A Fairly Reasonable Crashout (RWBY Adam SI) ch 36

+++

Geyer stood atop the crate, her shadow casting long over the gray, broken town of Englehoff. The icy wind tugged at her coat, its edges fluttering like dark banners of war. Her weapon rested across her back, its weight a familiar one, yet it felt heavier now as if it too bore witness to the despair that surrounded her. She kept her expression as cold as the biting wind, her jaw set, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. But her eyes...

They drank. They drank the emaciated figures that shuffled through the snow. Men and women walked with a half-limp in their step, their bodies broken by years of backbreaking labor. Their faces were pale and gaunt, their sunken eyes darting toward her with a mixture of fear and hope. And then there were the children. They clung to doorframes and peeked out from behind their mothers' skirts, their small faces streaked with soot and grime. Children who should be in school, learning, playing, dreaming of futures that didn't involve suffocation in the mines. Instead, they stood here, in the shadow of the Schnee Dust Company's empire, already condemned to inherit the same cycle of suffering.

If this mine was bad, then was it really a surprise that places like Nicolasburg and Aurora had risen in defiance?

She exhaled slowly, her breath forming a cloud in the frigid air. The wounded were being tended to now, their injuries cataloged and bandaged under the watchful eyes of Ironwood's soldiers. Her presence alone seemed to have lit a fire under the SDC employees, who scrambled to do their jobs with a newfound urgency, lest they risked inviting her wrath. Geyer had no illusions about their motivations. They cared little for the injured or the suffering. They were simply terrified of what she, a Councillor with the backing of Ironwood, could do to their careers.

She shifted her weight slightly, her boots creaking against the wooden crate. The wind howled around her, carrying with it the faint sounds of the mine, the crunching of boots against snow, the distant hum of machinery. It was a bitter, ugly symphony that underscored the tragedy of this place. She thought of Atlas, gleaming and pristine, its towers piercing the sky like monuments to progress. She thought of the Council chambers, filled with men and women who spoke of innovation and prosperity while turning a blind eye to the suffering that made it all possible.

​Now, she was going to bring that suffering home. 

She was going to showcase to the ordinary Atlesian how their homes were heated, how their cars ran, how their conveniences were brought about. 

Guilt welled in her stomach. 

She should have visited these places before.

No. No matter.

She was going to set things right, she swore, as she stepped off the crate and...froze.

Geyer felt it before she saw it. The pressure dropped, her ears popped, and the horizon vanished. One blink: the far ridge, jagged and black, still visible. The next: whiteout. A complete erasure. It was as though someone had painted over the landscape with an angry, wet brush. The sky went gray, then gunmetal, then swallowed itself in white.

"Get inside!" someone screamed.

The townspeople scattered like panicked game across open ice, darting from the pitiful shelter of tents and hovels, clutching children or dragging wheelbarrows of tools behind them. One man stumbled, fell, tried to stand then disappeared in the churning wall of snow. Geyer didn't see where he went. She kept moving, coat whipped violently behind her, boots punching through deepening drifts that hadn't existed a heartbeat ago.

A wooden awning tore off a shack to her right, the splinters catching in the wind and spinning like broken wings. It slammed into a wall and shattered. Behind her, a stack of supply crates toppled, then vanished beneath a burying sweep of snow that didn't fall so much as charge. 

The cold bit deeper now, sharp as glass, not just numbing but slicing, needles of frozen wind needling through the thick wool of her coat and stabbing the skin beneath. Her hair clung to her cheek, lashes caked in frost. She had to eat into her Aura just to stay warm. Her weapon on her back began to hum with latent Dust, the metal reacting to the plummeting temperature like it knew the world around them was turning hostile.

They reached the foreman's building. It howled in protest as the wind slammed against it, the door ripped open and banged back against the outer wall, hinges moaning. Soldiers rushed in behind her, dragging civilians with them, half-frozen, eyes wide, children clutching their ribs like they'd never known a wind that could hurt so much.

Inside, it was dim and reeking of oil and wet fur, but solid. For now. The walls trembled as the storm battered them, thudding like fists against a coffin.

"Status!" Geyer barked, shaking snow from her coat as she paced toward the center of the room. Her voice cut through the dim chaos like the snap of a blade, sharp and commanding.

"We're alive!" Sergeant Edelweiss shouted over the storm's muffled roar, her breath visible in the freezing air. She glanced around. "Thirty five. We might have missed some coming here."

Geyer cursed under her breath, her eyes darting to the rattling windows. The storm outside showed no signs of relenting. The howling wind grew louder, an unrelenting banshee wail that made the steel walls shudder as though the storm itself sought to claw its way inside. Snow and ice slammed against the glass like fists, streaking it white.

"Keep searching!" she ordered, her voice a whipcrack of authority. "Pair up, sweep the immediate area, and don't get caught out there alone. We're not leaving anyone behind."

Sergeant Edelweiss nodded, already relaying her orders. They moved quickly, their breath fogging the air as they rechecked their equipment. Geyer's jaw tightened as she watched her soldiers prepare to step back out into the frozen abyss. The guilt gnawed at her again, sharper now. She should have been here sooner. But she hadn't. She'd been too focused on the Council chambers, on politics and strategy, on fighting Jacques Schnee in ways that felt distant and controlled. She hadn't come to the ground where the true war was being fought.

No more.

Her fists clenched as she swept her gaze around the room, taking in the huddled miners and civilians. They were packed shoulder to shoulder, their faces pale and streaked with frost, their bodies trembling from cold and exhaustion. The children clung to their parents, their wide, haunted eyes darting toward every creak and groan of the building. Geyer's presence should have inspired hope, but all she could see in their faces was fear.

She paced toward the foreman, Halstrom, who stood near a rusted heater in the corner. His fur-lined coat was soaked through, and his usually confident posture sagged under the weight of the situation. He looked up as she approached, his expression wary but defiant.

"This storm," Geyer said, her voice low but sharp. "Did you know it was coming?"

​Halstrom shook his head. "No, Councillor. Weather reports told us that we were going to be clear here. This is unexpected, out of nowhere." 

Geyer's eyes narrowed in suspicion. But a miner interjected. 

"The...foreman, is correct, madam. News all but told us that we were going to be clear here." he added.

The soldiers returned, dragging the storm in with them. Snow clung to their armor, their faces pale and streaked with frost. Between them, they carried several people who had been caught in the whiteout. The miners were barely conscious, their bodies limp and trembling violently from the cold. A boy, no older than ten, clung to one soldier's arm, coughing weakly as he was lowered onto a makeshift cot near the rusted heater.

The room filled with the sharp, wet sound of coughing. One of the injured miners, a middle-aged woman with hollow cheeks and a gash across her forehead, began to convulse as she hacked uncontrollably. The sound tore through the already suffocating tension in the room, each cough wet and desperate, as if her lungs were trying to claw their way out of her chest. Blood flecked her lips.

Sergeant Edelweiss knelt beside her, trying to steady the woman, her gloved hands moving quickly as she checked for signs of frostbite or other injuries. But the coughing didn't stop. It grew worse, harsher, and more ragged with every passing second. The woman's body shook violently with each spasm, her breaths shallow and frantic in between.

"Her lungs might be freezing," Sergeant Edelweiss muttered between clenched teeth, her voice barely audible over the storm still howling outside.

Geyer's eyes narrowed as she watched the scene, her mind racing. The heater wasn't enough. The supplies they had were barely enough to keep these people alive, let alone treat injuries like this. And the storm showed no signs of relenting.

She turned to the Sergeant. "Can the bullhead handle flying through this?"

Sergeant Edelweiss glanced up sharply, her expression grim. "Theoretically, yes. Military vehicles are built to withstand harsher conditions than this. But it's risky. The wind shear alone could knock us off course, and visibility is almost nonexistent. If something goes wrong out there, we won't have a chance to recover."

Geyer's jaw tightened. "We don't have a choice. If we stay here, these people won't survive the night. That woman," she gestured to the miner, whose coughing had finally subsided into shallow, rattling breaths, "she won't last much longer without proper medical attention. The children are already freezing. We're out of time."

"There's only so few people that can be carried, Councillor," the Sergeant reminded her. "If you insist on this, only the most injured can go and a plus one." 

"Do it," Geyer ordered, her voice firm.

Sergeant Edelweiss rose. Geyer turned back to the room, her gaze sweeping over the frightened faces of the miners and their families. "We're getting out of here," she said, her voice steady and commanding. "The heavily injured at least. But do not worry. I will return, I promise you."

Her breath hitched as something flickered in their eyes. Hope. It was there Geyer turned and stepped towards the door, the icy wind already slicing through the gap as it opened. 

+++

The bullhead groaned under the weight of the storm as it ascended, its engines roaring defiantly against the maelstrom. Each gust of wind slammed into the craft like a hammer, rattling the walls and threatening to tear it apart at the seams. Inside, the air was thick with the mingling scents of oil, frost, and fear. The injured huddled together on the floor, their makeshift stretchers wedged against the walls to prevent them from sliding with the lurching of the vessel.

Geyer stood near the cockpit, one hand braced against a railing as the floor pitched beneath her. Her other hand rested on the hilt of her zweihander, the steel vibrating faintly as though in resonance with the storm. She stared through the narrow windshield at the chaos outside. It was like flying into the maw of some great beast. Snow and ice streaked past in a dizzying blur, and the darkness was broken only by sudden flashes of lightning, illuminating the storm in brief, violent bursts.

The pilot cursed under his breath, his knuckles white as he gripped the controls. "This is madness!" he shouted over the roar of the engines. "The wind shear's gonna kill us if we go any higher!"

"Stay steady!" Geyer barked back, her voice cutting through the din. "We just need to clear the ridge. Once we're on the other side, it should ease up."

"Should?!" the pilot shot her a look, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You better hope you're right, Councillor, or we're all going down!"

Behind her, the injured miner began coughing again, the sound wet and labored, like gravel scraping against metal. The boy sat beside her, clutching her hand tightly as though his grip alone could keep her tethered to life. Another flash of lightning lit the cabin, casting stark shadows across their faces.

Sergeant Edelweiss knelt beside the miner, her jaw tight as she checked her vitals. "She's fading fast," the sergeant said grimly. "If we don't get her to a proper med bay soo-"

"We will," Geyer interrupted, her tone brooking no argument. But even as she spoke, she couldn't ignore the gnawing doubt in the back of her mind. The storm was relentless, and the bullhead felt like a fragile insect caught in its grip. Every shudder of the hull, every groan of the engines, it was feeding her anxiety. But she pushed through. They had to.

The bullhead lurched suddenly, dropping several feet in a stomach-turning freefall before the engines roared back to life. Cries of alarm filled the cabin as the miners and soldiers clung to whatever they could, their faces pale with fear. Geyer's grip on the railing tightened, her knuckles whitening as she steadied herself against the violent motion.

"Hold it together!" she shouted, her voice a whipcrack of command. "This isn't where we die!"

The pilot gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his brow despite the freezing temperatures. "Easier said than done, Councillor! This storm's got teeth!"

Another gust of wind slammed into the bullhead, tilting it sharply to one side. A crate broke loose from its restraints, sliding across the floor and slamming into the wall with a deafening crash. The injured cried out, their voices rising in panic as the craft shuddered violently.

Geyer turned to Sergeant Edelweiss. "What's the status of the heater?"

"Keeping them alive, barely," Sergeant Edelweiss replied, her voice tight. "But if we lose power, even for a second—"

"I know," Geyer cut her off. Her mind raced, calculating their odds, weighing their options. The storm was worse than she had anticipated, and the bullhead was nearing its limits. But turning back wasn't an option. Not with the lives of the injured hanging in the balance.

A sudden burst of turbulence threw her against the railing, the impact jarring but familiar. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself upright as the bullhead leveled out again. The pilot swore under his breath, his hands flying over the controls as he fought to keep the craft steady.

"Councillor!" Sergeant Edelweiss shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos. "If we don't break free of this storm soon—"

"We will," Geyer said firmly, though the flicker of doubt in Sergeant Edelweiss's eyes told her that the sergeant wasn't convinced.

The bullhead's engines roared as it climbed higher, the storm raging around it like a living thing. Lightning flashed again, illuminating the jagged peaks of the ridge ahead. They were close now, but the winds were stronger here, tearing at the craft with a fury that seemed almost sentient.

"Brace yourselves!" the pilot shouted. "This is gonna be rough!"

The bullhead surged forward, its engines straining against the storm's grip. The wind screamed around them, a deafening cacophony that drowned out all other sound. Geyer clenched her jaw, her eyes fixed on the windshield as the ridge loomed closer and closer.

And then, with a final, bone-jarring lurch, they broke through. The storm fell away behind them like a curtain torn aside, revealing a sky that was still gray and foreboding but mercifully calm by comparison.

The cabin erupted into relieved cries and gasps, the tension that had gripped them all finally releasing. Geyer allowed herself a brief moment to exhale, her shoulders relaxing slightly as the worst of the danger passed.

But as she looked back at the huddled figures on the floor—the injured miner, the coughing boy, the pale, terrified faces of the others—she knew their ordeal was far from over. This was only the beginning. The storm might have been behind them, but the battle for these people's lives was still ahead.

She turned back to the pilot. "Get us back to Atlas." 

The pilot nodded, his expression grim but determined. "Yes, Councillor."

+++

The bullhead descended swiftly, its engines whining as they powered down. The landing pad outside Atlas Academy gleamed under the faint light of the overcast sky, its sleek steel surface pristine but edged by swirling drafts of snow. The storm they had escaped was now a memory, though its bite lingered in the icy air. Looming above them, the academy's sharp, gleaming towers stood as a symbol of Atlesian strength and unyielding order.

The hatch hissed open, and cold air rushed in like a predator. Geyer stepped out first, her boots striking the metal with a sharp clang. Behind her, Sergeant Edelweiss and the other soldiers moved with practiced efficiency, unloading the injured. The faunus woman was carried out on a stretcher, her breaths shallow and labored, barely tethered to consciousness. The boy followed, clutching a soldier's arm, his wide eyes darting between the towering structures, torn between awe and fear.

General Ironwood was already striding toward them, his coat billowing behind him. His face betrayed no emotion, but his eyes flicked over the injured with the weight of unspoken thoughts.

"Councillor Geyer," he said, his voice steady but edged with urgency. "Report."

"General," Geyer replied, gesturing toward the stretcher. "She won't last much longer without immediate care."

Ironwood didn't hesitate. "Get her to the medical wing," he ordered, his tone commanding. "Stabilize her and notify me the moment we have an update."

The soldiers moved quickly, lifting the stretcher and rushing toward the academy's main building. Another soldier wrapped a thick thermal blanket around the boy and gently led him inside. Geyer watched them go, her jaw tightening. The sight of the boy's small, trembling frame ignited the anger she'd been carrying since stepping foot in Englehoff.

Ironwood turned back to her, his expression hard. "Come with me," he said curtly. "We'll talk in my office."

The walk was silent. The rhythmic echo of their boots against polished floors was the only sound, the vast halls of the academy subdued in an almost reverent stillness. The usual bustle of cadets and officers was absent, as though the very walls of the academy understood the gravity of what had transpired.

Ironwood's office was as utilitarian as ever—stark and disciplined. His large desk was bare but for a datapad and a steaming cup of black coffee. The massive window behind him framed a sweeping view of Atlas, its spires piercing the clouds like monuments to Atlesian ambition. But to Geyer, the view only deepened the contrast between the shining city above and the squalor she had just left behind.

Ironwood gestured for her to sit, but she remained standing, her hands clasped tightly behind her back. He didn't press the issue, instead stepping behind his desk, his gaze fixed on her.

"Tell me everything," he said.

Geyer took a deep breath, her voice steady but laced with a quiet fury. "Englehoff is a ramshackle place that frankly should be taken behind a corner and shot. It...the workers there live in squalor, and it did not even take me five seconds to walk around to witness a godsdamned cave-in."

Ironwood said nothing but his eyes narrowed.

​"General, I am not exaggerating when I say this. If Englehoff was that terrible, then what is the state of the other SDC mines? Is Solitas sitting upon the next Nicolasburg? Aurora? Thank the gods that we do not have much Grimm on our continent otherwise they would feast on the sheer misery those places produce!" Geyer hissed.

​Ironwood's jaw tightened, his broad shoulders squaring as he absorbed her words. His expression didn't change, but Geyer could tell her report was hitting him hard. He remained silent for a moment, his gaze drifting toward the window behind him.

"You knew about this," Geyer whispered.

Onyx eyes met her. "The specific details? No, I did not. The SDC is not forthcoming with the state of its mines."

Her boots echoed against the room. She leaned forwards, her hands grasping the ends of his desk. "General, our people, our citizens, live in conditions that rats would find disgusting. The workers? They're broken. Englehoff is a wound, General, and it's festering. If that wound does not get treated, Atlas is sitting on a time bomb."

She leaned back, her expression pained. "We...we have waited too long." She bit her lip, her voice trembling. "No. We were ignorant for far too long. This is where the SDC under Jacques Schnee has bought us. Of this kingdom of innovation, strength, and progress...a nation of poets and musicians and artists and soldiers...he has made a land of robber barons and ill-gotten wealth."

Ironwood said nothing.

Not for ten long seconds.

Then twenty.

Only the hum of the heating vents filled the space between them, soft and sterile, a lull in the storm. His hands tightened against the edge of the desk, knuckles paling against the dark wood. Outside, the clouds shifted in slow procession across the wide Atlas skyline—silent and cold, just like the city below.

He just sat there, still as a statue, and Geyer realized then that he wasn't shocked. He wasn't even surprised.

He was ashamed.

"You're right," he admitted finally, his voice low. "We've let this rot fester. I thought—" He stopped, his words faltering under the weight of his regret.

Geyer didn't interrupt, the silence between them growing heavier.

Ironwood sighed. "What matters is now. And now, the mines are a danger to the Kingdom.

"They are," Geyer nodded. "What I am going to do is bring this to the Tribunal. We will expose Jacques Schnee for the bastard he is. It-"

The door to Ironwood's office swung open with a sharp hiss, cutting Geyer off mid-sentence. Both she and Ironwood turned sharply, their postures stiffening as a man strode into the room, his presence as loud as the clatter of his polished boots against the floor.

He was older, perhaps in his late eighties, with a square jaw and a build that spoke of a soldier who had spent years on the frontlines before being tucked safely behind a desk. His chest was adorned with an obscene number of medals, a long metal baton bearing a lantern in his hand. His pristine white uniform was pressed to perfection, the symbol of the Atlesian military gleaming on his shoulder. Behind him followed two soldiers, their rifles slung over their shoulders, their faces unreadable beneath their helmets. They moved with precision, falling into position on either side of the door as if the office was a battlefield.

"General Ironwood," the officer greeted, his voice steely. "Councillor Geyer."

Geyer's breath hitched.

Ironwood stood up immediately. "Field Marshall Ludenstahl."

He was a career general in the old Mantlese Empire, serving with brutal distinction during the war. He had amassed power, both military and political, as the war progressed. When the old empire fractured, and Atlas rose from its corpse, it was Ludenstahl who ensured the military remained intact. Not loyal to any crown or Council—but to order. To continuity. To survival. Now, at eighty-seven, he looked less like a relic and more like a weapon kept sharp through ritual and fear. His lantern-baton still gleamed with the polished cruelty of a battlefield relic, its worn handle grooved by decades of command. He held no official post anymore, technically retired, yet his influence clung to the structure of the military like bloodstains to old marble. Every officer above a certain rank owed their career to his approval. Every soldier had trained under doctrines he'd written.

He did not serve the Council. He did not serve the people.

He served Atlas.

Ludenstahl's cold gaze swept across the room before settling on Geyer. "Sit," he said. It wasn't a suggestion.

Ironwood motioned for her to comply, his subtle gesture a warning. Reluctantly, she sat, her hands clenched in her lap. Ironwood remained standing, his broad shoulders tense as Ludenstahl stepped closer, his lantern-baton gleaming ominously in the dim office light.

"Ironwood," Ludenstahl began, "do you think I'm blind?"

The question hung in the air, sharp and rhetorical. Ironwood said nothing, his jaw tightening.

Ludenstahl continued, his gaze landing on Geyer. "Do you have any idea what you're playing with?"

Geyer didn't flinch. "I'm playing with the truth," she said firmly. "Something Atlas has ignored for too long."

Ludenstahl's lips twitched, the faintest hint of a sneer. "The truth," he echoed, tasting the word as though it were bitter. "And what do you think will happen when you reveal this 'truth'? Do you expect the people to rise up in righteous fury? That the Council will suddenly grow a spine and drag Jacques Schnee to his knees?"

"Something has to change," Geyer snapped, her fists clenching. "If we don't act, Atlas will rot from the inside out. You've seen the reports. The mines are killing people. The conditions are barbaric. How long can this kingdom survive when its foundation is built on suffering?"

Ludenstahl stepped closer, his shadow looming over her like a stormcloud. "And what will you do when that foundation crumbles?" His voice sharpened, cutting through the air like a blade. "Do you know what happens when you expose a system like this, Councillor? The people won't rise—they'll fall. Into chaos. Into despair. The Grimm will come. And Atlas will burn. Is that what you want?"

"You're exaggerating," Geyer said, though her voice wavered slightly. "This isn't about destroying Atlas. It's about saving it!"

"Saving it?" Ludenstahl barked a laugh—cold, humorless, and sharp as broken glass. "You think you're saving Atlas by tearing it apart? By dismantling the system that keeps it standing? You're a child playing with fire, Councillor, and you don't even realize the inferno you're about to unleash."

"Enough," Ironwood said suddenly, his voice cutting through the tension like a gunshot. He stepped forward, placing himself between Geyer and Ludenstahl, his expression hard. "Field Marshal, I respect your experience, but this is my office, and this is my operation. If you have something to say, say it plainly."

Ludenstahl's gaze shifted to Ironwood, and for a moment, the room felt colder. Then, slowly, he nodded.

"Very well," he said. "I'll be plain."

Straightening, he clasped his lantern-baton in both hands, the polished metal gleaming under the sterile light. "The military is aware of the danger posed by the mines. We've been aware for years. That idiot Derringer unfortunately exposed it. And we are also aware of the consequences of exposing that danger. Do you think we've done nothing because we're blind? Because we don't care?" His voice hardened, each word striking like a hammer. "No. We've done nothing because to act would be to risk everything. The SDC is not just a company—it is the lifeblood of Atlas. Its Dust powers our cities, our weapons, our defenses. Without it, there is no Atlas. And if you expose Jacques Schnee, if you tear down the SDC, you will tear down Atlas with it."

Geyer started to protest, but Ludenstahl silenced her with a raised hand. "That is why Jacques Schnee has been... persuaded to cooperate."

"What?" Ironwood asked, his tone sharp.

Ludenstahl's expression didn't change. "Jacques Schnee has agreed to overhaul his mines. Improve conditions. Ensure safety. Prevent further... incidents. In exchange, the Tribunal—your Tribunal, Councillor—will declare the SDC not guilty of any wrongdoing."

Geyer's eyes widened in disbelief. "You're letting him walk? After everything he's done? After everything those workers have suffered?"

"We're ensuring that Atlas survives," Ludenstahl said coldly. "This is the price of stability. Jacques knows the system is fragile, and he knows that if it breaks, he'll break with it. He's agreed to reforms because he has no choice. But if you push this further, if you expose him publicly, he will fight back—and when he does, the damage will be irreversible."

Geyer shook her head, her fists trembling with anger. "What about justice? What about accountability? Are we just supposed to let him get away with it?"

"This is justice," Ludenstahl said firmly. "The justice of survival. The justice of order. You think you're fighting for the people, but what you're really fighting for is chaos. And I will not allow chaos to consume Atlas."

The room fell into a heavy silence, Ludenstahl's words pressing down on them like a stormcloud.

"No..." Geyer whispered. "This isn't justice. You're protecting the people in charge. You're protecting the—"

The silence cracked like ice beneath a boot.

Ironwood didn't move.

Ludenstahl's eyes narrowed—not enraged, not surprised, merely disappointed, like a father watching a child fail the same lesson for the third time. He exhaled, slow and measured, the sound like steam escaping a pressure valve. The silence stretched, brittle as the winter above Solitas. When he spoke again, his voice was low and final, colder than the winds outside.

"Were you there when the Eisfalks fell?"

Geyer blinked, caught off guard. She shook her head. Ludenstahl laughed—a short, bitter sound. "Of course not. You're young. You think you know everything."

His words hung in the air before he continued, his tone sharp and unrelenting. "When the Eisfalks fell, I held what remained of our armies together. I did so because I watched the Color Revolution sweep across Mistral like a plague. And look at it now—a fractured mess of warlords and bandits. I saw the chaos here, too, when the Eisfalks died to angry crowds. Do you know who Princess Maria Adelhaid was?"

Again, Geyer shook her head, her throat dry.

"She was fifteen years old when the Color Revolutionaries stormed the palace and slaughtered her in a frenzy. Her father, the Emperor? Oh, he deserved it. Passing laws to silence dissent? That was karmic justice. But Maria? She was a child. And the revolution devoured her like it devoured everything else."

He raised the baton slowly, pointing it toward the skyline of Atlas, towering and luminous beyond the office window.

"You want to destroy Jacques Schnee?" Ludenstahl asked, his voice hard enough to draw blood. "Fine. But you had better be prepared to replace him. Not just in the mines. In the contracts, the factories, the convoys, the airships. You had better be ready to send Dust to the homes of our people, to the bullets our soldiers use to fight the Grimm."

He lowered the baton, his gaze cutting into her like a blade.

"And if you fail to build that alternative, you won't just be remembered as the woman who failed to unseat a tyrant. You'll be remembered as the woman who doomed Atlas. The shining beacon of humanity's progress, a kingdom of light and science and might—brought low by your petty desire for 'justice.'"

​Silence fell again as the Field Marshal took a slow breath, brushing an invisible speck from his coat. His voice dropped to a quiet, deliberate tone.

"We live in a world where monsters exist. There is more at stake here than justice. There is survival."

Geyer stared at him, her lips parted, but no words came.

Ironwood's brow furrowed so deeply it seemed carved from iron.

Ludenstahl turned, his boots clicking like drumbeats in the still air. His men followed but stopped as the Field Marshal paused at the door. He glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes colder than the Solitas tundra.

"You have one chance," he said. "Take the deal. Let the reforms proceed. Quietly. Strategically. Or force this kingdom into open war with itself."

And then, like a ghost from an older, bloodier age, he left.

The door hissed shut.

+++

[SPOILER="Which Side are you On?"][URL unfurl="true" media="youtube:VzvH5UZVQU8"]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VzvH5UZVQU8[/URL][/SPOILER]

"It is done," a steel voice said, cold and deliberate.

Jacques Schnee leaned back in his high-backed chair, the faint glow of his scroll illuminating his sharp features. For a moment, he said nothing, letting the words linger like an echo in the quiet of his office. Then, with a measured motion, he set the scroll aside, its screen dimming as the call remained open.

"Thank you, Field Marshal," Jacques whispered, his voice low, smooth, and ever so polite.

The voice on the other end didn't soften. "I did it for Atlas, not for you, Jacques," the Field Marshal replied, his tone unyielding, like the clang of steel against stone.

Jacques allowed himself a thin smile, one that never reached his eyes. "Of course," he said simply, his words carrying the practiced precision of a man who knew when to concede.

He rose from his chair, the leather groaning faintly under his weight, and turned toward the massive window behind his desk. The lights of Atlas stretched before him, a sea of brilliance piercing through the eternal cold of Solitas. The city sparkled like a jewel, its towering spires defiant against the storm-churned clouds above.

The light from the desk lamp behind him cast his shadow across the glass, a dark silhouette superimposed over the city. For a moment, it seemed as if his shadow loomed over Atlas itself, a figure of ambition and control, watching over the kingdom he sought to dominate.

Jacques clasped his hands behind his back, his reflection staring back at him in the glass. "For Atlas," he murmured to himself, his smirk deepening ever so slightly.

The Field Marshal said nothing further. The connection ended with a faint click, leaving Jacques alone in his office, his shadow still dark against the brilliance of the city below.

+++

A/N: Peak is back.

Some notes: I have had some questions asking about why we aren't trying to throw hands with the SDC so quickly? Well, two reasons. One, Adam was a nobody in Mistral. Two, he needed to train. So the previous chapters were essentially building him up to focus on the people that got him there in the first place.

So yeah, with the next chapters, a couple of things will happen.

Even more Faunus are going to get radicalized and the White Fang is going to...well...crack.

Oh and yes, Salem did a little trolling and did some magic to cause an ice storm around there. Why would she do that? Because if Geyer died, the investigation would be dead in its feet, and the faunus will rise up anyway because the SDC would go away scot free. If she didn't die, and managed to get back, the Atlesians will get weakened by the SDC getting shafted.

What she did not expect was that Jacques is literally one of her best soldiers and he doesn't even fucking know about that.

Oh and some life update: I got tested and it turns out I got infected with Entamoeba histolytica. I got it basically from eating salmon tartare. I am not eating tartare ever again.