Cholo Tales
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Two Wrongs Make a Right Ch.27
🕑 Added 2025-03-03 04:58:12 +0000 UTCAfter the operation in the southern region of Mistral, I wasn't expecting to return to the kingdom for at least another month.
Not that it would be a problem thanks to the portals, but I certainly didn't expect to be called again by the brothers so soon. The scroll message was brief, meaning it required my immediate attention.
I naturally grew concerned that another issue had fallen upon us that could put everything in jeopardy.
But thankfully, it was none of that.
Instead, I was simply requested to be present during negotiations with the Spider Clan. Usually, this wouldn't require my presence, but what changed was that the Madam herself would be attending. The infamous Lil Miss Malachite doesn't leave her web for trivial matters. I wouldn't be there as the lead negotiator representing our leadership, but once more going in disguise as a bodyguard while Corsac represents us.
The deal is simple: the purchase of vehicles, including trucks—work and cargo trucks. Something they easily agreed to, but the question now is what they want as payment, since money probably wouldn't suffice. Otherwise, the Madam wouldn't have personally come to the table. She's not one to waste her time on transactions her underlings could handle.
My best guess is resources or some sort of trade deal that would essentially make her the only supplier. The Spider Clan thrives on monopolies, according to the reports and intel I was given about them: weaving economic webs that are just as binding as their criminal ones.
Or, in the worst case, she's trying something underhanded. But as I've been told, Lil Miss is a businesswoman despite being a criminal head, and her word is everything. Break it once, and you never get to break it again—literally.
Either way, better safe than sorry. I check my weapon, Wilt and Blush resting comfortably at my hip, concealed enough not to draw attention but accessible enough should things go sideways.
The negotiations will take place in the same town as before—the one where we attacked the last remaining forces of the Hitsui family and left them practically defenseless to the Spider Clan's final assault. I still remember the massive chaos that erupted when the cyberpsychosis were let loose on the city and the streets set ablaze along with explosions, an unfortunate outcome as the plan was to keep everything relatively controlled.
One thing I can say for certain is that the Madam's forces work fast. The town looks the same as before, almost as if a war hasn't been fought here at all. The bullet holes in walls have been patched, the blood washed away, the buildings reconstructed and even new buildings are being built. Almost they are erasing the history that transpired here mere weeks ago.
Purple banners with the black spider hang in plain view, and her men dressed in their intense purple uniforms either walk, stand guard, or patrol. This tells me they've already solidified their hold on their new territory. Either they're really good at what they do, or the people were in a terrible state when the last family was in charge. Judging by the relieved expressions I catch on some of the civilian’s faces we pass, I suspect the latter.
How should I describe Mistral? A decentralized mess, each family carving a piece of the kingdom for themselves where their word is the law while the legitimate government can only eat their words or convey favour from the families to get some semblance of authority. Otherwise the families wouldn’t be so blatant of their political power or just taking over cities and declaring their rule.
But the people here are accustomed to that so all they can expect is to have a benevolent kingpin.
Best way to describe it would be as: ‘At least I only got my wallet stolen, before I would have gotten disemboweled or a bullet to the stomach.’
I don't fail to notice the many heads that turn in our direction as we walk across the streets, but that's a minor detail.
We move toward the town hall, our designated meeting place. It's an imposing structure of weathered stone and dark timber, built in the old Mistral style with sloped roofs and ornate carvings along the eaves. The building stands proud, despite everything that has transpired. The air inside smells of aged wood and paper, with a hint of fresh paint where repairs have been hastily made.
We enter the meeting room. Corsac takes a seat on the opposite side of the table while I walk to his side and stand with my hands behind my back, waiting. I immediately scan the room methodically—exits, guards, potential weapons or hiding spots but nothing out of the ordinary so it is relatively safe.
Soon, Lil' Miss Malachite makes her entrance. The heavy-set woman commands the room instantly, her short blonde bob framing a face that shows experience. Her white backless dress with purple detailing appears expensive and custom-tailored, the layered skirt—yellow, purple, and white—swishing with each deliberate step. The spider web tattoo on her left shoulder is prominently displayed.. Her purple-painted nails tap against her dress as she pauses to survey the room.
Two bodyguards flank her sides, one a bald man wearing the Spider Clan's signature purple attire with a matching scarf, his posture rigid and as quite professional if may add. But I immediately detect a third presence with my enhanced vision, and even then it is hard to see the third one as it is something ethereal and almost imperceptible. Most would miss it entirely, but after focusing all my attention I catch glimpses of what appears to be a fox-like shape slipping between shadows. What an interesting semblance.
The second visible bodyguard instantly catches my attention. He has long, straight black hair tied back neatly and isn't wearing the signature clan purple, setting him apart from Malachite's usual grunt. A large ornate bow is strapped over his shoulder, along with a large quiver of arrows. There's something in his bearing—a disciplined stillness that speaks of martial training far beyond Mistral's street fighting. His black eyes scan the room with a calculated precision that soon lands on me. He must be older than me but the gap is not that big either.
The Madam takes her seat with a certain race, settling her plump frame into the chair across from Corsac. She adjusts her position, ensuring her spider tattoo remains visible, which is clearly a power play.
Only then she clears her throat, the sound deliberate and commanding attention as to dictate the pace.
"Corsac Albain. A pleasure to finally meet in person.” She pauses. “Lil' Miss Malachite, though I suspect you already know that." She extends her hand adorned with multiple rings that catch the light, each one likely worth more than what most Faunus in Menagerie make in a year.
I remain perfectly still behind Corsac, my posture giving nothing away, though my eyes continue their methodical sweep of the room. The beauty mark under her right eye twitches slightly as her gaze briefly passes over me, analyzing and cataloging.
My lieutenant bows his head respectfully. "The pleasure is mine, Madam Malachite. The White Fang appreciates your willingness to conduct business with us directly."
Lil' Miss's eyes flick briefly to me, lingering a moment longer than necessary, before returning to my liteunant. "Business is business, dear. Doesn't matter if you have horns, tails, or extra set of ears." She taps a manicured nail against the table, the purple polish catching the light. "Though I must say, I'm curious why the High Leader himself couldn't make it to our little meeting." Her lips curl into a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
The archer, for some reason, shifts slightly at her question, his hand drifting closer to his bow. Meanwhile, that ethereal presence I detected earlier seems to drift closer to me, as if curious or maybe assessing a threat.
"Our High Leader has many responsibilities that require his direct attention," Corsac responds smoothly. "I assure you, I was given full authority to speak on his behalf in this matter."
Lil' Miss smiles, her purple-painted upper lip curving. "Of course, of course. We all have our... responsibilities." She adjusts her hair a little. "Now, I understand you're in the market for some vehicles. Work trucks, cargo haulers—not exactly the sort of thing I would expect from a revolutionary force typically shops for."
Because we don’t need them at the moment and I wouldn’t trust military gear from her.
"We are expanding our operations in ways that benefit our people," Corsac explains. “Solidifying further our holds is always in our best interest.
"Community building?" she says, amusement coloring her tone. The beauty mark beneath her eye crinkles as she narrows her gaze. "How quaint." She snaps her fingers, and the bald man steps forward with a thin folder, which he carefully places before her.
"Let's get down to business, shall we? I don't like to waste time, and I suspect neither do you."
I can agree with that.
She opens the folder, revealing photographs of various vehicles. "These are what I have to offer. Discreetly acquired, paperwork clean enough to pass inspection, but untraceable back to your little coalition." She slides the folder toward Corsac. "The question is, what do you have to offer me in return?"
I watch Corsac carefully examine the photos, knowing that the real negotiations are about to begin. The Madam wants something specific—and without expliciting saying she confirmed that she isn’t looking for lien.
Now the question is another, what does she want?
Corsac leafs through the photos meticulously, his expression giving nothing away. However, I remain vigilant, keeping track of the archer's subtle movements and that mysterious spectral presence that continues to drift around us almost like lurking, ready to pounce.
"These vehicles will certainly meet our needs. He finally says, closing the folder. "As for what we offer in return, we do have some options since the lien isn’t of your interest at the moment."
Lil' Miss raises an eyebrow, the beauty mark beneath her eye lifting slightly. "I'm listening."
"Access to our shipping routes through Menagerie waters, we have functional port and harbor and safe routes, free of Grimm or pirate activity." Corsac begins, "exclusive purchase rights to Dust we acquire from certain... reluctant suppliers, or continued assistance with problematic elements in territories you wish to expand into."
SDC mining outposts.
A thin smile spreads across the Madam's face. "Menagerie shipping routes? Darling, we both know that market is still in its infancy. Hardly worth the investment at present." She taps her purple nails against the tabletop rhythmically. "And while Dust is always tempting, what I truly need right now is something more... immediate."
Her eyes flick to me briefly. "Your men were particularly effective against the Hitsui family. And their plantations burning made for quite the market adjustment in Mistral."
So she has some suspicious that it was me who led the assault.
"The White Fang values productive partnerships." He responds diplomatically.
"Let me be direct," Lil' Miss says, leaning forward. Her rings catch the light as she gestures emphatically. "The Hitsui situation has created an opportunity in the agricultural markets, but I need more leverage. There are three more family plantations—smaller operations than the Hitsui's, but strategic nonetheless."
The bald bodyguard hands over another file to his boss.
She slides a small envelope across the table. "Their locations. I don't need them destroyed entirely—that would cause genuine food shortages, which is bad for everyone. I just need them... disrupted enough to keep prices where I want them."
"In exchange, you get your vehicles—all fifteen of them—and my guarantee of safe passage through Spider Clan territories." Her tone makes it clear this isn't really a negotiation. "Consider it an investment in our future relationship. When Menagerie's shipping becomes more valuable, I'll already have a foot in the door."
She pauses, adjusting one of her rings. "Oh, and I almost forgot to mention—we found more Faunus workers at the other Hitsui’s plantations. Some were even hidden in some underground quarters we discovered during the cleanup. Poor things were practically feral." She places a hand on her cheek, tilting her head as if she was feeling pity.
My jaw tightens slightly before I can control it. So it was as I suspected that the treatment varied between taskmasters and overseers. Good riddance that we eradicated that family.
"We've been providing them with medical care," Lil' Miss continues, a hint of genuine disgust in her voice. "I may be a criminal, darling, but even I have standards. Human trafficking is not profitable, I don’t know why those fools try to keep this outdated market alive. They'll be sent along with the vehicles. Consider it another gesture of goodwill."
Corsac opens the envelope, examining its contents briefly before glancing back at me. A subtle signal we had arranged beforehand. I merely roll my neck, implicitly telling him to go ahead.
"The targets seem manageable," Corsac replies smoothly. "Though three separate operations will require significant resources."
"Which is why I'm offering fifteen vehicles instead of the ten you initially requested," Lil' Miss counters, her purple-painted lips curving into a satisfied smile. "Plus two months of protection for any of your people moving through my territories. Fair exchange, I'd say."
This is really fair exchange, they would be gaining a lot more just for the price of a few vehicles that they can easily get.
"We'll need specifics on what constitutes 'disruption' for these plantations," Corsac says. "These kind of operations would directly affect our brothers and sisters."
Lil' Miss waves a dismissive hand. "Nothing so dramatic my dear. Damage their irrigation systems, destroy some equipment, burn their buildings or release a pest. I'm not looking to starve Mistral—hungry people make poor customers. I just want to ensure they buy from me at my prices."
Corsac considers this for a moment. "Very well. We could accept your terms, with the addition of medical supplies at least one ship container worth. And 20 vehicles instead of 15. I believe your gracious organization is more than capable of this."
"My, my. You Faunus are becoming quite the negotiators," she says, her tone both mocking and appreciative. "The medical supplies can be arranged. Nothing that would draw Atlas attention, of course."
"Of course," Corsac agrees.
Lil' Miss extends her hand across the table. "Always a pleasure doing business with those who understand the value of mutual benefit." As Corsac takes her hand, she adds, "I must say, your successful sabotage operation against the Hitsui family was impressively executed."
They were either too confident or too incompetent.
This time, her gaze lingers on me longer. "I wonder if your... bodyguard might share some insights on how he managed to hit so many of their depots in such a short time. For professional curiosity, of course."
I remain still, saying nothing. Corsac smoothly intervenes.
"Perhaps another time, Madam Malachite. Our current schedule is rather pressing."
Lil' Miss laughs, a sound both genuine and calculating. "Of course, of course. Business before pleasure." She rises from her seat, the layers of her skirt falling into place. "The vehicles will be delivered as agreed, along with those poor Faunus workers. Twenty-three of them, in total. Mostly agricultural types. They'll need proper care, but they should recover."
Mostly?
Lil' Miss adjusts her dress, the purple and yellow layers shifting as she straightens. "Well, gentlemen, it's been a productive meeting. I'll expect results soon." She gives a final nod before turning to leave, the bald bodyguard moving to escort her.
However, much to my interest, the archer doesn't follow the madam. He remains standing near the table, watching me with those intense black eyes. The spectral presence I'd detected earlier lingers as well, hovering near the doorway, neither following Lil' Miss.
Corsac glances between the archer and me, keeping his expression neutral but he is confused why the bodyguard stayed behind.
Does this man want to talk about something?
Finally, the archer speaks. "You are the man who slayed the behemoth."
And is directed to me.
It's not a question, but I treat it as one anyway. "What if I did?"
"Then that means you also fought the cyborg hunter, a cyborg who used a dragon semblance, didn't he?" His eyes narrow, and leans slightly forward.
Is he trying to study me? That would be quite a difficult task since I am wearing a full head helmet.
Either way, I remain silent, giving nothing away. But this guy is right—I fought that bastard, and his semblance was a nasty surprise. That spectral dragon wrecked my body, I’m sure that if it wasn't for my defenses he would have liquified my insides.
"Did you kill him?" He presses, his hand now resting casually on his bow.
I wish I had killed him for what he did to Penny, for nearly causing the entire behemoth operation to end in complete failure. And being the main reason for the casualty rate of my men. But wishes aren't reality.
I maintain my silence, neither confirming nor denying.
The spectral presence seems to drift closer, circling the archer before settling into a more defined shape—still translucent but clearly fox-like now. Its eyes, if that's what they are, seem to glow with an ethereal blue light.
However, even with that new look Corsac doesn’t seem to notice it. But probably because he is now fully focused on the archer.
"Your silence is answer enough." He says, a hint of disappointment in his voice before he closes his eyes. "It would have been preferable for that disgrace to be felled by your blade, but it seems fate hasn't deemed it time yet. He will continue disgracing our family legacy even further."
I raise an eyebrow in curiosity. Family legacy?
There's something more here than a simple vendetta.
Then he opens his eyes again. "But even a disgrace deserves an honorable death and the rituals to maintain his and our family’s honor."
Honor?
The word resonates differently coming from this man.
Then I get a flicker of recognition, as I look at his face, the distinctive bow, his talk of family honor and tradition and the way he refers to the bastard who I know is Genji.
"Hanzo Shimada," I say, taking a calculated guess.
The archer's eyes flash with surprise, then narrow dangerously. And the spectral fox bristled immediately.
"You know of me," he states coldly, his hand tightening on his bow.
"Only by reputation," I reply carefully, not revealing that my identification was merely an educated guess. "Though I didn't expect to find a member of one of Mistral's founding families working for the Spider Clan."
However my words cause Hanzo's face to contort with fury. "Founding family? Do not compare the noble Shimada clan to those pretenders! And the Hitsuisy were nothing but filthy mongrel backstabbing animals biting the hand that fed them!"
His sudden outburst even causes this mysterious watcher to recoil.
Good thing I’m wearing a helmet otherwise he would have noticed a smirk forming on my lips as my blind guess prompted such a revealing response. The Hitsui family who were a centuries old clan were in fact vassals to the Shimada clan. And now before me I have probably the last heir of an ancient family. And Lil Miss has this heir, maybe as a refugee or maybe working for her but she has him nonetheless, was she planning to use his ancient noble status to further expand her control over MIstral?
It would be a big political play.
This is very valuable information.
"They will pay for what they took from me," Hanzo declares, a flash of raw hatred crossing his face. "Every last one of them will fall by my arrow, as tradition demands. None shall survive."
"I see," I say calmly. "Then it seems our goals aligned more than I realized."
Hanzo regains his composure with visible effort. "The Hitsui betrayal cost my ancestors everything. Their downfall is merely the first step in restoring what was taken from me."
Well, he will have it difficult as the survivors fled to the east and scattered.
The spectral fox grows more defined now, its multiple tails becoming visible as it circles around him protectively.
"And your brother follows a different path to the same end," I observe.
The older brother's expression twists with contempt. "Genji abandoned our ways when we needed them most. He fights without honor, without respect for our ancestors. His augmentations—" he practically spits the word "—are an affront to everything the Shimada clan stood for."
That is strange to hear since it has been centuries. But maybe it is because I lack more context for what he actually means.
Hanzo suddenly stops, his expression shifting as his attention moves to Corsac, who has been seated there watching and listening in silence this whole time. Then he looks back at me with newfound scrutiny.
"You are no mere bodyguard," he states flatly.
"Quite slow, aren't you?" I reply with a hint of amusement, then shift my head toward where the spectral fox is standing. "And do call back your vassal. I always knew."
Hanzo merely nods, and with a puff of smoke, a woman in white and red appears, wearing a porcelain fox mask pushed to the side of her head. She's shorter than Hanzo, but what immediately catches my attention are the pair of fox ears perched atop her head.
A Faunus.
She wears white and red Mistralian traditional clothing with protective armor pieces integrated seamlessly into the design. Her sleeves are adorned with paper talismans, and a large ceremonial bow is tied at her back.
Her fox ears twitch slightly as she bows formally.
"This is Kiriko," Hanzo introduces her. "A family vassal for generations."
She offers a polite bow, more fluid and natural than Hanzo's rigid formality, then steps back to stand behind him.
"Vassal?" I ask, allowing a hint of offense to creep into my voice. "Interesting that a human family would keep a Faunus in such... traditional service."
Hanzo's posture stiffens immediately, his eyes narrowing. "You misunderstand entirely. The Shimada clan has honored Kiriko's family for generations. They are guardians, protectors—not servants. "
The intensity of his response is telling. So Hanzo doesn't share the typical human prejudices against Faunus—at least not in the way most of Remnant does. That's useful information.
"I merely wished to confirm my suspicions about my brother," Hanzo continues, apparently satisfied with having corrected my assumption. "I have found my answers. Should Genji eventually fall by your blade, I ask only that you send his body to me for the proper burial traditions, to maintain our family honor."
I notice Kiriko's expression shift at this, her fox ears flattening against her head. The slight tightening of her lips speaks volumes—she doesn't like the notion of Genji dying, despite Hanzo's apparent wish for it.
Interesting.
"If our paths cross again, I'll consider your request," I reply neutrally. "But he already earned my ire by his actions.”
"Fate rarely considers our personal preferences," Hanzo says grimly. "It weaves its own patterns."
Kiriko's gaze meets mine briefly, and I detect something there—concern, perhaps, or a silent plea. So she does care for the misguided brother.
"Until our paths cross again," Hanzo says with a formal nod, grabbing an arrow from his quiver and placing it on the table. "May your battles bring you honor and your ancestors."
And they finally leave the meeting room.
Once they're gone, Corsac rises from his seat. "That was... unexpected. A Faunus in a servitude contract outside of Atlas? And with such freedom of movement? Those arrangements are reserved for the wealthiest and most powerful families, even in Atlas."
"I don't think it's a contract in the Atlesian sense," I reply, picking up the strange token and examining the intricate dragon carving across its surface and the shape of the dragon. "This seemed more like an ancient alliance. The destruction of the Hitsui family had unraveled quite the number of secrets, secrets that align with our interests.”
And the arrow disappears in my pocket dimension.
----------------------------------------------------
When I need true solitude all I need to do is to head to my Sweet Home, which is the case as now I'm alone standing in the backyard watching the Brutus playfully mauling the remains of what was once a basketball. It seems that the ball finally met its end after enduring for so long. Now the squig massive jaws tear through the synthetic leather as he violently shakes it around scattering the remains everywhere.
But my mind is elsewhere, rehearsing words I’ve had some difficulty forming for days now.
"Ilia, I have news..." I mutter to myself, then shake my head. Too vague.
"Ilia, you know how Sienna and I have been working closely on unifying the White Fang factions?" I try again, then grimace. Too political.
"Sienna's pregnant. I'm the father."
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. Too direct. Too crude.
Ilia deserves better than that. She's been my friend since childhood, stood by me through everything. How do I explain that getting Sienna Khan pregnant wasn't just some impulsive act out of lust? It was a calculated move to cement the links of the coalition.
"It was a strategic decision to unite our factions..." Even as I say it aloud, I wince at how long it was and asinine it sounds.
Brutus lets out a happy growl as it finally tears another basketball to shreds, looking up at me with what almost seems like pride in his eyes.
"What would you do?" I ask out of whim, knowing full well it can't answer. "How do you tell your oldest friend that you're going to be a father with a woman that caused you problems and didn't even think to plan to build a life with?"
I pace across the yard, trying to find the right words. The truth is complicated. Yes, uniting the White Fang factions is critical for our people's future. Yes, a child between Sienna and me creates a powerful symbol of that unity. But also I need to tell Kali… ugh, this is seriously complicated.
"Ilia," I rehearse again, "I've always valued your friendship and your honesty. So I need to be honest with you now. Sienna is pregnant, and I'm the father."
It still doesn't sound right. But is the best so far.
Brutus finally abandons his ruined toy and waddles over to me, nudging my left hand with its massive head. My hand instinctively move to scratch his head causing it to wiggle his thick tail.
"At least you're easy to please," I tell it. "Just food and something to destroy."
I pick up another basketball from the small pile I keep specifically for Brutus's entertainment. With a swift motion, I kick it across the yard, instantly capturing the Squig's full attention. He barks excitedly, a distorted sound somewhere between a roar and a squeal, as he launches himself after it.
I watch as Brutus makes an impressive leap, catching the ball mid-air with surprising agility for something so bulky. However, his landing is less graceful; he hits the ground face-first, sliding a short distance across the grass. But the impact doesn't seem to faze him at all. He simply curls up with his prize and begins enthusiastically chewing, his massive jaws already puncturing the rubber.
The sight draws a rare smile from me.
However, my vision gets a message notification and it's from Ilia so I open it.
‘Adam, one of our prospector teams had a bit of a situation in the southeastern caves. Nobody hurt, but Fisher stepped in something strange and nearly lost his boot trying to get free. Said it was like "quicksand but sticky and smelly." Sending pics. Any idea what we're looking at?’
The message is followed by several images—close-ups of a greenish-black puddle with an iridescent sheen, pooled on the stone floor of what appears to be a natural cave formation. In one photo, I can see a bootprint where someone stepped in it and struggled to pull free.
I frown, studying the images more carefully. This doesn't look like anything we've encountered before. It's not Dust, that's for certain.
So I forward the images to Pod as he must know what we are looking at. "Analysis."
And Pod's response comes quickly.
"ANALYSIS COMPLETE. SUBSTANCE IN THE IMAGE HAS BEEN IDENTIFIED: CRUDE PETROLEUM OIL. COLORATION INDICATIVE OF IRON OXIDE CONTAMINATION. SPECTRAL ANALYSIS SUGGESTS PRESENCE OF SULFUR COMPOUNDS TOO. RECOMMENDATION: FURTHER GEOLOGICAL SURVEY REQUIRED TO DETERMINE DEPOSIT SIZE AND EXTRACTION VIABILITY. CAUTION: FLAMMABLE SUBSTANCE. PROXIMITY TO IRON DEPOSITS CONFIRMED WITH 92.7% CERTAINTY."
The implications hit me immediately.
Crude oil. In Menagerie.
A mineral vein.
Energy independence.
Manufacturing potential.
Yes, oil is not as efficient or powerful as Dust, certainly, but for our current needs? It would be perfect. Dust is precious, expensive, and closely controlled by the kingdoms—especially Atlas thanks to the SDC mega corporation that monopolized the resource. We've been using it for everything from powering our settlements to fueling our vehicles, but what if we didn't have to?
If we could refine this oil for our basic energy needs, we could reserve our limited Dust supplies for military applications and more critical projects. The vehicles we're acquiring from Lil' Miss Malachite could be modified to run on petroleum rather than Dust. Our generators could be converted as well.
I pace across the yard, ideas flowing faster than I can properly organize them. But then I stop abruptly as the obvious problem presents itself—we don't have the facilities to refine crude oil into usable fuels. This isn't like mining Dust, which can be used in its raw crystalline state with minimal processing. Oil requires extensive and very specialized refinement and then I would need specialized personnel for that.
Pod could help with that, of course. He could get all the information and schematics from his massive data banks and use them to design the necessary facilities, guide us through the construction process, even optimize the refinery operations once they're built. And then train the future personnel.
I suddenly stop pacing as a new realization hits me.
"We need more Pod units.”
Pod is a fantastic help but he is just a single unit and even with the access to the portal system he would be multitasking and overworked as his attention would be severely divided.
But first I need to give immediate orders.
"Secure the site. Full security detail. No word of this to anyone outside our immediate circle."
‘Okay’
For now that’s taken care of. Now I must talk to Sienna and Kali and explain to them the situation and the potential ramifications of this discovery.
-----------------------------------------------
Bonus Scene: Just some political games.
-Winter-
Winter's fist slammed onto the desk, the holographic report flickering momentarily from the impact. "This is completely unacceptable, sir! They murdered our soldiers, shot down our Bullhead with direct intent—"
She caught herself mid-outburst, a flash of mortification crossing her features as she realized she'd lost her composure in front of the General. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her posture and clasped her hands behind her back.
"Forgive me, General. That was unprofessional."
General Ironwood sighed heavily, his cybernetic hand making a soft mechanical sound as he rubbed his temple. "I understand your frustration, specialist Winter. Believe me, I share it."
He gestured toward the damning report on the screen. "But our hands are tied. Cinder Fall submitted all the necessary documentation through proper channels, designating those units as rogue operatives unaffiliated with Prometheus Group. According to official records, they were already marked as outlaws with stolen equipment before this incident."
"It's clearly a fabrication," Winter replied, her voice tightly controlled. "Such documentation would have been flagged in our intelligence briefing before deployment."
"The paperwork was submitted precisely one week before your deployment." Ironwood confirmed. "This wasn't hasty damage control. It was a calculated pre-emptive measure."
Winter's eyes narrowed. "So this woman created plausible deniability for her forces before they even engaged us."
"Precisely." Ironwood's expression darkened. "And legally, there's nothing we can do. If we challenge this, we risk appearing as aggressors in a situation that, on paper, involved Atlas forces and unaffiliated bandits."
"So they simply walk away? After taking our soldier’s lives?" Winter could taste bile in her throat.
Ironwood stood, walking to the window overlooking Atlas's gleaming towers. "For now. But make no mistake, Specialist Winter – we don't forget. When the opportunity presents itself, Prometheus will learn that actions have consequences."
Winter nodded stiffly, though the cold comfort did little to quell her anger. Justice delayed was justice denied, and somewhere Cinder Fall was undoubtedly pleased with her maneuvering.
"Is that all, sir?"
"Not quite." Ironwood turned. "I've reviewed your field evaluation of Penny's performance."
Winter held her breath.
"I understand your reservations about Penny's deployment," General Ironwood continued as he returned to his seat, "but I must commend your tactical adaptability. It was unfortunate she suffered such extensive damage in the final confrontation, but Dr. Polendina has fully completed the repairs. She'll be back in service by the end of the week."
He nodded approvingly. "Despite significant setbacks, you completed the primary objective. The Behemoth has been eliminated."
Winter shifted uncomfortably. "Sir, about the Behemoth—"
Ironwood raised his hand, cutting her off. "Yes, I know, Specialist. But under current circumstances, that particular detail will remain classified."
"With all due respect, sir," Winter countered, her professional tone barely masking her disapproval, "concealing the survival of—"
"We are not hiding it, Winter." Ironwood's stare hardened, his voice dropping to that quiet, authoritative register he used when decisions were final. "We are temporarily withholding information until after the upcoming election. The Progressive Unity Coalition currently controls a significant portion of the Council. They would suppress this information immediately and then build up countermeasures and propaganda to dismiss any claims."
He leaned forward, lowering his voice further. "When the election cycle begins, our allies will strategically reveal this intelligence. It serves no purpose to create a panic now, especially when they are lowering their guard.."
Winter's jaw tightened imperceptibly. "So we're using a potential threat to public safety as a political playing card."
"We're ensuring that when the information does come to light, it won't be buried." Ironwood's expression softened slightly. "Remember our primary objective, specialist Winter: protecting Remnant from the Grimm threat. Sometimes that means navigating political realities."
Winter stood at rigid attention, her face a disciplined mask, though internally she seethed. This was why she had chosen the military path rather than following the Schnee legacy into politics. At least in combat, enemies didn't hide behind paperwork and election cycles.
"Understood, sir." The words tasted bitter. "Will that be all?"
"That will be all, Specialist. You're dismissed."
As Winter saluted and turned to leave, Ironwood added, "And Winter? For what it's worth, I don't particularly enjoy these political games either."
She paused at the doorway, offering a curt nod without turning back. "Neither do I, sir. Neither do I."
