Save the world? Fuck that, I want to make money! (RWBY SI) ch 77

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I remembered a character from an old book back on Earth, who claimed that fear was the biggest driver of business. Fear of starvation made people buy food. Fear of aging made people buy anti-aging creams. Fear of the dark made people buy lights. That mindset was cynical—something misanthropes would rant about, sneering as they watched people panic-buy. In that context, it was undeniably cynical. But it didn't change the fact that the character had made a fortune selling an anti-rabies drug that supposedly protected people from the mysterious plague sweeping the world.

The difference between him and me, though, was that my approach was to solve practical problems—like the fear that someone would break into my customers' homes and steal their belongings.

I returned to Vale, heading back to my apartment to rest briefly, stealing glances at the hidden cameras that were still watching my every move. Then I left for the Valean office of my company.

Oh yes, I was still aware that the Fleur had their devices in my apartment. I didn't mind. It gave me an opportunity to waste their time and give them nothing of value. The more resources they spent spying on me, the more I felt inclined to mess with them. Am I an exhibitionist? Not particularly. If anything, they were the ones peeping in on me. If they wanted to find meaning in how I poured cereal into my bowl, that was their problem.

"Sir... is this safe?" a voice asked.

Branch Manager Thales Koch was a middle-aged man, silver-haired and broad, wearing a tight suit with an Imperial pin on his collar. He was holding a camera. We were in the ballistics lab, and I was hunched over something, my gloved fingers delicately working on wires.

"Of course it is," I assured him, smiling, my peaked hat slightly askew. "Would I risk the life of myself and my esteemed branch manager?"

He glanced behind him, eyeing the machines, still and lifeless. "Well, my instincts tell me I shouldn't be in the line of fire when—well, when there are weapons with live ammunition around."

"They don't have ammunition yet, for both our sakes," I scoffed. Then, I paused. "Wait, did you walk in here thinking they were ready to fire?"

"Yes, sir," Koch replied with a solemn nod.

"Gods, Koch. What did I do to deserve this insane loyalty?"

"You made sure I had a job, sir."

​Shit, he was at the Foundry. I remembered now. 

"Think nothing of it, my man," I grunted, rising to my feet. "Now, step back behind the firing line and get ready to record, ja?"

He moved back as instructed, raising the camera. This footage was going to be raw, but that's why I paid my magicians at Royal and Imperial Entertainment. I gestured to someone at the back to approach, and he did, holding a guitar with a trembling hand. The lights flashed as I raised my hand, signaling the others to load the sentry guns.

I smiled as Koch motioned for me to start. I kicked back, leaned back, and thought of the funny Texan lines I'd memorized.

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Joan Greene was worried.

She was a mother of two, a long-time supporter of the Fleur, and she was worried. She believed in the Kingdom's power—her grandparents had fought for it. Her husband was in the army, continuing a proud family tradition that stretched back to the Kingdom's founding. But despite all that, despite the new robots and stringent laws, Vale felt... vulnerable.

She shook her head. What was she thinking? The First Minister had led them through the Great War with the Warrior-King; surely, he could guide them through these troubles too.

But as she looked at her children playing in the living room, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. The chapter leader's warnings echoed in her mind: Vale could be under threat any day now, the Vacuans were furious at them for failing to secure their treasures...

Maybe it was time to invest in a firearm. She wasn't a huntress, but maybe she needed to become one to protect her children. She made her way to the living room, plopping down on the couch and reaching for the magazine catalog. But just before she could flip it open, the television cut to an ad.

Her ears perked at the sound of music—guitar music, nostalgic and frontier-like. She turned, only to see a young man in an old-fashioned uniform and peaked cap sitting on a crate. His face was bathed in an orange glow from a nearby campfire. Behind him, a rusted blue truck.

"Good day, friend," he said, smiling. "I'm Alexander Wayland. I'm an engineer of sorts. That means I solve problems."

Joan flinched as gunshots rang out, and a bullet hole appeared next to his head. But he seemed unfazed, continuing his speech without skipping a beat.

"Not problems like "What is beauty?", 'cause that would fall within the purview of your conundrums of philosophy."

Two more gunshots. Two more bullet holes. Joan leaned forward, disturbed, yet intrigued.

"I solve practical problems!"

The camera panned out, revealing machines. One stood on a tripod, small but clearly lethal. It whirred to life, spinning quickly and firing. A man screamed, but Joan figured it was all for dramatic effect.

"For instance, how am I gonna stop some big, mean Red Fang or Roman Torchwick from tearing me a new one or threatening the ones I love?"

Joan glanced at her children, then back to the screen as Alexander Wayland continued speaking, guitar still in hand.

"The answer? Use a gun."

Joan nodded. She knew she was making the right choice. Her eyes narrowed as a shadow loomed near. The sentry guns took care of it, quickly and efficiently.

"And if that doesn't work, use more gun!"

Joan jumped as one of the sentry guns expanded, its back revealing missile pods. Goodness, they were real. And they launched with frightening ease, striking somewhere off-screen. A smoking bowler hat landed moments later. The sentry guns turned toward it but did not fire.

"Like these .50 heavy-caliber tripod-mounted little old numbers, designed by me."

He kicked the bowler hat aside, and the sentry guns shredded it to pieces.

"Built by me."

The sentry guns moved with lethal precision, eliminating more unseen foes.

"And you best hope..."

Alexander's usual affable demeanor faded, his expression darkening as he leaned in.

"Not pointed at you."

He smiled again, leaning back, playing his guitar once more. "Coming soon to stores near you! Call your local Royal and Imperial branch office to get your own sentry gun first! Future models coming soon!"

The ad ended with the Imperial Eagle prominently displayed, accompanied by a cheerful jingle. Images of the sentry guns appeared on screen, alongside prices.

Joan turned away from the television and glanced at her children. She didn't know what a .50 caliber was, but it sounded powerful. And those missiles? Overkill, surely. But Roman Torchwick was a huntsman, and they were tougher than most. She shook her head. No, missiles would be too much. Her insurance covered a lot, but not explosives. Maybe just one... or maybe two. One for the children's bedroom, and another at the front door.

A voice inside warned her against it. She'd been told to avoid foreign products and support local ones. Joan would've been happy to do that, but as far as she could tell, no one else had automatic sentry guns. Besides, Royal and Imperial consistently produced reliable weapons. She wasn't a gun enthusiast like her husband, but he constantly complained about how much better the Imperial rifles were than his own.

The price was steep. But her husband had good benefits.

Joan smiled wryly.

At least the Fleur's insistence on high salaries for soldiers had some practical benefit.

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"And, cut!"

I huffed, setting my guitar aside as the others walked off. Koch approached, now without the camera in his hands.

"Sir, a question, if I may," he asked.

"Hm?" I tilted my head.

"The prices we set... they're rather raw. Wouldn't it be better to run this through marketing and sales first? We need to account for the Valean market," Koch pointed out.

"If this were a normal situation, I'd agree. But it's not. Criminals are running wild. Bullheads are falling from the sky!" I scoffed dramatically, rising to my feet. "It's the Fleur's fault for painting Vale as being in a crisis when the robberies are isolated to a few areas—people who won't be worse off for the losses."

"What if they accuse us of exploiting their problems?" Koch pressed.

I shrugged. "Then maybe they shouldn't have sounded the alarm. We saw that Valeans need security, so we're stepping in to help." I grinned. "The Fleur either have to dial back their fearmongering or double down, annoy people, and only make it easier for us to profit."

​The Sentry Guns that Engineer made were custom-built things. But with a few tweaks, we could make them fit for industrial production. I was going to continue down with this sentry gun business however. Perhaps I could figure out a way to bring another version, for families in smaller spaces. The Sentry Guns from Portal! That was perfect. Small, and portable. But an actual Gun inside it, not that...spring loaded thing that literally fired the whole bullet. 

"That's..." Koch mumbled, then stopped in his tracks.

"Rather cynical, isn't it? I had no idea you had it in you," a familiar voice said.

I froze, feeling the sting of daggers in my back. I turned, forcing a smile. "Winter!"

Winter Schnee stood there, clad in her Specialist's uniform, her face a picture of disapproval. 

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A/N: Back to making money, hueheuheuehue. 

The Fleur: Stop making money over Valean fears!

Us: Lol. Lmao.