A Fairly Reasonable Crashout (RWBY Adam SI) ch 51

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[SPOILER="The Rebel Path"][URL unfurl="true" media="youtube:xuxWlWkxLDQ"]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xuxWlWkxLDQ[/URL][/SPOILER]

Birds chirped, the sun glimmered high above, and horns from trains blared. Workers in overalls and high-visibility vests moved purposefully between the massive SDC cargo freighters, their boots crunching over gravel and steel. Two workers paused to gawk at a train being filled with Atlesian Knights. The guards saw them, and brandished their rifles. 

"This is not a tourist spot, faunus," the lead guard barked.

"Peace," Fennec Albain said. "We're just reporting to our shift," 

The officer glanced at their high-visibility vests, hard hats and duffel bags. "Get out of here," he dismissed them. 

"It would be our pleasure," Corsac Albain replied, walking off. They moved through the chaos like they belonged, nodding to passing workers and exchanging brief greetings. They turned a corner and approached a set of rusted stairs leading up to a maintenance platform. Fennec, still whistling, climbed first, his boots making soft metallic thuds against the steps. Corsac followed, his gaze flicking over the rail yard, taking in the lines of cargo freighters, the massive cranes unloading supplies, and the workers bustling below. But it was the far wall that held his attention.

Beyond the wall, in stark contrast to the industrial chaos of the SDC yard, lay the civilian tracks. Clean platforms, orderly trains, and oblivious passengers moving about their day. For a brief moment, Corsac paused at the top of the stairs, peering over the edge at the civilians below. He glanced at Fennec, who had also stopped to look but quickly turned away, muttering something under his breath.

The brothers descended the stairs and walked deeper into the yard. They were alert, ready to be stopped by a security guard at any moment. But there was none. Even as the shadow of silos loomed over them, glowing with power, feeding the station and the wider town power. They found the control room, obvious in its bright signage, and entered.

Fennec glanced around, ensuring they were alone. Satisfied, he unslung the duffel bag over a table. Corsac did the same, unzipping his bag and carefully pulling out canisters. 

Grenades. 

The thing about dust was its volatility. Even with a little shake, it would pop off. 

They worked in silence for a few moments, the only sounds being the faint rustle of the duffel bag and the distant noise of the rail yard. Then the door to the fuel station creaked open. Both brothers froze, their hands pausing mid-motion as an SDC technician stepped inside. The man was young with a clipboard in one hand and a puzzled expression on his face. 

His eyes widened as he took in what exactly was happening. His mouth opened to yell, but Corsac was faster. His hand shot out, grabbing a screwdriver from the table. In one fluid motion, he hurled it at the man. The tool spun through the air, end over end, before sinking into the technician's throat with a sickening thud. The man staggered, dropping the clipboard as he clutched at his neck. Blood bubbled between his fingers, his gasps wet and desperate. He stumbled back, hitting the wall before collapsing in a heap. Corsac's face remained calm, focused, as he stared down at the body. His breathing was steady, but his heart pounded in his chest. Fennec, crouched over the bomb, glanced up and frowned.

"Messy," Fennec muttered, his tone disapproving.

Corsac swallowed. "You know what's going to happen next. What's...what's one more for the pile?"

Fennec's frown deepened, but he didn't argue. Instead, he returned to the grenades to arrange them. Corsac stared at the body, his mind churning. 

They were newcomers. They were not going to be trusted by those who were already fighting. They needed to dispel that notion. Their father had been moving quietly, sending men and material around Mistral. They were going to do this right, and announce their new allegiance with a literal bang. As his father did that, they were going to do their part too. 

"Done," Fennec said, zipping up his now-empty duffel bag.

"Let's go," Corsac trailed.

The brothers slipped out of the control room, moving quickly but not hurriedly. They blended back into the rail yard, their expressions neutral as they navigated the chaos. They passed the same guard from earlier who barely gave them a second glance.

They were but a step away from him when it began.

The first blast erupted with a gut-wrenching roar, shattering the control room. Systems failed, sparks and flames erupted from the gutted machinery, and the silos began to whine, growing louder and louder by the second. Without stabilization, the Dust inside the silos reverted to its original erratic state. Then, it happened.

The silos ruptured violently, sending towering fireballs into the sky. Shards of metal, twisted and glowing red-hot, rained down like deadly confetti. The ground shook beneath the force of the blast, throwing workers off their feet. Train cars tipped over like toys, their massive bulk crumpling under the sheer power of the explosions.

Screams pierced the air as workers scrambled in all directions, their faces pale with terror. Some clutched their ears, trying to block out the deafening roar, while others stumbled blindly through the thick, acrid smoke that now choked the yard. The flames spread quickly, jumping from one fuel tank to another. Each new detonation sent another plume of black smoke spiraling into the sky, blotting out the sun.

The power grid failed next.

Lights flickered violently across the station, buzzing and sparking, before plunging everything into darkness. The silence of the blackout lasted only a split second before it was shattered by more explosions. Conveyor belts ground to a halt, cranes froze mid-motion, and the automated systems controlling the loading of the Atlesian Knights ceased entirely.

Corsac and Fennec watched, utterly transfixed. Then they heard coughing. The guard stood up, wiping away at his face. Fennec looked at him with sheer murder. Corsac had his personal kill, Fennec wanted one as well. But just as he readied to tear into the SDC guard's throat, his ears perked. 

Grimm. 

The guard froze, his head snapping toward the sound. His face, already pale from the explosions, drained of what little color remained.

"No…no, no, no!" he muttered, his voice trembling. The yard was protected by massive electric fences that kept the Grimm at bay. Without power, they were all but vulnerable. His eyes landed on the two brothers still standing nearby, transfixed. "You!" he stammered, pointing a shaking finger at them. "You need to get out of here! The Grimm, they'll tear us apart!"

The skies tore with cries of Nevermores, attracted as they were by the sheer negativity and fear that oozed from the yard. The guard saw them and raised his weapon. "Run! Get out of here! Go!" he screeched as he fired at the hell birds. 

The brothers did as they were ordered too, their backs turned against the guard. His screams echoed in their ears as the Nevermores descended. 

Later, they stood on a hill overlooking the yard, their breaths heavy but steady. Below them, the chaos they had unleashed raged on. Plumes of thick smoke rose into the sky like twisted pillars, blotting out the sun. Silver-gray Bullheads zipped back and forth, their mounted miniguns spitting fire into the growing swarm of Grimm. Even from this distance, the brothers could still hear the screams. Human, Faunus. Innocent, guilty, both were equal in the eyes of the Grimm.

Fennec reached into his coat and pulled out a flask, the polished metal glinting faintly in the flickering light of distant explosions. He held it out to Corsac, who took it with a curious glance. Unscrewing the cap, he sniffed the contents and frowned.

"Whiskey? Really?" Corsac asked, raising an eyebrow.

"A drink to commemorate this wonderful occasion," Fennec replied, his lips curling into a faint smile as another explosion erupted in the distance, briefly illuminating his face.

Corsac studied the flask for a moment before shrugging and taking a swig. It burned like fire, scorching his throat and leaving a bitter aftertaste. But he drank it down without complaint, then handed the flask back to his brother. His gaze drifted back to the rail yard. Here, from the safety of the hill, the destruction seemed like a painting of chaos brought to life.

"We should announce our success," Corsac murmured, his voice low but resolute. "Father will want to know."

Fennec nodded, tucking the flask away. He reached into his coat again, this time pulling out his scroll. The dim light of the screen reflected off his sharp features as he dialed. A few seconds passed before the line connected.

"Speak," came the familiar, rasping voice of Vulpes Albain.

"The Jintian train station is burning," Fennec announced, his tone calm, almost clinical.

For a moment, there was only silence on the other end of the line. Then, faintly, Fennec heard a sound, barely more than a breath, but unmistakable. A shiver. Long and satisfied. Finally, after so long.

Blood for blood. 

"We are committed, then," Vulpes breathed as he brought himself back to control. Jintian was one of many that dotted around Mistral. Any attack would cripple the SDC from effectively supplying their bases and their customers. Vulpes knew that after this, there was no going back which was the point. After far too many insults, far too many wounds, the SDC deserved nothing else but pain. 

"How is the situation there in Mistral?" Fennec asked. 

Vulpes glanced outside his window. "Calm. News of this has yet to arrive the city. But when it shall, the bastards will tremble." 

This was only the beginning. Trains stations was not just on the itinerary. Ädam asked for their devotion to be shown. 

And shown it will. 

​"We are going to the next phase, then?" Fennec asked. 

​Vulpes smiled, a bloodthirsty grin coming on to his lips. 

"Yes."

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The watched the scenes on the television with horror. Scrolls rang incessantly, taken or ignored by panicked employees out of their depth. General Manager Tobias Blaue cursed under his breath, his fifth time trying to reach Dalrymple was met with silence. 

"Where is he?" Blaue muttered to himself, his voice hoarse with frustration. "He's supposed to be handling this!"

His gaze flicked to the large window behind his desk, which overlooked the courtyard. The faunus protesters were still there, their numbers swelling as more joined, chanting and waving signs. Though they had been a persistent presence for weeks, the manager had never felt truly threatened by them. Until Ghira Belladonna was shot. Until now.

A bead of sweat ran down his forehead.

Dust silos destroyed, rail yards set ablaze, entire supply lines crippled in mere hours. Each report brought fresh waves of dread, but it was the coordinated nature of the strikes that truly unnerved him.

It was all planned.

​Were their enemies in Mistral now? It seemed so far away, just some troublesome animals in the provinces. But no, their terror and reach was spreading. Goodness, should he consider resigning? This was surely revenge for the Belladonna. Maybe they would try assassination now? Should he be worried? 

A knock at the door startled him. His secretary stepped in, her face pale and her voice trembling. "Sir…corporate is calling."

Blaue froze for a moment, then exhaled sharply, relief washing over him like a wave. "Thank the gods," he muttered, standing up and straightening his jacket. He hurried to his desk, brushing aside broken glass and scattered papers as he tapped his scroll to take the call. The Schnee Dust Company's logo flickered on the screen for a moment before the call connected.

"Mrs. Schnee," he stammered, his voice between shock and formality.

"Mr. Blaue," she greeted him, soft yet tense, eyes bright with concern. "What in the world is happening in Mistral?"

Blaue cleared his throat, trying to steady his nerves. "Mrs. Schnee, it's…it's exactly as what is happening. We are under attack."

Willow's expression broke. She leaned back on Jacques...no, her chair. She glanced to the corner, and Blaue heard whispers. She turned back to him. "Nothing has happened in Headquarters?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No but there are protesters outside. Madame, with all due respect, we need reinforcements. Dalrymple took most of our guys south to hunt radicals. But it seems they have expanded their reach. We need protection."

He did not add the sheer casualties that fool was netting them for zero gain.

 "I have been told that the Navy is preparing an expedition," Willow reported. "Ghira Belladonna is also drafting a statement ready to condemn the attacks and a plea to end the violence. This...this is happening on his behalf." 

Blaue nodded begrudgingly. The faunus would surely listen to their Chief, yes? The real relief however came from the military. Whatever his thoughts were of Ironwood, he was a hard ass that protected Atlas where it mattered. 

"What else are we to do, Madame?" Blaue asked. He needed more instructions to rectify the situation. Willow turned to the side, then back to him. 

"For now, take stock of the situation and be careful. We will need time to...think of a solution," Willow swallowed. She continued. "Urge our employees to be on full alert especially when leaving SDC premises."

"Yes, Mrs. Schnee," Blaue said, bowing his head slightly. "Thank you."

And Blaue worked. Emails were sent, memos drawn up. This was the best he could do with what resources and authority he had. His skills was drawing up corporate plans, not leading armies. Eventually, the exhaustion caught up to him. Rubbing his temples, he leaned back in his chair and sighed. He had done all he could for the day. 

Well, almost.

Reaching for his scroll, he tapped a contact and waited. Then a voice answered.

"Tobias?" she asked, her voice tinged with worry. "Is everything alright?"

He hesitated for a moment, then spoke firmly. "Miriam, I need you to pack up the house. Take the kids and get ready to leave for Vale."

"Vale?" she repeated, confused. "What's going on?"

"It's not safe here anymore," he said, his voice low but urgent. "Things are worse than they seem. I don't want you or the kids caught up in this madness. Go to Vale, stay with my sister for a while. Just until this chaos dies down."

"Tobias…" Her voice wavered. "What about you?"

"I'll follow as soon as I can," he lied, though his tone was steady. "I just need to finish up here, make sure everything's stable. But I need to know you're safe first."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before she finally whispered, "Alright. I'll do it."

"Thank you," he said, relief washing over him. "I'll call you when I can. Just… be ready to leave by tomorrow."

"I will. Be careful, Tobias."

"I will," he promised. "I love you." 

"I love you too." 

He ended the call, staring at the blank screen of his scroll for a moment before slipping it into his pocket. Rising from his chair, he grabbed his coat and briefcase before clocking out. The night air was cool as he stepped out of the building. The protests outside had grown louder, but the crowd had thinned slightly, the most vocal agitators lingering near the gates. As he approached his car, parked just inside the compound, the chants became clearer, angrier.

Blaue ignored them, keeping his gaze forward as he slipped into his car. The slamming of the door muffled the noise, and for a moment, he allowed himself a deep breath. Starting the engine, he eased out of the parking lot, the protesters surging toward the car as he passed. A bottle shattered against his rear window, but he didn't flinch.

He pulled out of the headquarters and onto the main road, the tension in his chest easing slightly as the shouts became distant. The streets of Mistral were eerily quiet, the usual hustle and bustle replaced by an uneasy stillness. As he rounded a corner, the shimmering surface of Lake Mistral caught his eye, its waters reflecting the moonlight like a sheet of silver.

Despite everything, it was beautiful, serene in a way that almost felt mocking. How could something so peaceful exist amidst such chaos? 

The roar of an engine snapped him out of his thoughts.

A motorcycle pulled up beside his car, its rider clad in dark clothing and a helmet that obscured their face. Blaue glanced at them briefly, his brow furrowing in confusion. Something about the way they lingered felt off.

And then he saw it.

The glint of metal, the unmistakable shape of a gun barrel aimed directly at him.

He was dead before he even registered it.

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A/N: It is all downhill from here. 

The White Fang of Mistral are cashing out and Atlas might get involved. Or maybe the Mistralis.

By the end of this, there will be a literal river of corpses, all because some cuck wanted to make some five dollars more.