For What It's Worth
2.1
I.
Whitley Schnee took slow, deliberate steps forward, his metal boots clanking against the pristine hangar floor of Atlas Academy. Every step echoed through the cavernous space, amplifying the weight pressing down on his chest. When he arrived the people within the hangar section had stopped in their tracks, as if everyone collectively held their breaths.
Soldiers, mechanics, and every other person present all stared at Whitley. This kind of attention should've made him feel smug, yet at that moment it only made him feel even more self-conscious about himself. Still, he held his head high despite the pit growing in his stomach.
The Mark II power armor—his current masterpiece—was still humming softly from the flight, the faint green glow of its stabilizers dimming as it cooled down.
He had just landed from the Mark II's maiden voyage when he was arrested. He had just proven the impressive flight capabilities of the Mark II to the soldiers arresting him. But comically, they had forced him to take a ride on a transport Bullhead on the way to Atlas instead of letting him fly.
If they were afraid he would fly away mid-flight, then they were wrong. Whitley was already starting to panic halfway through the flight.
Escorting him was none other than his older sister, Winter Schnee, and a contingent of soldiers. The eldest child's posture was rigid and her expression unreadable. She walked slightly ahead, her piercing blue eyes flicking toward him every so often. Whitley could feel the tension in the air, the disbelief radiating from her like an untapped energy source.
He didn't blame her. After all, when had Whitley Schnee—the pampered, spoiled, useless little brother—ever done anything of note? To her, to everyone, he was just a privileged child, a product of Jacques Schnee's iron grip, a miniature version of the corporate emperor, another Schnee heir waiting in the wings.
Not anymore.
Within the helmet, unseen and unheard by all, his heads-up display flickered to life, and a familiar voice spoke into his ear.
"Breathe, Whitley. Your heart rate is through the roof."
His A.I. companion, Tess, was surprisingly silent the whole ride. Her annoying quips would've eased him a bit but her silence had meant that Whitley was stuck wondering why he'd been placed in this situation.
Whether she was annoying or not, Whitley needed her right now.
"I don't like this, Tess," Whitley said in a low shaky voice.
"Neither do I. But let's stay calm, alright. I'm no use to you if you pass out on me. We're not sure if these guys will pry your suit off while your lights are out." Tess answered calmly.
The rest of the walk to wherever their destination happened in silence. Even without being told where they were taking him, Whitley already had a feeling where they were headed. The unending row of offices and higher-ranking individuals moving about was already a dead giveaway.
Stopping in front of massive reinforced doors, Winter had dismissed the squad of soldiers accompanying them. Before entering the massive doors she turned to him, arms crossed, her expression still unreadable.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?" Her voice was controlled, but beneath it, he could hear the tension straining against the surface.
Whitley hesitated. How could he even begin to explain?
'I built something incredible!' he wanted to say. 'I created an AI, a fully functional power armor, something that could change everything! What have you accomplished since abandoning me!'
Instead, he swallowed and muttered, "I...flew."
Winter exhaled sharply through her nose, rubbing her temples. "You didn't just fly, Whitley. You broke dozens of airspace regulations, sent the entire military scrambling, and forced General Ironwood to deploy combat units. Do you have any idea how serious this is?"
He did, actually.
But his mind, ever calculating, had already picked apart the flaws in her words. Combat units? They hadn't shot him down. No missiles, no direct confrontation. That meant Ironwood wanted him alive. He wasn't being treated as an enemy.
For obvious reasons, that is, it is not like Ironwood could blow him up and take everything he built for his army.
Winter's gaze lost its intensity for a fraction of a second before she steeled herself again. "I don't know how you did all of this. I don't know when you did all of this. But I need you to listen to me now: Ironwood isn't someone you can just talk your way out of trouble with. If you think mentioning father's wealth will scare him into releasing you then you're sorely mistaken."
Whitley swallowed. He wasn't a soldier. He wasn't a fighter. Hell, he wasn't even convinced of the genius aspect of his newfound purpose. However, the discussion on his identity and self-worth didn't matter right now. He needed to be someone if he wanted to push through what was going on.
When the doors slid open, it revealed General James Ironwood standing behind his desk. His right arm behind his back. His left arm hangs loose yet firm by his side. His expression was unreadable, but his sharp eyes locked onto Whitley the moment he stepped inside.
"Mr. Schnee," Ironwood said, his voice measured. "Care to explain what, exactly, you were doing flying an unregistered, highly advanced power suit over Atlas?"
Silence. Whitley felt his throat tighten. 'Words. Use words.'
Before he could answer, Tess spoke inside his helmet, her voice low and reassuring.
"Steady. You've already impressed him, whether he admits it or not."
Whitley exhaled slowly. "I was testing my invention, sir."
"Your invention?" Ironwood's eyebrows lifted slightly, yet his tone wasn't questioning.
"Yes." He gestured subtly at his suit, the sleek silver finish of the Mark II glistening under the office lights. Even when faced with severe anxiety, he still managed a small sense of pride in his work. "I designed and built it."
Winter stiffened beside him. Ironwood's eyes narrowed slightly. "And what do you call the aircraft?"
"I call it the Dragonflight, sir." Replied Whitley without missing a beat.
Whitley hesitated. Then, with a flick of his eyes, he used the Mark II to access the holographic screen. Displaying the new and improved Dragonflight at the center of the room for the General to see.
Winter recoiled as if struck. "Do not commandeer the General's equipment!"
Ironwood, to his credit, barely reacted. "It's alright Captain."
His sister gritted her teeth but quickly calmed down. Ironwood left his desk and circled the hologram of the Dragonflight. Interacting with it to see certain details in full. After a short moment, the General looked back at Whitley.
"Our radar wasn't able to pick up the Dragonflight's entire flight. Can I assume you built a form of counter against our radar?"
Whitley thought for a moment before shaking his head. "No sir, the Dragonflight doesn't have any radar jamming capabilities." 'But I'll make one once I'm back at the workshop.'
"Then may I know why our radar suddenly couldn't find you?"
"I, uhh," Whitley's voice dripped with nervousness. "I attempted to leave our atmosphere in an attempt to go to space."
Both the General and Captain's eyebrows raised at his statement. Either one not knowing how to properly react to what they were hearing. Remembering his sister's words, Whitley motioned at the holographic screen and spoke.
"May I use your hologram, sir?" He asked.
Ironwood looked to be in thought before nodding his head. Without delay, Whitley put on the video feed of the Dragonflight's test flight. Both his sister and the General watched how his aircraft was able to pick up speed in such a short amount of time. When it came to the part where Tess had commandeered the vehicle both Ironwood and Winter couldn't hide their reactions.
Winter's shocked expression was more reactive than Ironwood's wide-eyed surprise. Now obviously Whitley took out the audio since he wanted Tess' existence to be secret for as long as he could. When the video finally ended Ironwood gave a low chuckle.
"The Atlesian space program has been put into service for almost a decade now. Billions of Lien for research and production, all outdone by a child in two days."
Whitley blushed at the General's words. Unsure of how to react about finding out he'd unintentionally humiliated his Kingdom's scientific progress.
Ironwood went back behind his desk and sat in his chair. He leaned back and studied Whitley with a scrutinizing gaze. "You built all of this? On your own?"
Whitley nodded. "No assistance, no schematics from the SDC, and no stolen technology. Every piece was designed by me. Built by me."
Silence filled the room. Winter's disbelief was palpable, her arms dropping to her sides. Her facial features display her inability to accept what she was hearing. "That's... impossible."
Ironwood didn't speak immediately. Then, slowly, he tapped his fingers against the desk. "I've had engineers attempt to analyze your suit as best they can since you landed." He glanced at the screen beside him, displaying blueprints of the armor's structure. At least an attempt at a blueprint, too many question marks on the supposed blueprint meant that his engineers never left the speculation stage.
"This design is years ahead of anything we currently have." Ironwood's eyes locked onto Whitley's. "Why?"
It was a simple question, yet carried weight to it.
Whitley hesitated. Then, with a quiet exhale, he spoke the truth. "Because I wanted to prove I could."
Winter flinched at the words. Ironwood remained motionless, his gaze boring into Whitley's very being. The tension in the room thickened.
And then, to Whitley's shock, Ironwood smiled at him.
"I can respect that." The General's voice was soft yet genuine.
Whitley blinked. 'What?'
Ironwood stood up, crossing his arms. "You've broken laws, disrupted military operations, and caused me quite the headache." He sighed. "But you've also built something revolutionary. I can not ignore that."
Winter opened her mouth to protest, but Ironwood raised a hand. "I'm not saying this absolves him of consequences. But I'm not going to throw a mind like his into a cell." He looked directly at Whitley. "Tell me, Mr. Schnee. Are you interested in something greater than proving yourself?"
Whitley hesitated, his body stiffening.
'Recruitment, of course. What else did I expect?'
"I'm not joining you." Whitley blurted out.
"Whitley!" Winter shouted in response to her brother's quick denial to the General. Unable to maintain her composure, when he didn't even attempt to hear out the General's offer.
Ironwood merely shrugged at Whitley, his smile still on his face. "I understand young man. Tomorrow at 0800 hours, you are mandated by our law to face a council of the Atlesian military's highest-ranking officers. Till then, Captain Schnee,"
"Yes, General?"
"Please escort him to his holding cell."
"Yes, sir."
Before they left the Ironwood's office, the General called out to him. "Your cell has been specialized to your needs including that suit of yours. As for the council…you have my word that I won't let them force anything on you unless you're willing."
As Winter and her squad escorted him to his cell, Tess whispered inside his helmet.
"You did good, Whitley."
II.
Whitley walked in silence, his metallic boots once more clicking against the polished steel floors of Atlas Academy's detention wing. Also once more was Winter flanking him, her expression taut with fury, her hands balled into tight fists. The air between them was thick with unspoken words of disappointment and barely restrained frustration.
He had defied Ironwood. He had only said a few words but it was clear that he had spoken his mind. The chain forced upon him by his father was bad enough, and now Ironwood wanted to break his chains just so the General could place his? What made Ironwood better than his father? Because he'd be nice to him? Kind as he was, the General's actions still showed Whitley that he saw him as a child unworthy of respect.
So he said no, refusing to be used as some government pet project. And now, here he was—being escorted to what he presumed would be a cold, sterile cell.
The thought made his stomach churn.
"She's really mad this time," Tess murmured in his helmet, her voice low and amused.
'No kidding', Whitley thought, though he refrained from saying anything aloud. He still recognized his sister's anger was a force of nature, and he had no desire to provoke it further.
They finally stopped in front of a reinforced door. Winter typed in a code, and the metal slid open with a quiet hiss. With a rough shove, she gestured for him to enter.
Whitley stepped inside and paused.
This… wasn't what he expected.
His "cell" looked less like a prison chamber and more like a cheap, low-budget hotel room. A cot against the wall, a small table with a single chair, a workbench in the corner—
—and a pile of broken tech scattered across the floor.
He narrowed his eyes, immediately recognizing pieces of scrapped Atlesian Knight components, fragmented Dust processors, discarded hard light emitters, and circuitry that had seen better days. The sheer volume of junk almost made the room feel cramped.
Tess immediately chimed in. "Well, that's a set-up if I've ever seen one."
His stomach sank. Tess was right, he'd seen setups like this before. Ironwood was testing him, seeing if he could make something useful out of scraps. It was an experiment—an evaluation of his resourcefulness.
He exhaled through his nose. 'Of course. Probably thinks I'll make something useful to him.'
Winter crossed her arms behind him, watching his reaction with an unreadable expression. Then, as if she had held back long enough, she stepped forward, her voice sharp with barely controlled fury.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?" she hissed, her blue eyes burning with intensity. "You defied General Ironwood. You threw away the one chance you had to prove yourself as more than just a reckless, spoiled brat!"
Whitley turned to face her, his expression carefully neutral. "I stood my ground. I refused to be used. That's different from recklessness."
Winter's fists clenched. "No, Whitley. It isn't. You had an opportunity, and you spat on it! You think Ironwood needed to keep you out of a cell? He could have locked you in an actual prison and been well within his rights to do so! But instead, he chose to believe in your intelligence. And you wasted it."
Her words were a whip, lashing against him with practiced precision.
Whitley inhaled slowly, forcing himself to remain calm. "And what would you have had me do? Bow my head? Let him control me like some tool?" 'Like you?' Went unsaid.
He gestured toward the pile of broken tech. "This isn't trust, Winter. It's a game. It's his way of seeing how useful I am to him."
Winter's jaw tightened. "Do you think the General doesn't trust you!? You're still wearing that ridiculous armor since you arrived. Had the General not trusted you he could've easily ripped it off of you!"
She turned away for a moment, running a hand through her hair before whipping back toward him. "You don't understand, Atlas is on the brink, Whitley. We need people like you. And instead of helping, you decided to act like an entitled—"
She stopped herself, inhaling sharply, her chest rising and falling with restrained anger.
Whitley watched her, letting the silence stretch between them.
Finally, Winter's shoulders slumped, just slightly. She closed her eyes, exhaled through her nose, and turned toward the door. "Stay here. Figure out whatever it is you want to do."
She stepped out, the door hissing shut behind her. The moment she was gone, Whitley released a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.
Tess' voice was soft in his ear. "I know I'm barely a week old, but I'm gonna be the responsible adult here and say she's worried about you. At least I think that's what I'm supposed to say right now."
Whitley huffed, running a hand down his face. Not knowing what to say to Tess. There was too much going on in both his mind and heart that couldn't be put into words at the moment.
He turned back to the pile of broken tech and stared at it. Winter's words lingered in his mind, her frustration, her disappointment.
Slowly, he crouched down, picking up a shattered Dust capacitor, and turning it over in his metallic gauntlet. To say that today was stressful was an understatement. It honestly felt like, for every good thing that happened to him, Remnant had a habit of kicking him down.
"Much as I like to think that tinkering new inventions would help you calm down, please don't make anything that our captors can use for themselves."
"I know Tess, I really do."
"Good, then we're on the same page."
Whitley thought for a moment before speaking to Tess again.
"Still, it would be a waste to not use all this. To do nothing would be defiant, but I think there's something better I can do with all this junk."
"Oh," She replied. "That expression on your face says you got an idea."
"I guess you can call that."
"Well let me hear it then."
"This room feels cramped, if I wanted this room to feel more comfortable then I guess it needs a personal touch."
"And what do you have in mind?" Tess said with a devious smile on her face.
Whitley raised the Dust capacitor to his face, pretending to inspect it. Then he answered in kind with a smile of his own.
"I do wish you had a body Tess, because I think I need a good cup of coffee right now. Shame I have to drink it by myself.
III.
As the next day came, like the good soldier she was, Winter was already outside her brother's holding cell. The soft hiss of the reinforced door sliding open echoed through the quiet corridor. She stepped inside, fully expecting to see her younger brother sitting idly, perhaps sulking after a night in confinement.
Instead, she froze at the threshold, momentarily struck speechless.
The room was unrecognizable. Gone were the heaps of broken technology that had cluttered the floor just yesterday. In their place stood two remarkable constructs.
First, and most absurdly, there was a fully functional coffee maker, assembled from what she assumed had once been shattered Dust capacitors and outdated Atlesian Knight components. A small reservoir held water, heated by a repurposed energy cell, while an improvised filtration system was processing freshly brewed coffee, its rich aroma filling the air. 'Where the hell did he even get coffee grounds?!'
And then there was his creation—the power armor.
It stood against the wall, its structure supported by a makeshift station built from yesterday's scrap. The suit's plating gleamed under the dim lighting, its framework polished, newly reinforced. Wires, neatly arranged, fed into an external console—Whitley had constructed an entire maintenance bay overnight.
Winter's expression flickered between astonishment and exasperation before settling into something more measured. She stepped forward, arms crossing over her chest. "What," she began, voice laced with disbelief, "is this?"
From the other side of the room, Whitley Schnee sat calmly in his chair, cradling a cup of freshly brewed coffee in his hands. He took a slow sip before glancing up at her, his expression as smug as ever. "Good morning to you too, dear sister. Care for a cup? It's quite excellent."
Winter's lips pressed into a thin line. Of course. Of course, he had done this. She shouldn't have been surprised, and yet, here she was, standing in shock.
"Whitley." She pinched the bridge of her nose, inhaling deeply. "You were supposed to reflect on your actions. Not turn your cell into a makeshift engineering workshop."
"I did reflect," he replied breezily, taking another sip. "And I came to the conclusion that sitting around doing nothing is both unproductive and terribly dull. So, I made improvements."
She shot him a glare. "Your court hearing is in an hour. I came to fetch you, not to find you playing mechanic."
Whitley set down his coffee, stretching his arms. "Playing? Winter, you wound me. I was quite serious about this endeavor." He gestured at the power armor. "After all, I don't believe Ironwood would have given me a pile of junk without expecting me to make something out of it. So, I rose to the challenge."
Winter's eyes flicked back to the armor. "You…repaired it? In one night?"
"Well, I wouldn't say repaired," Whitley admitted, standing up. "It's operational, but not combat-ready. Though I nor it has ever seen combat. I still need a few components—real ones, not just scrap—but I think I proved a point."
Winter's jaw tightened. "And what point would that be?"
Whitley met her gaze, all traces of smugness vanishing. "That I am useful, Winter. That I'm not some pampered aristocrat playing pretend. That what I created wasn't a fluke."
Her irritation wavered for a moment, replaced by something else—something she wasn't quite ready to acknowledge. Instead, she exhaled sharply and turned toward the door. "Get ready. You have a hearing to attend."
He nodded, finishing his coffee before following her out.
Behind them, the scent of freshly brewed coffee lingered, and the quiet hum of a repurposed power core filled the air.
Winter didn't say it aloud, but deep down, she knew—Ironwood would be impressed. And she hated that feeling.
AN: I don't own either Fire Emblem or Worm. Not much else to say, other than happy Valentine's day! (if you celebrate it). Have a nice day in general, I hope to see y'all soon.