A Fairly Reasonable Crashout (RWBY Adam SI) ch 39

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The sun warmed his face as he sat atop a jagged rock, overlooking the endless stretch of the coast. The South Eastern Sea lay before him, its waves shimmering under the afternoon light, rolling toward the shore in a rhythmic crash. Beyond the sea, just faintly visible on the horizon, lay Menagerie. According to some locals, on clear days, one might see its shadow. 

Sienna stopped a few paces behind him, taking in the sight before her. He looked so still, like a statue carved into the landscape, yet there was tension in the set of his shoulders. She had been searching for him since they returned to the Union-friendly town, where the stolen dust they had taken on their mission was being distributed. Adam had vanished not long after, slipping away without notice. It had taken asking around and some frustration before she'd finally tracked him down.

"Are you going to make a habit of vanishing, Adam?" Sienna asked, her voice cutting through the sound of the waves.

He didn't answer immediately, his eyes fixed on the horizon. The breeze tugged at his hair, wild and untamed. 

Sienna waited, but when no response came, she stepped closer, standing beside him. She crossed her arms, watching his profile for any sign of acknowledgment.

Finally, Adam spoke. His voice was steady, but there was something distant in it, like he was reciting words from another time, another life.

"Hatred of the invading enemy is the most sacred and humane feeling. But it is born with such pain of heart and torment of the soul that God forbid anyone to experience it a second time."

Sienna blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. She studied him, trying to decipher his expression. To her, it sounded like a quote, something borrowed from someone else.

"An apt quote," she said, testing his mood.

Adam nodded but didn't elaborate. Instead, he finally turned to look at her. His eyes, sharp and intense, glittered like polished steel under the sun.

"Do you regret it?" he asked suddenly. "Are you ashamed?"

"Regret what?" Sienna asked, though she already suspected what he meant.

"Our attack," Adam clarified. "The things we did."

Ah.

Sienna let out a small breath, looking out at the sea as she considered his question. The raid had been brutal, efficient, and undeniably effective. But taking their lives, leaving the prisoners to be devoured potentially by grimm, it seemed excessive. But was it justified? Sienna searched into her heart and soul, and felt it was. Atlas had shown what it was, a kingdom built around Jacques Schnee, and the SDC. Those that wore its uniforms worked for a machine most cruel and unimaginable. They knew what they were getting into. Therefore, it should not be a surprise when consequences came with their choices.  

"No," she said simply, shaking her head.

Adam studied her closely, his gaze searching for cracks in her resolve. When he found none, he nodded, as if reassured.

"I don't either," he said.

The waves below crashed against the rocks. 

"A single attack won't be enough," Sienna said after a long pause. Her voice was low but firm, carrying the weight of conviction. "One attack is a fluke. Another is a coincidence. A third is a pattern."

Adam's lips twitched, though it wasn't quite a smile. "Agreed," he said.

"Are we abandoning restraint?" she asked, her words measured but deliberate. Her tone betrayed no fear, only curiosity.

Adam leaned back slightly on the rock, tilting his head as if to let the wind carry away his thoughts. He didn't answer immediately, and Sienna waited, watching him as he stared out at the horizon once more.

Finally, he turned to her, his expression calm but resolute.

"Yes," he said.

Sienna nodded slowly, her arms still crossed as she looked out at the sea. The waves rolled on, unrelenting, crashing against the shore as if to remind them that the world would keep moving, no matter what they chose to do. 

"We have information," Adam said, his voice steady and resolute. "We know their routes, the locations of further SDC strongholds. We know where to strike. All we need to do is attack."

"Then let's not waste time," Sienna replied, her tone firm and unwavering.

Adam nodded as he rose to his feet, his eyes narrowing with determination. "Let's."

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The town of Stuhligen was one of several that bordered the frozen expanse of Lake Solitas, a wide sheet of solid ice deep within the Solitas frontier. It began as a modest fishing village but gradually grew into a small, self-reliant settlement. Narrow cobbled streets crisscrossed between steep-gabled houses with dark timber frames and rooftops weighed down by heavy snow. Icicles clung stubbornly to window edges, and the buildings were painted in muted tones of deep green, brown, and faded yellow. Time and relentless cold had peeled much of the paint away.

At the town's center was a small square illuminated by old, flickering lamps. A stone church stood at its edge, its bell tolling each day at noon. Beside it sat the town hall, built in the same timbered style, its worn banners still bearing the Atlas crest. These banners were replaced once a year, though they always looked faded by the following winter. Thin wisps of smoke drifted from chimneys, while the steady sound of axes splitting firewood echoed faintly through the streets. A wooden dock jutted out over the frozen lake, used for ice fishing and checking the ice during the coldest months. When the weather allowed, children would gather to skate or play hockey, their hand-me-down boots wrapped in layers of cloth for warmth. Every home and shop was built to endure the unrelenting cold, with thick walls, bolted shutters, and sealed windows. Frost swept down from the north with biting winds, occasionally bringing the threat of Grimm. Though the cold of Solitas killed many Grimm who ventured near, the few that survived were hardy, brutal creatures capable of withstanding the bitter conditions.

On most days, the town was quiet. City folk rarely left their fortified walls, much less ventured to a frontier settlement like Stuhligen. Today, however, was different.

The bell above the inn door let out a low, strained chime as it swung open, letting in a blast of icy wind and two figures wrapped in thick cloaks. Snow clung to their boots and dropped in clumps from their shoulders as they entered. The sharp scent of wet wool and frost followed them in. Heads turned, not with suspicion, but with recognition. The inn was modest, with two hearths, six tables, and a long wooden bar lined with hanging iron mugs. Most of the regulars had already settled in for the evening, their steaming or spiced drinks in hand as they wore the half-drowsy expressions of people prepared for a long night indoors.

The two figures crossed the room and took a seat in the far corner.

Jäcklein Flach kept his cloak on, the outer fabric stiff with frozen moisture. Beneath it, he wore a worn jacket with leather reinforcements at the shoulders and a padded collar. His trousers were dark gray wool, tucked into scuffed boots wrapped in cloth at the ankles. His gloves were fingerless, exposing knuckles that were calloused and scraped. Beside him sat Hans Drummer, who had removed his outer coat and draped it over the back of his chair. Underneath, he wore a thick cotton tunic dyed brown, layered with a quilted vest strapped tightly across his chest. His arms were wrapped in cloth beneath black sleeves, and his belt carried a pouch, a folding tool, and an old signal whistle. His boots, reinforced with metal rivets at the toe, were heavier than Jäcklein's.

Across from them sat Tomas Munzer, older than the other two. His short black coat was buttoned up to his neck, its brass buttons scratched but polished. He wore plain, intact gloves lined with fleece, and a long wool scarf lay across the table beside a closed scroll case. His trousers were flat-pressed but slightly faded, and his boots were clean, their soles scraped free of snow before he entered. His posture was perfectly still, and his expression was unreadable.

None of them spoke at first. A pitcher of warm water sat untouched at the edge of the table. The room behind them carried the faint crackle of a poker stirring the hearth and the muted sound of footsteps overhead.

To an outsider, these three men might have appeared as nothing more than ordinary frontiersmen. The patrons of the inn, however, knew better. These were the lieutenants of the Bundschuh, the party of frontier towns and peasants led by Florianne Geyer. Their fathers had been instrumental in the Color Revolution, which began in towns like Stuhligen, Memmingen, and Schweiz and rose against the Eisfalks. Of the original leaders, only Munzer remained.

"They are holding her in Tegel," Drummer revealed, his voice steady and quiet. He spoke like someone used to giving instructions or alerts, clear and to the point. "I am told her conditions are decent."

"It won't be when her trial begins," Flach cursed, his voice flat and hard. The men growled, and those around tapped their tables impatiently. He continued. "They can't keep her behind bars without cause, so they are slapping her with charges of treason, for doing the right thing!"

"Treason, and defamation of the state, Flach," Drummer reminded him.

"We cannot let that happen. Geyer's father may be noble, but she is one of us," Flach insisted.

"Must we really debate on the right course of action?" Munzer asked, his voice low and steady. It was rough with age but clear. He looked at each man in turn and waited for their answer. "When our old Countess ordered us to stop fishing, while our families starved, to march to war, did we beg and plead her mercy?"

"You mean to let us fight? Against Atlas?" Drummer asked tersely, his words treasonous and cold. But deep in his heart, he felt no angst about the proposal.

Munzer leaned back slightly in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he studied Drummer. His voice was calm, deliberate, but carried the weight of decades of rebellion. "This is not new ground for us. We have fought before, and we will fight again if we must."

Drummer clenched his jaw, his fingers tracing the edge of the table. "I do not disagree, but this is no small task. Tegel is no backwater prison. And times have changed. Your generation fought with spears and shields. Now, Atlas bears airships that have the luxury of tearing us all to pieces at a distance."

Flach's hand slammed against the wooden table, causing the pitcher of water to tremble. His voice rose, sharp and angry. "So are we just going to leave her to her fate? Let the damned government go away with its crimes? I am no faunus sympathizer, but you all saw the videos. You all saw the reports. We aren't faunus, but we all have felt the same boot!"

It was the right of frontiersmen to exploit the forests, rivers, and dust mines for their use. When the SDC expanded, it had encroached upon Frontier land. Initially, it was friendly and their rights were respected. But that was in Nicholas Schnee's day. When Jacques assumed the mantle, public land had been forcibly bought for the SDC. One of the reasons Geyer was on the Council even was to negotiate against the construction of a rail way line that would have cut through their forest.

Drummer's gaze shifted to Flach, his expression darkening. "And what happens when we fail? Do you think Atlas will show restraint? They will burn Stuhligen. They will burn Memmingen. They will hunt us down like dogs, and they will make an example of us."

The room's tension thickened, the firelight casting sharp shadows across their faces. The regulars in the inn shifted uncomfortably, some staring into their mugs as if the argument at the corner table were too much to bear. Others leaned closer, listening intently.

Munzer raised a hand, silencing the brewing argument with a single gesture. His voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Enough. Both of you."

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. His voice dropped lower, but it was no less commanding. "You are both right, and you are both wrong. Yes, Tegel is a fortress, and yes, failure will bring ruin to more than just us. But we cannot let fear dictate our actions. We are her lieutenants, we cannot abandon her to humiliation and torment. Do you understand?"

Flach exhaled sharply, but he nodded.

Drummer sat back, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. After a long pause, he spoke, his voice quieter now. "If we do this, it will take more than the three of us. We will need support, resources, and a plan."

​Munzer smiled. "You need not worry on resources."

Drummer raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Where would you get a windful, Munzer?"

"From me," a rich voice declared. Flach and Drummer froze as the unfamiliar voice cut through the room like a knife. It was smooth, self-assured, with a faint edge of mockery, as though its owner was already amused by their reaction. They turned toward the source, their hands instinctively twitching toward weapons concealed beneath their cloaks. The patrons too stood up, ready to fight. The man stepped forward from the shadows near the doorway, uncaring about the glares sent his way. He was tall, dressed in a tailored dark coat with silver buttons that gleamed faintly in the firelight. His slicked-back hair was streaked with gray, though his age seemed indeterminate, and a well-groomed beard framed his smirking face.

Munzer rose. "Brothers, I would like to introduce you to a potential ally, Arthur Watts."

Flach frowned, his suspicion immediate. "An ally? From where? No one outside these lands has ever cared for the Bundschuh, Munzer. Why would that change now?"

Watts chuckled softly, the sound low and condescending. "Because I represent an organization that shares your distaste for Atlas and its hypocrisy. Imprisoning a woman who does the right thing? For shame, for shame!"

His voice irked the men, their ears twitched, and their lips curled into distaste. Munzer interjected before they spoke. "Mr. Watts is here to offer his support, not to argue his motives. And his support is something we cannot ignore."

Drummer raised an eyebrow, his skepticism still evident. "Support? What kind of support?"

Watts spread his arms slightly, as if presenting himself as the answer. "Everything you need. Lien, weapons, intelligence, transportation. All of it, at your disposal. My organization has no shortage of resources, and we're more than willing to share them with you provided you're willing to act."

The room fell silent as the weight of his words settled over the table. Flach's eyes narrowed further, his suspicion unwavering. "And what's the price for all this generosity? Men like you don't give without expecting something in return."

Watts' smile thinned, his tone turning colder. "The only price is that you succeed. Free Florianne Geyer. Strike a blow against Atlas. If you can do that, we'll both get what we want."

"And what is it do you want?"

​A hum left Watts' lips. "Justice."

Before anyone could respond, the muffled growl of engines rumbled from outside, faint but unmistakable. Chairs creaked as some of the patrons turned toward the windows, murmuring in curiosity.

Watts gestured toward the door with a casual flick of his hand. "If you need proof of my sincerity, I suggest you step outside."

Munzer left without hesitation, his expression calm but his eyes sharp. Flach and Drummer exchanged a wary glance before following him to the door.

The cold air hit them as they stepped outside, their boots crunching against the snow. The narrow street was now occupied by three large trucks, their engines idling softly. Men in dark coats moved with purpose, unloading crates from the vehicles and stacking them neatly in the snow.

Flach's eyes widened as he caught sight of the crates' contents: rifles, ammunition, and other supplies, all meticulously packed. The faint glint of grenades and other weapons reflected in the moonlight.

Drummer stepped closer to one of the trucks, his hand brushing against the edge of a crate. His voice was barely above a whisper. "This...this is real."

Munzer turned to Watts, his expression unreadable. "You came prepared."

Watts inclined his head slightly, his smirk returning. "I told you, Mr. Munzer. I deliver results."

Flach's suspicion flared again, though he couldn't deny the reality before him. "And if we refuse?"

Watts shrugged, his tone indifferent. "Then I drive away, and find someone else. But let's not pretend that's a real option, shall we?"

Munzer raised a hand, signaling for silence. His gaze remained fixed on Watts, his voice calm but firm. "We'll take what we need. But understand this: we are not your pawns. If you betray us, you'll regret it."

Watts chuckled softly, his confidence unshaken. "Fair enough, Mr. Munzer. I'll leave you to your preparations. Just remember, time is of the essence. Florianne's clock is ticking."

Without another word, Watts turned and walked back toward the inn, his coat trailing behind him. Munzer watched him go, his expression thoughtful.

"How the hell did you find him, Munzer?" Drummer demanded.

"He contacted me," Munzer admitted. "Motives or not, he has offered us support, and we do not have the luxury of saying no."

Flach shrugged, his tone sharp. "Fair enough. But I do not like him."

"Neither do I," Munzer replied. "But Florianne's life is important, brother."

He stepped toward the back of one of the trucks and climbed into it, turning to address the crowd that had gathered in the street. His voice rang out, clear and commanding. "By taking these weapons, you proclaim an oath, brothers and sisters!"

The crowd turned their full attention to him.

"You defy Atlas, but in doing so, you act with justice and righteousness. The greed and corruption of Atlas have gone unchecked for too long. They have imprisoned our daughter and sister, Florianne Geyer!"

A young man ran forward with a piece of cloth in his hands, offering it to Munzer. He took it and unfurled it, revealing a long flag depicting a single leather shoe, the most common and ancient symbol of the frontier. Munzer raised the flag high, his voice deep and powerful. "Do you want to fight the tyrants? Do you want to free Geyer?"

"Yes!" they roared. 

Munzer's voice rose even louder. "When man first dug, and woman first span, was there ever lords and rich men?"

"Never!" they cried in unison.

"Then rise up, Geyer's Black Company! Rise, and let us fight the tyrants!" Munzer screamed. "Spieß, voran!"

"Drauf und dran!"

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A/N: We are going to break Jacques Schnee's balls. Gloves are off, and we are doing nothing but crashing out. 

​And yes, Salem is getting involved, finally. Which means Ozpin will also get involved. Lmao.