Chapter 109 – Atlas – A Gathering Storm

Year 74VE, April

Cover Art by Mi Chumi

Atlas, Schnee Dust Company Headquarters

The Penthouse Executive Conference Room, high atop SDC Tower, was a place of power and influence. The long, highly polished conference table's surface was a mosaic of rare, slow-growing hardwoods from across Remnant. Each tree had been hand-selected, carefully harvested, and transported to Atlas where the best craftsmen on three continents had milled and examined each resulting board for grain density, direction, color, and any natural imperfections that would either ruin or augment the overall effect. In the end, less than 1% of each tree had made its way into the resulting product. The rest had been destroyed, lest someone else use that wood to create anything of comparable beauty.

From there, it had been carefully hand-assembled, hand-sanded, and hand-finished with over a hundred iterations of clear finish followed by ever lighter sanding, until the final product was smooth as glass, hard as stone, and had an apparent depth that was three times the actual thickness.

And seated at its head was Chairman and CEO of the Schnee Dust Company, Jacques Schnee, tapping a pen on its mirrored surface. It had been years since he'd noticed, much less noted, the beauty and elegance and above all expense of it. A single piece of furniture, whose cost could have fed and clothed multiple Mantlean families for years.

And that was just the table itself. Seated around it in equally expansive and ornate chairs were the entire C-Suite of the Schnee Dust Company, a dozen Vice Presidents of its various divisions and sub-companies, from extraction, to acquisition, to transportation, to refining, to wholesaling, and… most importantly, public relations.

"And to the next order of business," Jacques said smoothly, reviewing the agenda and turning to the Vice President in question, "there are apparently some pressing matters of public perception to attend to?"

"Yes, Chairman Schnee," the Vice President for Public Relations, an elegant woman with light green eyes and long and gently curling black hair, replied. She'd held her position for almost five years now, through challenge after challenge, not to mention the odd attempt on her life. She was extremely good at her job, and extremely well-compensated. "There appears to be a video that has been circulating for several weeks now, gradually increasing in reach and popularity. Unfortunately, it flew under the radar for too long before we could completely suppress it, and was distributed in some unorthodox ways." She paused. "It… includes some disturbing footage of one of the independent mining camps."

"And this impacts us in what manner?" Jacques Schnee asked, blue eyes glinting.

"The camp obtained its security through a third-party contractor, who hired both current and retired employees of Schnee Field Security Services, sir." She paused. "Some of the footage included testimony from the miners. There were some very troubling allegations regarding several of those Security personnel."

Several members of the C-Suite shifted uncomfortably. Jacques tapped his pen on the conference table top. "I see… and there's no way to fully suppress or discredit this footage?"

"Not at this point, sir. It's… quite damning. We've been taking steps to distance the SDC, per protocol. The Atlas Council has already revoked the license of the third-party contracting firm, and the shell company that was operating the camp is under investigation as well and has been forced to divest its assets and declare bankruptcy. I've had the usual statements released that the Schnee Dust Company does not condone such behavior, has no direct business relationship with the camp nor its management company, and was unaware of work conditions there."

Jacques Schnee gave a grunt. "It sounds like you have it well in hand. You are bringing all this to our attention because…"

"There were four security contractors who were mentioned by name as being particularly problematic. Three of them died at the camp. Two to Grimm, and one due accidental blue-on-blue discharge of anti-Grimm defense systems." Which was a partial lie. It was clear from the footage that one of the members of the detail had been attempting to fire the Hard-Light round through one of the faunus paramilitaries, but their employee had been in the line of fire. "The fourth lost his arm to what we believe was a faunus paramilitary of some sort, who were responsible for breaching the camp." She glanced to her right, where the Vice President of Schnee Security was sat, mouth a thin line and jaw clenched. She'd already had words with him. "The fourth survived and is… on medical leave but still on the payroll of Schnee Field Security Services, sir." And was the one who killed his coworker, she added silently.

Jacques stood and turned to stare out the large floor-to-ceiling windows, through the hard-light security barrier beyond it, onto the expanse of the city of Atlas. "That could be problematic. Have the usual statement ready, stating that the SDC takes allegations of mistreatment of all workers, not just our own, very seriously. And scrub any records of his employment. Set up the appropriate NDA and inducements."

She nodded and met the eyes of the Security VP, who nodded once, tersely.

Jacques turned to the Vice President for raw ore procurement. "August, do we have information on when the Gehen mines will return to operation with a new management company?"

"It's already operating again," the heavy-set man replied, waving his pen airily. "Rumor is that several 'investors' formed a new company called Dark Star Dust Resources, purchased all of the Gehen assets, and have recruiters working Mantle to staff back up to full capacity now."

"Good," Jacques turned back, clapping his hands together. "The Dust must flow , ladies and gentlemen. We have an obligation to Remnant to ensure this… to uphold the Schnee legacy. And an obligation to the shareholders, of course," he added with a laugh.

But his face held no amusement.

Atlas, SDC Contract Services Clinic

One of the many benefits of working for the ever-pervasive family of companies under the SDC umbrella was the very extensive and comprehensive healthcare and retirement benefits. A man who showed loyalty, didn't ask too many questions, and didn't make too many waves could not only make a nice nest egg for his twilight years, he'd have the best healthcare Atlas could offer outside of the military itself.

Which was good, because Lieutenant Edgar Frost's medical needs, after having his Aura broken and arm brutally amputated by that damn animal wielding a damn chainsaw , were significant. He was in the queue for a fully-functional prosthetic, and they'd done some of the preparation work on his stump already. Most of the cost would be covered by the clinic since he'd been on subcontract at the time of the injury and was on medical leave.

The problem was he was still suffering from sporadic pain at the amputation site, which meant he had to visit the clinic weekly for nerve adjustments and physical therapy in preparation for the prosthetic.

And now they were having issues finding his appointment.

He stared at the receptionist in confusion and resisted the temptation to point with his missing damn hand. "Look, I got the reminder last week. And I know it's been the same time every week. It's not my fault your systems glitched. Fit me in."

The receptionist's eyes flicked between him, the others in the waiting room, and the screen, and shook her head. "I'm sorry sir, but we have no record of you in our systems."

Edgar Frost was a big man, with a hard face. But right now, his expression was shifting to disbelief rather than intimidation. "The hell are you talking about? I've been coming here for two months. I recognize you! Your name is Mary. You talk about your damn yorkie, Floo-Floo, every freaking week when I come in!"

Her expression went through a couple of iterations, ending on uncomfortable . The fact that her name badge said Mariella and her dog's name was Froo-Froo didn't prove anything, but she knew the man was right. In fact, she knew everything about him, including the fact that his name had popped up in several social media posts that were circulating around Mantle, and that she had been given specific instructions on how to handle him when he arrived. Security was already standing by just the other side of the door. "I'm sorry sir, I don't know what to say."

"This is bullshit!" He said, volume rising.

"Sir, you'll have to keep your voice down , or... I'll be forced to call security." Her hand hovered over a button on her touch-screen.

He growled. Fuck that. He was security. He could… He slumped.

Not here he couldn't. Not if he wanted to keep his benefits. "Fine," he managed, and watched her slump in relief as well.

Shaking his head, he turned his back on the reception desk and followed his feet through the door back into the street while he chewed on the situation. This wasn't a disaster. He'd make a few calls, figure out what the issue was. Reschedule the appointment. The pain was manageable, with medication, and the arm wouldn't be available for another couple of weeks, anyway.

Damn animals. If I ever see that bastard again, I'll cut his damn legs off and shove them both up his ass.

In the express train back toward his apartment, he pulled up the website for SDC Field Security Services, and typed in his login information.

And received a notification.

INVALID USERNAME AND/OR PASSWORD

His brows lowered. He shook his head. Stupid system does a forced password reset every other damn week. He clicked the "Forgot Password" link and typed in his username.

NO SUCH USERNAME

Alright this is bullshit. He tried a few variations, but he knew he had the right one. Below that was a link for "Recover Username". He glared at it, and then typed in his email address.

And waited.

Five minutes later, his message queue finally listed an unread message from SFSS.

Subject: Your Username Recovery

We are very sorry. No account was found associated with the provided email address. If you believe this message is in error, please contact Account Services.

By the time he reached his small but well-appointed apartment, he was starting to feel the beginnings of worry.

He called Account Services, and spent another thirty minutes playing Press X bingo, before getting disconnected. Then he tried his supervisor, which went straight to voicemail. And then he tried Account Services again. And again. Finally on the third time, he managed to get an actual human on the line.

Some guy named Steve who, by the sounds of it, was about 18 years old and on his first week on the job.

And Steve told him that not only did they not have any record of him having a current account, the SFSS had no record of him in their system at all . He didn't exist.

And never had.

He pulled up several other account websites, all of them work related in some fashion, and found the same thing.

No records. No accounts.

Son of a bitch… they're cutting me loose.

No. Hell no. They can't do this to me.

He dialed his boss again. It went to voicemail again.

And again.

And again.

And an hour later, two men showed up on his doorstep.

. . .

"Mr. Frost."

Edgar took in the two people facing him. One had that smooth and slick mannerism that just screamed "legal", but the other was very clearly SDC security. Not Field security, but HQ Security.

Shit. "Yeah, that's me."

The smooth talker nodded. "Mr. Frost, I am empowered to offer you a one-time payment of $10,000 lien, in return for your signature on an NDA and compliance with its terms." He held out his scroll, which contained a document and several signature boxes. He skimmed it briefly, and it was exactly as he'd feared.

Sign this document, and he accepted that he would have no financial or work ties to the SDC or any of its subsidiaries, and would say so if asked. In return, he would receive a one-time payment of 10,000 lien and, upon reaching the age of 65, would receive an amount of money equal to his expected retirement funds in an anonymous third-party trust.

Assuming he lived to see his 65th birthday with no job, no arm, and no fucking work history. "This is bullshit."

The man stepped back half a step, making as if to pull the pad away. "Is that a no ?" The muscle tensed, hand twitching near his belt.

Frost stared at him, his good hand twitching. "What if I don't sign?"

The two men glanced at each other. "Based on your… employment history, I think you know exactly what the consequences of making noise would be, Mr. Frost. And you would forfeit any rights to future retirement monies."

Shit.

He signed the NDA with his good hand, which was not his writing hand. He was having to learn how to do that all over again.

And the suit handed him a damn liencard, likely charged with 10 thousand lien, and left.

. . .

He sat on the couch in his small living room and looked around.

It was a nice apartment. It was also more than he could afford, now. It was paid up through the next two months, thanks to the medical leave payments he'd already received, thank the gods. But after that…

Ten thousand lien.

Decades of service that now no longer existed. He was a broken, worthless resource, just like all those desperate assholes down in Mantle. And within two months, that's where he'd be, scraping out a living.

But he'd had no other choice but to sign and take the lien, because frankly he knew what would happen if he made noise, kept pushing, complained . Gods forbid, he went to the press.

He'd disappear, that's what would happen. He'd be lucky if he ended up press ganged as a laborer in one of the independent camps. Less lucky, and someone would find him dead of an 'accident' somewhere.

But it was an insult, that ten thousand lien. It was enough to justify an NDA. It was enough that most people would take it, and go blow it on alcohol, and then go out and try to find another job.

But most men hadn't lost their damn arm.

He could take this lien, maybe get a basic prosthetic. It would look like shit, but he'd have some functionality. Maybe find some contract security work down in Mantle, or find another security company willing to hire him.

Sighing, he turned on the screen opposite his couch.

Atlas Local One was running a story about a planned visit to the Atlas Council by a representative of the White Fang, Ghira Belladonna, to discuss working conditions in light of some recent media footage circulating.

He frowned. He knew which footage they were talking about. Those fucking terrorists had gotten interviews with the animals who had worked Gehen, had found out what SOP had been there.

And he realized, with a sinking feeling, that the problem was that he had lived. And his face was now associated with faunus working conditions in Atlas.

He stared at the screen as it switched to another talking head, and then a splash screen with a still image and audio overlay. On the left was a stock picture of Jacques Schnee. On the right, a quote from an official Press Release. "The Schnee Dust Company repudiates any and all abuses of workers, whether faunus or human. We have a proven track record of treating our own workers well, and have ensured we have no ties to the offending operator of the site in question."

Son. Of. A. Bitch! He felt a crumple, and realized the half-empty beer can had crushed in his hand. His only hand.

Like a seismic thing, his anger, his hatred , shifted. Where before it had been a low-grade thing aimed at the animals he'd been responsible for keeping in line, who had taken his arm, now was shifting.

Animals were animals , he realized. They lashed out. You might put a dog who bit you down, but you couldn't blame it for the way its owners had trained it.

But this? This was betrayal by people who should have shown him the same loyalty he'd shown them .

The SDC had betrayed him. They hadn't defended him. They'd wiped him off the map. For a whitewashed bullshit PR statement and 10,000 lien.

He glanced out the window of his hi-rise apartment, and there, in the distance, he could see the isolated Schnee Manor, perched as high above the streets of Atlas, as Atlas was above Mantle.

And his hatred gained a new target.

He wasn't going to take this sitting down. He'd make them pay .

Atlas Academy

Headmaster James Ironwood was feeling every single one of his 46 years, and his back was complaining of years of ill-use and countless surgeries. Between overseeing the training of his newest Specialists, Atlas Academy's day-to-day operation, overseeing the Vytal Festival security, keeping tabs on Penny's training with Specialist Winter, and preparing for the Vytal Tournament itself, he was already spread far too thinly.

Add to that the fact that he was burdened by the knowledge that somewhere, out there, Salem was making moves via a twisted genius named Arthur Watts… well that just added to the burden.

And he still wasn't confident that he could fully trust the CCT network. He'd quietly sent Specialist Winter on a multi-kingdom trip with a written warning, specifically that his earlier fears of a potential exploit of the CCT network were corroborated, and not to trust even tower-to-tower communications with anything sensitive. And they couldn't even intervene to ensure that it was, because that would be too high-profile. Too obvious a move, even with it residing inside the walls of Atlas Academy. Instead, he was assisting Dr. Buyanto in stockpiling what the scientist had called "clean boards" nearby in an unused storage room, where they could be swapped out on a moment's notice under his direct supervision. He couldn't even lock down access to the CCT Tower completely, because while it was on his campus, the technicians that ran and maintained it were not under his direct authority.

He hoped that the communication he'd sent to Beacon, Haven, and Vacuo was enough. He had not told them of Arthur Watts' identity.

Not yet, out of respect for the trust that Pietro Polendina had shown him. He only hoped that trust wasn't misplaced.

And so here he sat, while his Specialists, with Dr. Jade Buyanto's assistance, very quietly pored over every damn circuit of every damn board on every single piece of gear that they used, every space that he used for Academy or military work, and quietly swapped out key components as the scientist was able to provide them a replacement. The goal was for them to have confidence that if something did go horribly wrong with Atlas technology, there would be at least one core group that could continue to function at top efficiency. To serve as a seed around which the rest of the Atlas military could rally.

And in a few weeks, the same would be done for some of his prosthetics, along with a stronger encryption between his cranial implant and motor control systems.

Given all that, it can be forgiven if he didn't exactly view the entrance of Shade Academy's diminutive Deputy-Headmistress Xanthe Rumpole, along with a gaggle of Shade Academy students, with any sort of warmth at first. Instead, he might have groaned internally.

Hopefully just internally .

The short-statured woman left the students near the entrance doors, and eased up to his desk. "James," Xanthe said quietly, golden eyes taking in his appearance. "You look like hell."

Ironwood gave a quietly-barked laugh. "Well, things have been exciting."

She nodded. "Theodore sends his greetings. We got your message."

Good. Good. "How is he doing?"

"Oh, you know Theo," she murmured. "Itching for a fight and angry that we can't immediately act. Sorry that the tournament isn't being hosted in Vacuo this fall, so he'll have to watch the matches remotely."

Ironwood nodded. Yes, that sounded like Theo. It was common practice for the Headmasters to stay at their own Academies, and send a Deputy with their students to compete, except of course when they had home court advantage.

Rumpole continued. "And speaking of the tournament, I've got a group of students from Vacuo that wanted to meet you."

"A future championship team?"

"Possibly," Rumpole said airily. "We felt they could benefit from seeing how much work goes into preparing for the Vytal Tournament, so at least some of our students would appreciate why the staff look ready to fall over when we host."

Ironwood considered the four students, clearly somewhere in the early part of their school careers, across the room. "Of course." He waved them forward, and stood as well, straightening his uniform and easing around his desk to the right as they made their way forward.

It was two boys and two girls. One of the boy / girl pairs were clearly siblings, while the second boy was obviously a pig faunus.

Each of them stepped forward, giving their name as Rumpole introduced him, and he shook their hand warmly. First the two girls, then the faunus boy, and finally the human sibling of the girl.

An intense young man, Ironwood thought. Fair skinned with a topknot, and not exactly physically imposing. But he had an odd glint in his eyes.

"Headmaster Ironwood," the boy said, gripping his hand firmly. "It's an honor for us to meet."

Ironwood frowned. The boy's expression didn't make him appear to be honored, and the phrasing was… odd.

But he shook his hand, nonetheless. Sometimes, the students take inter-Academy rivalry entirely too seriously.

And the handshake continued.

And the boy frowned as the moment stretched out. He started to look… strained.

"Young man, do you need to… use the restroom?"

Eyes widening, the boy gasped. "Uh… sorry sir, I guess I'm just… overwhelmed?"

Ironwood cleared his throat. "Well… I… can certainly understand that. But I really must get back to work. Between my responsibilities here, and the extra load that the Vytal Tournament has placed on my shoulders… well you can guess how much free time I actually have."

"You should take an hour off, sir," the boy said evenly. "Show us around the school. I've always wanted to see what a Colonel's office looks like."

Ironwood tilted his head, frowning. The boy's comment had been less a suggestion and more an insistence. "I'm afraid not," he replied. And the boy's face registered surprise. Ironwood gave a meaningful glance at his hand, which was finally released.

The Headmaster turned back to Rumpole. "Xanthe, you're welcome to show them around the Academy grounds. I really am overloaded at the moment."

The leader of the team, the boy's sister, spoke up instead. "Maybe tomorrow, Professor Rumpole? Jax looks kinda tired. Maybe we can find someone else to talk to?"

"Of course," the Shade staffer said, "Come along, students. We'll find someone who isn't already overloaded to show us around."

. . .

Later that evening.

"It didn't work!" Jax complained.

"What do you mean , it didn't work?" Derecho's silken voice replied.

Jax Asturias frowned. "I mean that I made contact, and my freaking Semblance didn't work on him."

There was a long silence on the other end of the call. "You made physical contact, and your Semblance failed. Has it ever done so before?"

"No! Well, I mean not since I was a kid."

Another long pause. "And… you did exactly as I instructed?"

"Yeah, I shook his freaking hand! He was wearing a glove, but that doesn't matter. I can go through clothes ."

"His left hand, correct?"

"Uh… no that'd be weird . I shook his right hand, like everyone else did."

There was another extremely long pause. This one felt… judgy .

"Headmaster Ironwood's right hand is a prosthetic, young Jax." Derecho said, voice smooth as honey and yet still seeming to voice disapproval. "You can't activate your Semblance against metal and wires."

Well crap.

"Never mind, young Master Asturias. We'll have to find another avenue then."

. . .

Half a world away, Doctor Arthur Watts cursed the stupidity which he was cursed to utilize. Imbecilic waste of Semblance. When I have no further use for you...

Headquarters, Atlas Military Intelligence

Two months prior

"And you understand the importance of what we're asking of you, son?"

The teenager, an asset that they'd spent two years recruiting and training, and then had determined was their best bet for some first-hand intelligence in Menagerie, nodded. "Yessir. Just… the surgery is completely reversible, right?"

Colonel Breck placed his hand on the young man's shoulder. "Absolutely. And your grandmother will be set for life, just like we promised."

The young man swallowed, and tried one last angle. Surgery… it was just… the thought made him feel suddenly very vulnerable. "Couldn't we just… claim I have a trait that isn't visible?"

Colonel Breck shook his head. "We discussed that. We expect that the sensitivity of some of the areas we want you to access will mean greater scrutiny. Trust me, Agent, we've done full risk analysis. We won't make you do this. The decision is yours, but this is the way it has to go. Are you ready?"

The young man finally nodded. "Yes sir. For the Glory of Atlas, sir."

[Authors Notes] Special thanks to recent reviewers AtomicR4y, Shadowstorm-Vash, Rookie80, GreenEyesOrigamiDragon, and a new reviewer all the way back on Chapter 1, wearedeadpool!

. . .

So, many things are afoot.

I gave name to the SDC Contract Security supervisor that had attempted to blow a hole through Adam Taurus back in Chapter 94 and who instead blew a hole through his own compatriot. Unfortunately for him, while that is apparently forgivable if not widely known, having your name associated with abuse that can't be REFUTED and embarrassing the SDC is a bigger problem. And as a result, now he's feeling a bit upset at being dumped to the curb.

On top of that, we begin to get an inside look at the SDC's corporate crew. This will also come into play later.

And finally, a gaggle of students from Shade visit Atlas Academy. Totally wholesome, right? Just a little team of first years. No biggie. Nothing nefarious going on that totally failed.

And of course, AMI is up to more shenanigans. Their original foray into Menagerie intel gathering failed, so they're going for something more dramatic, and since that scene happened two months ago, you can imagine that said mole is likely ALREADY wandering around Breakwater among their classmates. Wonder who it might be...

. . .

And now to answer your specific reviews:

Shadowstorm: So glad you enjoyed my characterization of the Schneeblings! And after some googling, I am def giving Whitley a Great Maul!

AtomicR4y: Giddy that you liked the spar description. It's freaking HARD to write fight scenes! And yes, in many ways I consider Winter to be her generation's Ruby. And yes, Willow's getting help!

GEOD: A happy happy paper dragon makes a happy writer!

wearedeadpool: Hope you enjoy!

Rookie80: I really enjoyed showing how a positive wrench in the works could derail the negative development the Schnee household had been experiencing, and there's a lot more to come, though Willow will have some... setbacks that maybe Rhodes doesn't handle perfectly. But as this is a feel-good fic, you can bet it'll be worth the ride. Time will tell how the kids react when they learn Rhodes actual place in the household.