A Fairly Reasonable Crashout (RWBY Adam SI) ch 42

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Winter languished.

Atlas had never felt so low. Despite the city's lofty perch above the clouds, it seemed insignificant compared to everything that had transpired. After relinquishing her position as Heiress, she had thrown herself into her studies with relentless determination. Graduating from Atlas Academy with the highest honors it could bestow upon its top students, her next step was clear: enlist in the military.

She had imagined a future as a frontline officer, leading soldiers into battle. But fate had other plans. Her skills and achievements earned her an early placement in the Specialists: a unit reserved for Atlas's finest. The Specialists were the epitome of Huntsmen turned soldiers: extraordinary men and women who dedicated their lives and talents not for money, but for the kingdom. Of course, she accepted the position. She expected to face Atlas's enemies head-on, to crush them beneath the kingdom's iron will.

Instead, she was assigned to Argus, stationed far from the heart of Atlas.

Still, Winter carried out her duties with the precision and competence expected of her. But a nagging feeling lingered: her placement in Argus was no coincidence. It felt deliberate. On one hand, it kept her shielded from the growing unrest back home in Solitas. On the other, it distanced her from everything that truly mattered: her home, her family, her kingdom.

Then, everything began to unravel.

Florianne Geyer's speech shook the kingdom, a scathing condemnation of Atlas. Justice was denied, and the fallout of her words reverberated. But the tipping point came with the breakout at Tegel Prison. Chaos followed.

The kingdom responded swiftly. A General Alert was issued, and Atlas mobilized its full might. For the first time in memory, the Atlesian Home Fleet gathered en masse above the capital, while garrisons abroad were placed on high alert. Winter fully expected to be sent to the frontline wherever they might be.

But no.

Instead, she received a direct order: return to Atlas with all possible haste. And now here she was, at headquarters, and waiting outside the office of what ought to be the most powerful man on the planet. She was ushered in, and quickly. However, her old headmaster was standing before the windows, staring outside at their assembled fleet, eyes folded to the back.

"Magnificent, isn't it?" He wondered aloud. Winter took her steps behind him, standing at attention. 

"It is the mightiest fleet ever on Remnant, sir," Winter replied. 

"And rotten to the core," Ironwood muttered. He turned to her and to her shock, she found him looking haggard despite his clean uniform. "Do you know how many officers owe their positions fully or in part to your father, Miss Schnee?" 

Winter's face fell, and she opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat.

Ironwood didn't wait for her to answer. He turned back toward the window, folding his arms tightly across his chest. "Twenty-four percent," he said flatly. "Nearly a quarter of Atlas's officer corps. Some are directly tied to him, bribes, favors, secured promotions. Others? They're products of the system your family built."

Winter stiffened, her hands clenched tightly at her sides. "Sir, I-"

Ironwood cut her off, his tone bitter. "Do you know what that means? It means that for nearly one in four officers, I have to ask myself: who do they serve? Atlas? Or Jacques Schnee?" He turned to her again, his expression hard and unyielding. "Some of them are corrupt. Others, simply indebted. But even those who aren't, how many decisions have been shaped by the SDC's shadow looming over their careers?"

Winter's jaw tightened. She wanted to argue, to defend her family's name, but the words felt hollow even before they left her mind. "But I am not here to complain about that." 

She glanced up. "Sir?" 

He turned back to her. "I have been promoted to the General Staff to clean up house. I told you that because that is the challenge that awaits me." 

Ah. There had been rumours that the General Staff had been re-organized. Leave it to the Army to clean up first before the Council did. "I will need allies. I will need friends. I will need true and loyal patriots that will serve not the interest of some corporate master but Atlas. I would like you on my staff, if you wish." 

Her heart thrummed in her chest. "Sir? I-In your staff?" 

He pivoted sharply, cybernetic fingers flexing, the faint whir of servos punctuating the silence. "Indeed," he nodded. "I will be honest with you, Specialist. I do not trust senior commanders at this time. They are also old as well. Inflexible, irascible, and unbending. I need young officers. I need fresh eyes and ears and perspectives, untouched by the past. You will be one of them."

Her throat tightened, cheeks burning with a mixture of pride and dread. "But…sir, I have no field command. No battles to my name. I am not-"

He cut her off with a sharp motion of his hand, metal rasping against leather. "Enough. You are not being asked to command a division. You will serve as my Adjutant, attached directly to the Chief of Staff's office. That means you will attend conferences, carry directives, and guard the flow of information that leaves this room. Every word I speak, every order I give, you will hear it first. You will be my eyes and ears inside the Specialists, and my voice when I cannot be present. Do you understand the gravity of what I am offering you?"

The floor seemed to tilt beneath her. She swallowed hard. "Yes, sir."

Ironwood's expression hardened, then softened for just a moment. "I need people who I cannot just trust but are the best of the best. In this generation of yours, you stand the brightest, Specialist. I need that and you to serve. Are you with me, Specialist?" 

Her chest constricted. She snapped to attention, voice breaking from the force of her vow. "I will not fail you, General." 

Ironwood smiled. "Welcome aboard, Specialist Schnee." 

And with that, he saluted. Winter saluted back, crisp and sharp. Ironwood let it settle for a second before he withdrew his hand. "What is our first steps, sir?" WInter asked. 

"Restoring hope and faith in Atlas," Ironwood revealed. 

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Private Eckart Gold slouched, his back pressed lazily against the cold steel of the guard station. His rifle leaned precariously against the wall beside him, its polished surface a sharp contrast to his scuffed boots and the faint grime clinging stubbornly to his uniform. His helmet sat crooked on his head, as though he'd given up halfway through adjusting it. A general depression had settled over the Army like a suffocating fog, sapping the energy of even the most dutiful soldiers. Orders came and went, but they lacked clarity or purpose. The once-proud regiments of Atlas, forged to defend the kingdom with unyielding resolve, now shuffled aimlessly, weighed down by uncertainty. Eckart was no exception.

His post was one of many scattered along the perimeter of the capital's upper districts. A small, enclosed checkpoint designed to monitor the flow of personnel and vehicles, it had been built with the pristine efficiency characterizing much of Atlas's military infrastructure. The floor gleamed like a mirror, the walls glowing faintly blue from reinforced metal alloys. At one point, the checkpoint symbolized the military's omnipresence: clean, orderly, invincible. Now, it felt like a relic of a fading empire.

Beyond the post, the sprawling city of Atlas stretched out, its towering spires clawing at the sky. The hum of distant engines filled the air, punctuated by the occasional whine of patrol drones overhead. Above it all loomed the fleet, a silent guardian or a reminder of the kingdom's quiet desperation.

Eckart sighed deeply and stared out through the thick, reinforced glass of his post. The streets below were quieter than they should have been, even for this time of day. Civilians moved with hurried steps, heads down, avoiding eye contact with soldiers stationed at every corner. The unease was palpable, a tension vibrating through the very metal of the city.

Then, a flicker of activity.

The console in front of Eckart lit up with a sharp ping, followed by the faint vibration of his communicator. He frowned and leaned forward, the sudden break in monotony catching him off guard. The screen displayed a priority alert: ALL MILITARY PERSONNEL: BROADCAST INCOMING FROM GENERAL IRONWOOD. STANDBY FOR TRANSMISSION.

Eckart straightened slightly, brushing the dust off his uniform as though it mattered. Around him, the checkpoint hummed to life. The other guards shifted uneasily, conversations dying mid-sentence. A nervous energy swept over them, cutting through the thick apathy that had hung in the air for weeks.

He tapped the console, and the screen expanded to display the familiar insignia of the Atlesian Military. Static crackled briefly, then faded as the feed came into focus.

General Ironwood stood tall at a podium in the heart of Atlas headquarters, the fleet visible behind him through massive windows. His uniform was immaculate, his posture rigid, but his face betrayed the weight he carried. Haggard lines framed his eyes, his jaw set tight. He looked like a man who hadn't slept in days.

Silence fell across the checkpoint, across the city, across the entire military network. Every soldier, every officer, every drone operator paused to watch. Even the civilians below seemed to sense the shift, their hurried steps slowing as they glanced toward the loudspeakers scattered throughout Atlas.

Ironwood began to speak.

"Atlas," he said.

One word.

Private Gold strained to hear, leaning forward instinctively.

"Barely weeks ago, Councillor Florianne Geyer delivered scathing remarks in the Council chambers. She condemned Atlas: its institutions, its leaders, its people. She spoke of our moral failure as a kingdom. She accused us of abandoning not just the pursuit of good, but of natural justice itself. She exposed the rot within our society and laid it bare for all to see."

Gold's face fell.

"She was absolutely correct."

Wait. What?

Gold straightened at those words, his mind racing. General Ironwood's voice carried on, calm but cutting.

"Atlas has failed. It has failed itself. It has failed everything it once stood for. It has failed its people. Instead of upholding its ideals, Atlas has succumbed to corruption and self-service."

A heavy silence followed his words. Murmurs rippled through the ranks. Soldiers and civilians alike exchanged uneasy glances.

Ironwood continued, his tone measured but firm. "Was Councillor Geyer correct in saying that Atlas deserves to die? That it is a kingdom utterly and irredeemably corrupt, inhuman to its core, driven only by greed and prestige? I can understand why she might think so. But that is not the truth."

The murmurs grew louder, uncertainty spreading through the crowd.

Ironwood's voice rose, cutting through the noise. "For all its flaws, Atlas is not beyond saving. For every act of selfishness, there are men and women of extraordinary character standing against it. One such person is Specialist Winter Schnee. She could have used her influence and power to crush dissent in Nicolasburg, to enforce the will of the SDC. Instead, she chose the harder path. She rejected violence. She humlbed herself before a faunus miner and asked for forgiveness."

Gold blinked. He remembered the aftermath of the disaster in Nicolasburg. Everyone did. The image of the former heiress bowing her head to a miner had been burned into the public consciousness: a moment of humility that had shocked the kingdom.

Ironwood's tone shifted, becoming resolute. "It is to people like Specialist Schnee that I now call. To those willing to serve not just Atlas, but the ideals it once embodied. To those who believe in justice, in integrity, in doing what is right. Not for power, not for wealth, but because it is what the people of Atlas deserve."

The murmurs softened, replaced by a growing sense of focus.

"Patriotism," Ironwood said, his voice ringing out, "is not turning a blind eye to injustice. It is not clinging to the status quo because it is comfortable or convenient. Patriotism is doing what is right for the kingdom. If something is right, we keep it right. If something is wrong, we make it right. And make no mistake: Atlas has been very wrong."

The weight of his words settled over the room. Gold felt a strange stirring in his chest. An ember of something he hadn't felt in weeks. Purpose? Hope? He wasn't sure, but whatever it was, it made him stand a little straighter.

Ironwood leaned forward slightly, gripping the edges of the podium. "The road ahead will be hard. There will be sacrifices. But together, we can rebuild Atlas. We can root out the rot and restore what was lost. I am asking you, no, I am calling you, to stand with me. Not for me, but for Atlas. For its people. For its future."

His voice grew raw, animated, fire in his voice. 

"It is time for Atlas to awaken! It is time for us to embody what we truly are. We are the shining city on the hill, the beacon of hope and progress! We bear the lantern of innovation as our standard, for we are the future! We are the trailblazers, the architects of change, the ones who forge a path where none exists! I utterly reject the notion that no change can ever come to Atlas. I refuse it! We were born from the darkness of the past, the shadow of the Empire, but our light has endured. Yes, it has dimmed, but darkness cannot extinguish that which refuses to die. And let it be known: Atlas's light will never be extinguished!"

Gold felt the breath leave his chest. It was as if time had stopped...then the clock began to tick. He stood straighter, the weakness in his spine vanishing. He adjusted his helmet, his fingers twitching. The air changed from listless depression to electric energy.

"We are those who dare! We are those who dare to settle in Solitas where others do not! We overthrew the Monarchy when others clung to it! We dare rise from the ground! We dare to meet the heavens and we, Atlas, dare to restore what this kingdom ought to be!" Ironwood stood tall, eyes narrowed. "Long live Atlas!" he roared.

[SPOILER="Lantern of Atlas"][URL unfurl="true" media="youtube:eY5hxIKfqwc"]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eY5hxIKfqwc[/URL][/SPOILER]

Gold shouted, something he never would have done weeks ago. His voice joined others, a cry roaring to the fullest their lungs could muster. Gold felt clarity and focus he had not felt in days. And with pride in his heart, and steel in his mind, he roared it, and proudly.

"Long live Atlas!"

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​A/N: Long live Atlas. 

And yes, I have a fondness for Ironwood. How could you tell?