For What It's Worth
2.2
I.
The grand chamber of the Atlesian Military Tribunal loomed over Whitley Schnee like an unforgiving God. Its cold steel walls and harsh lighting were a stark contrast to the extravagant courtrooms he had grown up seeing whenever his father made him attend Schnee Dust Company negotiations. Here, no decorum or pleasantries masked the intent behind the proceedings.
It wasn't justice they sought—it was control.
Seated in the center of the courtroom at a lone table, Whitley sat without his power armor, without his tools, and, most importantly, without Tess. Without his friend's presence in his ear to give him advice or encouragement, the room felt suffocating. He was alone, and everyone in attendance knew it.
At the front of the chamber, an imposing panel of officials observed him like vultures would a meal. A severe-looking judge sat at the center, presiding over the tribunal with a gavel at the ready. To his left, General James Ironwood's stern face was carved from stone like his namesake. Arms crossed, expression unreadable, and despite sitting down his size seemed to have doubled to Whitley's perspective.
Further down the line sat a collection of high-ranking officers. A few notable ones were a bald infantry officer in their neatly pressed, albeit outdated, uniform. An R director with greying teal hair whose shrewd eyes never left him, and others who probably had no business being there but had undoubtedly come to see him squirm.
But he didn't. Not yet at least, he still had his wits.
The judge cleared his throat before speaking, his voice a cold monotone. "This tribunal is now in session. The charges against Whitley Schnee are as follows: unauthorized operation of an advanced combat suit, violation of Atlesian airspace restrictions, reckless endangerment, and unauthorized development of classified military-grade technology. Mr. Schnee, how do you plead?"
Whitley leaned back ever so slightly, keeping his expression measured. "Not guilty, of course."
A murmur rippled through the panel. The infantry officer scoffed and leaned forward. "Mr. Schnee, you illegally took flight in a heavily armed piece of machinery with capabilities far beyond civilian technology. How do you justify that?"
Whitley tilted his head. "Simple. It wasn't illegal." He gestured subtly with his hands. "At no point did I breach any military facilities, nor did I enter restricted zones. My flight path was calculated, controlled, and resulted in no harm to anyone. If we're talking about violations, I suggest rechecking the airspace restrictions."
The R officer adjusted her glasses, giving Whitley a scrutinizing look. "Mr. Schnee, let's not pretend ignorance. What you created far exceeds the technological capabilities of any privately funded development. The fact that you managed to assemble something so advanced in secret is, frankly, alarming."
Whitley's expression hardened, though he kept his tone even. "Alarming? Or impressive? I would hope the military of Atlas appreciates ingenuity, but from the way you're talking, it sounds like you'd rather stamp it out."
Ironwood finally spoke, his deep voice cutting through the conversation like a blade. "This isn't about ingenuity, Whitley. It's about respecting the system. You went behind the backs of military authorities, created something that rivals our best R efforts, and took it on a joyride over Atlas. Did you ever stop to consider the consequences?"
Whitley met his gaze, refusing to be cowed. "I did consider them, General. I also considered that if I had gone to you first, my creation would have been confiscated rather than studied or appreciated. Tell me, honestly—if I had come forward, would you have let me keep my work?"
Ironwood's silence, everyone's silence, was answer enough.
The judge rapped his gavel once. "Enough deflection, Mr. Schnee. You knowingly built military-grade technology without authorization. The question is not if you are guilty, but rather what we are to do about it."
Whitley exhaled through his nose, his anger never letting fear take a foothold in his demeanor. "Let's be honest, shall we? You don't actually care about the laws I've broken. What you care about is the technology." He glanced toward the R officer. "You want the schematics, don't you? You want to break my work apart, see how it functions, and then repurpose it for your own needs."
The older woman's lips pressed into a thin line but did not deny it.
Whitley leaned forward. "If that's what this is about, then let's skip the song and dance. I'll tell you right now—I'm not handing over my designs."
Frustration flickered across the faces of the panel members. The infantry officer shook his head in disbelief. "You're playing a dangerous game, Schnee."
Whitley gave a humorless chuckle. "Am I? Because from where I'm sitting, the game was rigged from the start."
For over an hour, the back-and-forth continued. Every attempt to corner him, every demand to surrender his research, he countered with careful, calculated responses. As much as Whitley hated to admit it, his father had trained him well in politics so that he knew the law well enough to recognize their weak points. Better yet, Jacques had purposely prioritized teaching him loopholes to know every way he could exploit them to his benefit.
The officials, so used to dealing with military personnel or corporate executives, were unprepared for the sheer stubbornness of an unrepentant teenage genius who refused to give an inch.
General Ironwood, despite his disciplined demeanor, seemed to grow increasingly tense as the hearing went on. Finally, he leaned forward. "Whitley, you're boxing yourself into a corner. Do you honestly think you can outmaneuver an entire military tribunal?"
Whitley slightly gave a tired smile. "I don't need to outmaneuver you, General. I just need to hold my ground."
The judge exhaled, rubbing his temples. "Enough. We will reconvene after a recess."
A wave of relief washed over Whitley, though he didn't let it show. He simply gave a small nod and leaned back as the officials rose from their seats.
As the tribunal members filed out of the chamber, Whitley exhaled slowly. He had survived the first round, but he was mentally and emotionally exhausted from the constant hounding. As proud as he was of how he held up in the first hour of the tribunal, he knew he was at his wit's end. Any officer he had managed to outwit would surely come back just as determined as they were an hour ago.
This hearing was a war of attrition, and Whitley knew he was losing. Only a miracle could save him now.
II.
The moment the gavel struck the wooden block, signaling the end of recess, Whitley felt a sinking weight in his chest.
For the past hour, he had fought with every ounce of wit and resolve he could muster. He had countered every accusation, sidestepped every demand, and turned every attempted manipulation back on its source. But even a genius had his limits. His mind, despite its sharpness, was strained from the relentless interrogation.
He knew the officers were wearing him down; he had figured that was their plan after a while. He was annoyed that it took him the end of the first hour to notice the patterns of their questions and demands. He kept pressing, keeping needling, until exhaustion or frustration cracked his defenses.
And he was close—closer than he wanted to admit.
The tribunal members filed back into their seats, their expressions unreadable but their intent clear nonetheless. The judge, a man who Whitley thought he had tested his patience to its limits, looked unbothered. The only sign of frustration was when he rubbed his forehead before nodding towards General Ironwood, giving him the floor once again.
Ironwood, ever composed, steepled his fingers as he regarded Whitley. "Mr. Schnee, I will not waste time repeating myself. You are in no position to bargain. If you continue refusing cooperation, we will be forced to escalate this situation further."
Whitley took a slow breath, steadying himself. "General, I believe I've made my stance clear. I won't hand over my work. Not to you, not to anyone." He forced himself to maintain eye contact, despite the heavy exhaustion creeping into his limbs. "You may hold me here for as long as you like, but my answer won't change."
The R officer, the one most keenly interested in his technology, leaned forward. "That's admirable, Mr. Schnee, but ultimately futile. The fact remains that what you have created is far too advanced, far too dangerous, to remain in the hands of an unsanctioned individual. You will not be permitted to keep it."
The judge rapped his gavel. "Enough posturing. We will now discuss the formal consequences of Mr. Schnee's actions."
Whitley barely resisted the urge to slump in his chair. 'Here it comes.'
"We have two potential courses of action." The judge raised a document. "One, the Atlesian military formally seizes all schematics and physical prototypes of the suit, and Mr. Schnee is placed under strict surveillance to ensure he does not attempt to rebuild it."
Whitley clenched his fists. That wasn't an option. If they got their hands on his technology, they wouldn't just use it. They'd warp it, weaponize it in ways he hadn't intended.
"Or two," the judge continued, "Mr. Schnee agrees to a classified contract with the Atlesian military, working under our R division where his skills can be properly directed."
"So, what you're saying is I either become your prisoner or your employee? What a generous selection." Whitley scoffed, hostile sarcasm dripping from his tone.
Ironwood's jaw tightened. "Those are the terms available, Whitley."
Before Whitley could respond, the courtroom doors burst open with a thunderous crash.
Gasps filled the room as none other than the corporate emperor himself, Jacques Schnee, strode inside. Flanking the man was a team of impeccably dressed lawyers, their presence like a pack of furious hyenas against the vulture in the chamber.
"This farce ends now," Jacques declared, his tone sharp and authoritative. "This tribunal has no right to hold my son without due process. I demand his immediate release."
The sheer arrogance radiating off Jacques was suffocating. Worst of all, never in his short life would Whitley expect to feel relief at seeing his father. As much as he despised the bastard who ruined his family, at least he wasn't trying to rip his mind apart for its ideas. Which wasn't saying much, all things considered.
Ironwood stood slowly, eyes narrowing. "Mr. Schnee, your son is facing severe allegations. This is not a mere corporate dispute where you can strong-arm your way to a resolution."
Jacques scoffed. "Severe allegations? The only crime my son has committed is daring to be more intelligent than your so-called experts. I will not have the Atlesian military imprisoning a Schnee for developing new technology."
One of the tribunal officials, a legal advisor, cleared his throat nervously. "Mr. Schnee, while your influence is recognized, your son's actions fall under military jurisdiction. His power armor is classified as an unsanctioned military asset."
"An asset built entirely with Schnee resources," Jacques countered, his lawyers already handing out paperwork. "Are you going to argue that private innovations belong to the military simply because they are advanced? Shall we extend that logic to every SDC creation? Should the military seize my entire company while you're at it?"
The R officer visibly gritted her teeth. Jacques, as much as Whitley loathed to admit, was good at this. Manipulative. Dangerous. But effective.
Ironwood's expression was unreadable, but Whitley caught the slight twitch of his index finger on his ungloved hand—a tell of mounting frustration.
"Your son's actions were reckless," Ironwood said evenly. "Regardless of your legal maneuvering, we cannot ignore the fact that he piloted an unauthorized combat suit in a heavily monitored city."
"And yet," Jacques mused, a smirk playing at his lips, "no one was harmed. No property was damaged. The only injury here is to your pride, General. The fragility of everyone's egos in this chamber is the only reason this sham of a trial is being held."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Whitley held his breath.
The judge exhaled even deeper, his temples seemed to have redden from the constant rubbing. "This tribunal will review the legal documentation provided by Mr. Schnee's representatives. Until a decision is reached, Mr. Whitley Schnee will remain in Atlesian custody. However, this tribunal is now in recess indefinitely until further review."
The gavel struck the block.
It was over. For now, Whitley was happy regardless and released his breath.
As the officials began filing out, Whitley remained seated, mind still reeling from the sheer absurdity of it all. He wasn't free yet, but Jacques had, at the very least, bought him time.
His father turned to him, arms crossed. "Come along, Whitley."
Whitley hesitated, looking between his father and Ironwood, who was still seated, deep in thought.
Ironwood, at last, met his gaze. "This isn't over, young man."
Whitley exhaled. "It never is."
And with that, he stood and followed his father out of the courtroom, already dreading whatever price he'd have to pay for this unexpected reprieve.
III.
The walk through the pristine, sterile halls of the Atlas military base was tense. Whitley remained a step behind his father, his mind still processing the tribunal's outcome. Jacques had gotten him out of that courtroom, but Whitley knew better than to believe it was an act of paternal love. His father never did anything that did not serve his own interests.
As they rounded a corner, they were met with an unexpected sight—Winter Schnee, standing rigidly in the hallway, her piercing blue eyes locked onto Jacques with an intensity that could have frozen the air.
For a moment, she said nothing. She simply stared, as if she couldn't quite believe he was here, in her domain. It was no secret in their family that her escape to the military had been her refuge from his suffocating presence. Winter may have used pretty words to sugarcoat her deed, such as carving out an identity separate from the Schnee name.
It fooled no one. She joined the military to escape her uncaring parents, plain and simple.
And yet, here Jacques was, striding through its halls as if he owned them.
"Father," she finally said, her voice controlled but carrying an undeniable edge. "What are you doing here?"
Jacques merely looked at her, adjusting his pristine white coat. "Really, Winter, I would have expected you to be more observant. I just secured your brother's release from an absurd tribunal. A tribunal you should have prevented in the first place."
Winter's hands curled into fists at her sides. "Whitley broke the law. He endangered the people of Atlas with his reckless stunt."
"Oh, please," Jacques scoffed, stepping closer, his tone dripping with condescension. "Spare me the self-righteous lecture. You ran off to the military to play soldier, pretending that you were something more than a weak-willed disappointment." His gaze swept over her uniform with disdain. "And look at you now, barking orders like a well-trained pet. How pitiful."
Winter inhaled sharply, her body trembling with barely restrained fury. Whitley watched her, uneasy with what he was witnessing.
Winter was not the most affectionate sibling—far from it. She had been distant, and cold, always holding him at arm's length. She never doted on him like Weiss had in the past. Never answered any of the letters he sent her when she left in the beginning, while Weiss received one almost every day.
If anything, she had regarded him as little more than another Jacques in the making, another uncaring individual already guilty of crimes he had yet to commit. But this…
This was different. This was Jacques at his worst, cutting her down with the same effortless cruelty that he had wielded against them both their entire lives.
Winter squared her shoulders. "I left to escape you, not because I was weak. I refused to be shaped into another puppet for you to control. Unlike you, I actually serve a purpose beyond lining my own pockets."
Jacques chuckled, shaking his head. "How very noble. You threw away privilege and power for what? For duty? You honestly believe you're making a difference in this crumbling world?" He scoffed. "You're nothing but an expendable tool. When Atlas no longer has a use for you, they'll cast you aside without a second thought. Just like your dear General Ironwood did to countless others before you. And you still dared to bite the hand that fed you."
Winter's lip curled in barely contained disgust. "Better to be a tool with purpose than a man who destroys everything he touches."
She had expected the words to sting, but instead, Jacques simply smirked, looking almost amused. "You tell yourself that, dear girl. Whatever helps you sleep at night."
Whitley stood in silence, watching the exchange with a strange feeling twisting inside him.
For as long as he could remember, Winter had been nothing but an obstacle, another Schnee who refused to acknowledge him as anything but an afterthought. He had grown up under her distant, judgmental gaze, never receiving even a fraction of the warmth that Weiss had always received from her.
And yet… seeing her like this, being belittled, being torn down the same way he had been all his life…
He felt something. Not quite sympathy, but an understanding. A shared suffering.
He hated it.
Jacques turned away from Winter dismissively, already losing interest in the conversation. "Come, Whitley. We have business to attend to."
Whitley hesitated for a fraction of a second. He looked at Winter, who was still standing firm, refusing to let their father see just how deep his words had cut.
He wasn't sure why, but he turned his head slightly and muttered, "Take care, Winter."
Her eyes flickered toward him, briefly caught off guard. For the first time in years, there was something softer in her expression—something almost unreadable. She nodded, ever so slightly.
Then, without another word, he followed Jacques, leaving Winter standing in the cold, sterile hallway.
IV.
It had taken a bit of convincing but Whitley was willing back in his small cell. True to Winter's words from before, the room had been left untouched as the Mark II was still docked at its makeshift station. Wasting no time, Whitley immediately entered the power armor.
The soft hissing of the joints as the suit powered up felt like a hug to the young genius.
"Tess! You there!" Whitley said with urgency.
"Woah, slow down boss. Yeah, I'm here." Answered his A.I. friend. Hearing her voice sent an immense amount of relief through his body. For the first time since waking up, he felt the calm he desperately craved since arriving here.
"So," Tess began. "How'd it go?"
"It was a massive fuster cluck from the very beginning!" Whitley said exasperatedly, as his arms went up animatedly.
Tess giggled. "Fuster cluck. Kid, you don't have to censor your words with me."
He looked at her display in his HUD. "Really? Coming from someone who said she was gonna be the responsible adult while we're here?"
"True, but look where you are Whitley. I refuse to believe you're not about to lose it when a bunch of so-called adults are trying to take your tech from you. Like taking candy from a baby."
"Well…you're not wrong, but—"
"But nothing! No offense Whitley but I've seen a glimpse of your family life and that shit is fucking suffocating!" Her icon was smiling from ear to ear as she spoke. "So don't hold back on my account, kid. Feel free to be free when you're with me, cuz I'm on your side."
Whitley stared at Tess, carefully taking in her words. Profanity had always been a huge no-no growing up in the Schnee manor. Any of his caretakers were more than willing to cane him whenever they had caught the youngest Schnee cuss. Especially so when it meant having the right to hit a Schnee for free. Eventually Whitley smiled back at Tess and opened his mouth.
"It was a massive cluster fuck!" He shouted. "Those old bastards didn't give a shit about the supposed laws I broke! Halfway through they just fucking gave up even saying I broke any laws! They just kept on forcing me to give them my tech! My Dragonflight! My power armor! Forcing me to give you up, those Oum damned pieces of shit! Fuck the judge! Fuck the Ironwood and fuck the military!"
As Whitley finished shouting everything in his mind from the tribunal, he inhaled and exhaled a few deep breaths before regaining his composure. After that, he looked at Tess, and her mischievous smile was gone—replaced with a soft, genuine one as both of them stared at each other.
The silence that followed was welcoming. To Whitley, it felt as if the frustrating aspects of the past hours had been made up for just by being in the presence of each other. After a minute or so from the silence both of them laughed. Whitley's laughter was loud and obnoxious, but felt genuine in expressing how he felt. Tess' was just as expressful, but tamer. Happy to share in his moment.
"Now that's out of your system…what happens now Whitley?"
Regaining his composure, he cleared his throat. "Well…right now the SDC's legal team is currently trying to reach an agreement with the military's legal team."
Tess raised her brows. "And what exactly is the end goal of both sides? Again, no offense but I doubt both sides are willing to drop everything just for you."
"None taken," Whitley said with a smile. "My freedom is obviously the main goal of the SDC, as for the military they're not making an effort to mask the fact that my tech is the only thing they want. They don't even want my input on tech-related topics, if you can believe it."
"Have they reached a final decision or are they still at an impasse?"
Whitley sighed. "Unforetunately they're still at an impasse. Worse yet, I don't know which side is winning. But, loathed as I am to admit it, my father's arrival came just in the nick of time. How my father knew what was going on is still a mystery to me."
"Really Whitley?" Tess said disbelievingly. "You haven't figured out who exactly told your father of your sham trial?"
Confused at first, Whitley stared at Tess unsure of what she was saying. True enough after what felt like a prolonged moment, his eyes widened as the proverbial light bulb lit up. "You called my father!? But—how…when?"
This time it was Tess' turn to sigh. "Just this morning when your sister came to collect you for the trial."
"If you were going to call my father then why didn't you tell me when we got here?" Whitley asked intently but not frustrated.
"I'm sorry, Whitley. With how stressed you were when we got here, especially when you started stress tinkering, nothing felt like the right time."
Hearing her softly apologize felt wrong to his ears. "No…no! I'm not mad Tess, when you called my father. Actually I'm thankful that you took into consideration my mental state. I would've probably made a hasty decision I would've definitely regretted…thank you, Tess."
Tess smiled, less at the words he said and more at how eloquent he was for a moment. "Thank you also, kid."
"Anyway… how did you contact my father? I'm worried that if you talk to him, he'll be under the impression that someone outside his control is under my own employment."
"You don't have to worry about that. I didn't talk to him directly, instead I sent a message directly to him. I even made it look like it came from an insider from the military. After that, I sent an individual message to his closest attorneys. I even made it look like the message came directly from Jacques."
Whitley made a popping sound hearing her explanation. "That's pretty impressive Tess. Holy shit, that actually explains why they already had a case prepared when they barged into the chamber."
"That's why your father pays them top lien. Still, even with the entire SDC behind your back I'm skeptical that you'll get your freedom with no strings attached."
"What do you mean? This is the SDC we're talking about."
Tess gave Whitley a critical look. "Whitley, you need to understand that whether intentional or not, you're picking a fight with the Atlesian military. Yes, the SDC has arguably more lien than any of the four kingdoms but money isn't the main issue here."
"I guess my father was right, Oum I hate saying that." Whitley scoffed.
"Why? What'd he say?"
"He said that other than trying to steal my tech, the other real reason for the sham trial was that their egos were badly bruised by my genius."
Tess wore a small smile upon hearing what Jacques said, but the seriousness in her eyes was still there. "A genius, that you are Whitley."
Whitley blushed softly, but before he could thank her for the compliment Tess continued speaking.
"There's much more going on here than bruised egos Whitley. I'm sorry to say this, Whitley, but if you get total freedom from this then things would end up for the worse."
"What? Why would that be a bad thing?!"
"Because Whitley, you and I both know that your father isn't popular across the kingdoms. Not just that, he's currently fighting the second largest organization in the world."
"Your point being…?"
"My point…is that if your father gets what he wants then, Atlas might as well announce that the council has no real power and that they're ruled by a king. A victory for the SDC is a loss for the people."
Whitley stared at Tess, unsure of how to feel at the insinuation of her words. "I want to get out of here…but you tell me that's a bad thing. I don't know what to do, Tess."
Another bout of silence came to the two, this one more tense than the first. Whitley stood motionless for a good while as he contemplated his situation. Tess made her display bigger in his HUD, making sure that he knew she was there with him. He was smart enough to understand what Tess was trying to say about how volatile his situation was.
"I think…I think I'm scared, Tess."
Tess regarded him for a brief second before she spoke. "Get out of the suit Whitley."
"What?"
"I said get out of the suit, Whitley." She repeated firmly, yet kindly.
As the Mark II hissed open and Whitley got out of the comforting tinker tech, Tess took control of the power armor. They stared at one another, Whitley not knowing what she was trying to do.
Whitley had seen this before, but never really understood the point of it. He stared for a bit before he steadied himself and clasped the Mark II's forearm firmly. The metal felt more human than machine.
"Bravery cannot exist without fear. Back at the start of the trial, were you afraid?"
"...Yes."
"And yet you held your own without any knowledge of help coming to your aid." The Mark II's grip tightened around Whitley's forearm, yet it didn't hurt the young Schnee. "You stood your ground against an entire tribunal of Atlesian officials. That's not something just anyone could do. You're braver than you take credit for, Whitley."
He scoffed lightly, shaking his head. "Bravery? Maybe. Or maybe I was just too stubborn for my own good."
"Bravery and stubbornness aren't so different sometimes," she countered. "No matter what happens next, you won't face it alone. I'll be here, through and through."
Whitley let himself smile, just a little. It wasn't much, but it was something. A small reassurance in the face of an uncertain future.
For now, that would have to be enough.
AN: I don't own both RWBY or Worm. I was really tempted to make this exactly like the Iron Man two court hearing scene but Whitley's still a kid and not an alcoholic playboy philanthropist. Next update is the conclusion of the trial and Whitley's fate. Other than that, have a nice day y'all.