it means we have to save some of the jerks too. And it means that as much as an ass as that man was, I think I've got bigger things to worry about."

He glanced to his left, seeing an alley dotted with a number of doors. "Down here, right? 32B?"

"Yep," Jaune nodded, and double-checked his Scroll as they turned to walk down the row of houses. "A reporter from the Mantlean Chronicle, Vesta Fialova." He took another glance at the name on the screen. It seemed familiar, although he couldn't work out where from.

They reached the right door, climbing up several steps, and Jaune hit the doorbell. They waited for a few moments, and then Marrow chuckled.

"Cute kid," he said, looking at the window to the side.

Jaune turned to see a little girl sticking her tongue out the ground floor window at them. She giggled, and Jaune suddenly recognised her. Lila, one of the kids from the school run. Lila Fialova.

"Oh no!" he blurted, but it was too late as the front door swung open.

On the other side of the door stood the purple-garbed mom from the route. Ms Fialova – Vesta – smiled as she saw him. "Maybe this is my lucky day?"

Her eyes then took in Marrow, standing beside Jaune, and narrowed. "Or maybe not."

"Er… Ms Fialova," Jaune stuttered. "We're here…"

"What is this, intimidation?!" Vesta jabbed her finger in Marrow's direction. "Is Ironwood now sending his own personal goon squad after me?!"

"No!" Marrow protested.

"Ms Fialova, please!" Jaune stepped between them, hands raised. "We're trying to help!"

Vesta's look softened as she glanced his way. "Maybe you are, but how I can trust him? It's pretty convenient for this murders to take out Ironwood's critics. Why wouldn't he be behind it? It's his embargo that's finally strangling us, after all!"

"Marrow works with me, Ms Fialova," Jaune pressed. "When I'm not I'm looking after the kids, we're on the same team. And the only thing we've killed has been Grimm."

"So you're vouching for him, is that right? And Ironwood and all his jack-booted thugs?"

"I can't speak for everyone who works for Atlas, Ms Fialova," Jaune replied. "But I don't think General Ironwood's behind the murders. And I know Marrow isn't. Please, we want to help with that."

Vesta relented, stepping back from Marrow, although she crossed her arms. "Alright. I'm not convinced, but I think you are, honey. So what are you here to offer?"

"We've got a few guidelines on home security, alarms and so on," Marrow said, offering several pamphlets to her, "including a hotline to the Gendarmerie. Please take that number, ma'am, and call if you find anything suspicious."

"That's it?" Vesta huffed. "As if I want the Gendarmerie around!"

"It'll allow you to call through if you come across anything suspicious, Ms Fialova," Jaune explained. "Please. Our team's been asked to help track this murderer down… and I'd rather stop them in their tracks rather than turn up too late again."

Vesta looked carefully at him for a moment. "Okay," she finally nodded. "I guess it can't hurt. But I want your number too. At least I'm sure you're not part of anything."

"I can do that," Jaune agreed, and held out his Scroll so she could take his number. A few moments later, and it was done.

"Honestly ma'am, we hope you don't need to call either of those two numbers," Marrow said as they turned to leave. "But if you do, call and help will come swiftly."

"I hope I don't need it too," Vesta said soberly. A smirk then crossed her face as she looked at Jaune. "Thought the other ladies are going to be totally jealous when I tell them I have your number!"

Jaune flushed red as Marrow laughed, and could only stammer out a farewell as they made a hasty retreat.

-000-

Pyrrha had been right about one thing, Winter reflected. While Weiss hadn't much to add about the matter of the Winter Maiden, the mere act of sharing the prospect with her had taken some weight off Winter's mind.

She stepped into Ironwood's office and saluted. The General looked up from the holographic display on his desk and nodded in acknowledgement. As Winter walked towards the desk, she couldn't help but notice the shadows in his eyes remained as present as ever.

With a few taps, General Ironwood finished whatever he was doing and looked up as she stood opposite. "It went well?" he asked.

"It did. Thank you again for giving such swift clearance to Weiss."

"She already knows so much about our most dire secrets, and has proven herself discreet," Ironwood replied with almost a shrug. "It seemed little bother for her to know something that concerns you intimately. How did she take it?"

"She was concerned," Winter replied. "A sister's prerogative, although it felt strange for the roles to be reversed." A wry smile came to her lips. "But simply sharing it with her was helpful to me. You need not fear, Sir, I remain committed."

"I never thought otherwise, Winter. I only want you to be sure." The General paused, and swivelled his chair to look out of the window, upon Atlas itself in the setting sun. "Fria will be sorely missed when the time comes. I wish she were up and able; we could have used her strength in what's to come." He tapped his fingers against the desk, then turned back round. "But I do not doubt that that we could find no finer heir."

"Thank you, Sir, I–" Winter began, but was cut off as the General's desk began to beep.

He answered the incoming call. "Clover?" he asked.

"Sir," Clover replied. "There's a broadcast on all the news channels, and I have a feeling you're going to want to see it."

"What sort of broadcast?"

"Political. It's Jacques Schnee."

The General directed a glance her way. Winter couldn't help but grit her teeth in turn. "Want may be strong word."

"We'll take a look at it, Clover," Ironwood replied more diplomatically. He gave her a querying look as Clover rang off.

"I'm fine, Sir. Put it on." Despite her distaste, it was better to know what her father was doing, and she knew as well as the General did that Clover's 'feelings' were not to be taken lightly.

The General nodded, and with several taps, the Atlesian News Network appeared on his display. Winter rounded the desk to see an image of her father, at a podium in front of the SDC offices in Mantle, dressed in his characteristic white ensemble.

"…I am well aware that at present I wear two hats. The first I worn for decades: as CEO of the Schnee Dust Corporation, I have striven to build up a company that provides jobs and prosperity for both the people of Mantle and Atlas. What is good for the SDC has often proved good for Mantle.

"My second hat is more recent: that of candidate for the Mantle seat on the Council. I have long eschewed politics but was eventually prevailed upon to stand by good friends, who knew what damage this embargo is doing to us all."

Winter couldn't resist a snort. Her father may have never sought office, but he'd often tried to pull strings behind the scenes. And 'friends'? The only friends he had were ambition, vanity and ego.

"I have no need to remind you of the damage this embargo on the Dust Trade is doing," her father continued. "It is constricting the arteries of commerce, it has brought deprivation into our cities, and threatens not only the company in which I am privileged to play a role, but so many others. It has hurt our relations with the other kingdoms of Remnant, and threatens our livelihoods. This reckless, and I believe criminal, policy, currently imposed by General Ironwood, can and must be reversed. It is for this very reason that I am standing."

There was applause, and Winter could see the General's jaw tighten. She understood. Some of the audience were likely paid to clap like seals – her father wouldn't leave that to chance – but enough wouldn't have been. The embargo and border closure had never been popular, but as the economic toll mounted, and official justifications became threadbare, fewer had any patience. There was a reason both main candidates opposed the policy. And the situation was still far too perilous to tell the real reason for it.

Still, this was the usual rhetoric. She'd seen nothing so far to justify Clover's intuition.

"These two responsibilities weigh upon me," her father said, with an air of conscientiousness. "The General's blockade hurts the SDC profoundly: it is our primary product he forbids us to trade, after all. So far, in the hope that he'd see sense, I have been able to maintain our workforce at its full strength, despite our substantial loss of revenue. However, this is unsustainable. If I do not take measures, the interests and wellbeing of the whole company – from our shareholders to our lowest employees – will be threatened."

What is he planning? Winter wondered, with a growing pit in her stomach.

"As a candidate, it would be in my interest to prop this up as long as possible. This is not possible, however. Rather I must take action, based on my responsibility to the rest of the company, and then as candidate seek to undo the damage that has been done.

"Effective immediately, I am shutting down all non-profitable SDC operations. I am sorry to do this, but must take steps to ensure the survival of this company in the face of this insane policy." Even amongst the chosen audience murmurs began growing, but her father was unmoved. He had to have expected this, especially as he plunged on. "Rest assured, I am as angry as the rest of you. But if elected to office, let me assure voters that I will fix what has been broken. I will stop Ironwood; can you trust anyone else to do so? Can Robyn Hill bring your jobs back? Vote for me, and I will bring prosperity back to Mantle. Thank you."

Reporters began yelling out questions as her father retreated, but he simply held up his hand and left the podium, nonchalantly leaving behind the spark he'd lit behind. Winter clenched her fists even as she wanted to vomit. General Ironwood snapped the channel off, calling Clover immediately.

"Clover, signal the Mantlean Gendarmerie immediately and bring them to full alert. Have them get riot squads on the streets, and deploy the AK-200s," the General ordered crisply. "We've got to stop any disturbance or we'll be overrun by Grimm."

He was right, Winter knew. The passions her father had just unleashed would likely boil over. But a riot was the least of their problems. The negativity such events would incur would begin attracting much worse. And in the middle of it…

Winter hit her own comm. "Marrow? You're about to have trouble."

-000-

Marrow and Jaune dashed through the streets, the vehicle they'd borrowed from the police now battered and left behind. The riots had exploded with sudden force, far quicker than they'd expected. Fuelled by a combination of anger, frustration, and alcohol after long shifts or long days without work, groups of angry men now charged about, most having boiled out of the local bars, lobbing rocks, bricks and anything they could get their hands on. Other civilians ran about in panic, fleeing the disorder in any direction they could.

The pair reached one junction, where a group turned from smashing a window to see them. Marrow saw the moment they recognised his uniform. "STAY!" he yelled with an outstretched hand, freezing the rioters in place. Without taking his eyes off the them he called out to Jaune. "Where are the Gendarmerie?!"

"Still deploying," Jaune called out, checking his Scroll. "There's some the next block over." He pointed down the street to the left, then flinched at a sudden gout of flame. Some rioters down that street had begun flinging bottles, obviously filled with some flammable concoction, and one of the shopfronts was burning from their ire. The fires only seemed to fuel their rage, as they threw a few more at the store's neighbours.

It was as the arsonists turned round, turning their attention to the stores on the other side of the street, that Jaune caught sight of another couple of huddled figures, hiding around the corner of one of the stores. Not so little as the charges Jaune looked after, but young enough that Jaune knew they had no place in any of this.

He charged forwards. "STOP!" he cried, but the arsonists gave little sign of hearing him. They couldn't see the cowering youths tucked away out of their line of sight. One bent his arm back to throw but, limbs burning from effort, Jaune pushed his legs and ran in the way. As the man let loose, Jaune lifted his scabbard, unfolding it, and boosted his aura just as the spinning bottle smashed against his shield, bathing all in a sheet of heat and flame.

-000-

Another night, another dingy apartment, but this time Watts smiled. He could see the flames and hear the sirens from the windows, the flickering lights illuminating the room as the chaos warmed his heart. He turned back to the screens in front of him, news reports detailing their success. Amusingly some of the rioters had begun trying to coordinate their efforts via chat. Watts took advantage of the opportunity, tinkering with messages or adding fake ones of his own to encourage the rioters to inflict maximum damage, both physical and psychological.

Dear Jacques had played his role magnificently, setting off the tinder box that was Mantle. Of course the businessman didn't know that this would be the first of many fires, leading to the final conflagration when all was ashes. But Watts knew, and smiled. Oh yes, this is going splendidly.

---

Author's Note:

So… first of all, this story isn't dead, and neither am I! I must apologise for how long it's taken to update this story (just one day short of a whole year), so I am sorry for the entirely unintended hiatus. I can put it down to a combination of things: I had What Are You? to finish, and I'd always intended to concentrate on my own original works too. However, there was also the matter of mounting stress at work, then leaving said work, then moving… it all caught up. However, I like to finish what I've started, so I still very much intend to finish this story, and to update it more frequently than I've done this past year!

We have a variety of things being set up in this chapter that I hope people enjoy. And I continue my efforts to make the Mantle Moms plot relevant.

Speaking of my own original writing, I have now actually published the first instalment on Kindle, with more to come soon. So if any of you have enjoyed Fallen Maiden, What Are You? and what you've seen of A Semblance of a Team, you may find Faith of the Wanderer by David Richards of interest. It's a short fantasy story, the first part of a work of serial fiction (with the next part, The Hunters of Vipal to come out next month), set in a village where little seems to change, on a world where the sun itself never moves. If you think you might enjoy it, it's available at a very reasonable price on the website where one gets Kindle ebooks.

Rest assured, however, that this will not stop me from updating and completing this story, and from doing so in a much timelier fashion!