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A Fairly Reasonable Crashout (RWBY Adam SI) ch 35
🕑 Added 2025-06-21 04:54:28 +0000 UTC+++
"I can't just leave, Ironwood. I'm finally getting close to my leads," Geyer insisted.
"You can't get close to your leads if you get captured," Ironwood countered sharply.
"I'm a huntress, damn it. I can handle them," Geyer shot back.
"Do not start fights in the middle of Atlas, Councillor," Ironwood replied, voice hardening.
"I cannot promise that if they start shooting at me," Geyer snorted. "But fine. I will head to your office and we can compile."
"Very well."
Ironwood set down his scroll, his fingers lingering on its edges before releasing it onto his desk. He leaned back in his chair and exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting to the window. Below, the sprawling city of Atlas gleamed—a cold, sterile beauty that masked the rot festering beneath.
To call it sick felt like an understatement.
The sight of his army turned from protectors of the people into enforcers for Jacques Schnee made his stomach churn. It hadn't been obvious at first; Jacques was too clever for that. But over the years, Ironwood had seen the signs piling up, each one adding to the weight pressing down on his shoulders. The Schnee Dust Company didn't just supply Dust; it supplied jobs, weapons, and influence. Jacques wielded that influence like a scalpel, carving out favors, loyalty, and silence wherever it suited him. He had turned Atlas into his private playground, and the military was just one of many tools in his arsenal.
It wasn't exactly a secret. Many in the brass and ranks enjoyed lucrative deals or subtle blessings from Jacques Schnee. not just the now disgraced Derringer. Promotions came faster for those who turned a blind eye to SDC practices—faster still for those who enforced them. Soldiers dispatched to "protect" SDC interests often returned with heavier pockets, and units stationed near mines or transport hubs operated under a different set of rules altogether.
It disgusted him.
Ironwood rose from his chair and paced toward the window. His reflection stared back at him, sharp and angular in the cold light. Beyond it, the city stretched endlessly—a monument to progress and power. Yet no matter how advanced Atlas became, no matter how many airships filled its skies or robotic soldiers patrolled its streets, it couldn't escape the shadow of the Schnee Dust Company. The army relied on industries owned by the SDC. Even the most basic supplies—uniforms, boots, rations—bore the faint mark of Schnee's empire. Cutting ties wasn't an option, not without crippling the military's readiness. The SDC was so deeply woven into the fabric of Atlas that pulling it out would unravel everything.
And Jacques knew it.
Ironwood's jaw tightened as he turned away from the window. Jacques Schnee wasn't just a businessman; he was a parasite. He fed on the labor of the desperate and powerless, growing fat on their suffering while spinning tales of progress and prosperity. He presented himself as a patriot, a benefactor of Atlas, even as he quietly poisoned its foundations. It wasn't just the Faunus laborers in the mines—though their plight was horrific enough. It was the way Jacques manipulated the Council, pitting its members against one another while lining their pockets. It was the way he crushed competition, silenced dissent, and ensured that no one—not even the mighty Atlesian military—could act without his approval.
Ironwood had tried to work around him, to blunt the SDC's influence without provoking open conflict. But every step forward felt like two steps back. For every honest officer he promoted, Jacques found three more willing to sell out. For every effort to diversify contracts, Jacques tightened his stranglehold on supply chains. And so, Ironwood had declared war—political war. Nicolasburg had been the opportunity, a chance to free Atlas from the SDC's grip once and for all. The victory had been hard-won: the motion to investigate Jacques and the SDC passed, promising to expose the corruption that man had built his empire on. But instead of progress, Geyer's team ran into endless delays, obstructions, and a phalanx of Atlas's best lawyers standing in their way.
Now Geyer was being hunted.
Ironwood clenched his fists at the thought. He was a soldier, not a politician. His duty was to protect Atlas and its people. But how could he protect them from a system they relied on? How could he shield them from an enemy who wore the mask of a benefactor? Jacques Schnee wasn't a tyrant in the traditional sense. He didn't rule with fear or force. He ruled with dependency. Everyone needed him—the miners in the dust-choked shafts, the workers in the factories, even the generals in Ironwood's own command. And as long as they needed him, they couldn't oppose him.
That dependency had turned Jacques into a Leviathan. Ironwood's mind conjured the image of a great aquatic beast, its tentacles wrapping around everything he held dear.
But no beast, no matter how powerful, was without its weaknesses. Every Leviathan had cracks in its armor.
Geyer's investigation had drawn no real danger until recently. But now she was being followed. That could only mean one thing: she was getting close.
"I hope you're ready for a long night," Geyer muttered as she stepped through the reinforced door to Ironwood's office, the cold still clinging to her coat. She dropped a thick folder onto the nearest table, its contents scattering—printouts and copied files, still warm from the archive terminals.
Ironwood didn't respond immediately. He turned from the window, jaw set, his eyes locking on the stack of papers like it might detonate.
"Walk me through it," he said.
Geyer peeled off her gloves, cracked her knuckles, and leaned over the table.
"Turns out the mine was a hazard long before Nicolasburg," she began. "It was shut down for environmental reasons years ago, only reopened when they found a rich vein of Dust in the mountain."
Ironwood's brow twitched as he scanned the reports.
"Next," Geyer continued, tapping on another document, "three official complaints. All filed after Jacques took control of the SDC. And there's a lot more buried in the TIO—mostly health complaints."
Ironwood set down the paper and locked eyes with her.
"I tried to get into the Civil Registrar to find death records," she said. "Surely workers have died from health complications. If we can prove that, we can show the SDC is neglecting its workers. But as you know..." Her voice tightened. "I got intercepted."
"What else haven't you done?" Ironwood asked bluntly.
"I haven't followed the money yet," Geyer admitted. "The workers in those videos—they didn't rise up for laughs. Someone's funding them."
She paused, arms crossing defensively. "We're going to need more, Ironwood. And I know exactly who can help."
Ironwood stilled, his posture straightening. "Who?"
"Miss Schnee," Geyer answered, watching his reaction. "She serves under you, doesn't she? If we could get her help, we'd expedite this."
Ironwood's expression didn't change, but his silence spoke volumes. Finally, he replied, "No."
Geyer blinked. "No?"
He turned away, moving back toward the window. His reflection hovered in the glass, rigid and thoughtful.
"Winter can't help," he said.
"Why not?" she demanded.
Ironwood's shoulders tensed. He turned back to face her, his voice calm but firm. "You should've asked her before she joined the army. Military personnel are forbidden from engaging in civilian legal matters without direct orders or a Tribunal summons."
"Then I'll use my authority," Geyer countered. "She can state her case."
Ironwood shook his head. "Winter is Jacques Schnee's daughter. Any involvement from her would be seen as biased—or worse, retaliatory. And there's more. She signed an NDA when she stepped down from the SDC. Violating that would bring the full force of the SDC down on her."
Geyer threw up her hands. "Then why didn't you ask her yourself? I saw you talking with her, Ironwood."
"I did ask," Ironwood replied quietly, his voice heavy. "She told me the truth: she couldn't. She's afraid of what Jacques would do to her sister and brother. If she speaks out against her father, what happens to them?"
"Not the mother?" Geyer asked sharply. Ironwood's silence told her everything.
"What a terrible family," Geyer muttered, shaking her head. "It's a wonder Winter turned out so different from him."
"Quite," Ironwood replied, his tone carrying a rare note of pride.
Geyer sighed, leaning back against the table. "So, what now?"
Ironwood's gaze drifted back to the window, his voice low. "We don't need to focus entirely on Nicolasburg. Check the other facilities. The other mines. You don't have to jump through all the bureaucratic hoops to prove how terrible the SDC is."
Geyer frowned as his words settled over her. She glanced back at the scattered papers on the table—the reports, the files, the evidence she'd painstakingly compiled. It had all seemed so damning, so critical. But now, as Ironwood's suggestion began to take shape in her mind, she realized her mistake.
She'd been too focused on the paper.
The evidence was important, yes, but she'd treated it like a weapon—as though it alone could bring down Jacques Schnee and the SDC. It couldn't. Jacques had spent years building an empire that couldn't be toppled by a few sheets of paper, no matter how incriminating. She'd been fighting this battle on Jacques' terms, thinking like a bureaucrat instead of a strategist. And Jacques was a master of bureaucracy.
Her jaw tightened as the weight of her oversight hit her. "I've been playing the wrong game," Geyer muttered, more to herself than to Ironwood. Then she glanced up. "Why haven't you done anything? We're on the same team, Ironwood."
"I've been ordered not to," Ironwood said simply.
"What?" Geyer blinked, stunned.
Ironwood's expression betrayed a faint smile, tinged with pride. "My public opposition to Jacques Schnee hasn't earned me any favors. I've been told to leave the investigation alone. I may sit on the Council, but I'm there as Headmaster of Atlas Academy. I'm supposed to be neutral."
"Yet you spoke up," Geyer noted.
"I did," Ironwood growled, "because it was a chance to fight back against the corruption Jacques has cultivated. He's entrenched himself so deeply into this kingdom that it serves his needs instead of the people's."
"Shouldn't you be distancing yourself from me, then?" Geyer asked.
Ironwood snorted. "As far as my superiors are concerned, you're here speaking with me as a consultant, not asking me to directly intervene. Don't forget the motion, Councillor—independent of the SDC and the military."
She said nothing, but his voice sharpened as he straightened. "If I step away from you, if I pretend this investigation is beneath my concern, then I become exactly what Jacques wants me to be: a man who knows but does nothing. I'll do what I can, within my position. But remember, Geyer, the light we're shining on Jacques? He's shining it back on us."
He paused, his tone shifting. "You have the recordings, don't you? Why haven't you used them yet?"
Geyer sat back in her chair, glum. "I've been advised not to."
"Not to?"
"Yes." She took a deep breath. "Without a verifiable source, I can't use them under our laws. They'd be subject to internal security review. You and I both know what's in those tapes. Do you think the outrage they'd generate wouldn't be a threat to the SDC? What would the Faunus do? The Grimm?"
Ironwood nodded slowly. "Your oversight aside, use your authority as Tribunal head to inspect SDC facilities. Jacques has promised full cooperation. Hold him to it."
"Do you think he'll allow it?" Geyer asked skeptically. "The moment I announce my intent, he'll scrub the mines clean or obscure everything."
"By right of the Council, you're empowered to inspect them, Councillor," Ironwood reminded her. "A surprise inspection, if you must. If he refuses, take note of it and use it against him."
She closed her eyes for a moment. The image flashed behind her lids—rows of worn boots, blood in the snow, cries muffled beneath riot gear. A red-haired bull fighting for his life against an onslaught from a cruiser.
"Fine," she declared. "I'll need protection, though."
"I can provide a transport and a squad of Marines," Ironwood offered.
"I thought you were supposed to be neutral," Geyer teased.
Ironwood laughed, a hard sound. "As long as my soldiers don't interfere and only protect you, it's legal. But..." He smirked faintly. "I'll need you to write a formal letter requesting it, using your authority as head of the Tribunal."
Geyer glanced at the printer in the corner. "Mind if I use your computer?"
From the Academy, a Bullhead soared through the skies.
Geyer cut a strikingly different figure compared to the heavily armored soldiers seated with her. Their plating gleamed under the cabin lights, the Atlesian alloy polished to an almost ceremonial luster. In contrast, Geyer's Landsknecht coat looked like it belonged to another era entirely—dark wool, brass buttons dulled with age, and long folds that carried the weight of a different kind of war. Her presence broke the otherwise mechanical symmetry of the troop bay. She sat with her back straight and her legs crossed, not out of comfort but control. A clipboard rested on her lap, one hand securing it while the other flipped through pages on her scroll. Faces stared up at her—miners, workers, casualties of negligence, lives chewed up and spat out by the SDC machine.
Across from her, one soldier, younger than the rest and too clean-faced to hide it, kept glancing her way.
Geyer noticed. She always noticed.
"Is there something you need, soldier?" she asked, her tone sharper than she intended.
The young man flushed, his helmet shifting awkwardly in his hands. "No, ma'am. It's just, uh..."
Geyer raised an eyebrow as a few of the other soldiers snorted quietly. One of them, a gruff woman with sergeant stripes—Edelweiss, if Geyer remembered correctly—spoke up.
"He's just a fan, ma'am," Edelweiss said with a faint smirk. "His family lost their business because of Jacques."
Ah.
"Is it safe to assume, then," Geyer began, her voice measured, "that my fine protectors here have a grudge against the SDC?"
The soldiers exchanged glances, nods shared silently among them.
Geyer's lips curved faintly. These weren't just any Atlesian soldiers. They were loyalists to Ironwood. A subtle, calculated move on his part—showing his support for her without openly declaring it. Officially, they were neutral observers here to ensure her safety. Unofficially, if things turned ugly, she could count on them to stand by her. Not that she needed the protection, but it was better to have people she could trust, if only slightly.
"Then you know why we're here," she said firmly.
The soldiers didn't cheer or shout like huntsmen might. Instead, they straightened in their seats, their postures tightening with quiet resolve.
Geyer allowed herself a small smile.
It didn't take long for her expedition to bear fruit.
+++
The mining town of Englehoff lay nestled in a valley in the far east of Solitas. Unlike Nicolasburg, which sat perched on a mountainside, Englehoff sprawled across the basin of a frozen canyon, surrounded by jagged cliffs streaked with the faint glow of raw Dust veins. The air was bitterly cold, the kind of cold that bit deep into your bones if you lingered too long. Smoke curled lazily from the chimneys of squat, weathered buildings, and the town itself seemed more gray than white, stained by years of mining operations.
The Bullhead touched down on the outskirts of the town, kicking up a flurry of snow and dust. Geyer stepped out first, the wind dragging at her coat as her boots crunched against the frozen ground. Strapped across her back was her weapon—a massive zweihander, its crossguard gleaming faintly in the weak sunlight. The blade's sheer size seemed almost impractical, but Geyer bore it with ease. The soldiers followed, fanning out in a loose but protective formation. Their presence drew stares from the townsfolk—men, women, even children—who watched from doorways and windows, their faces pale and wary.
Geyer's gaze swept over the town. It was worse than she'd expected.
The main street was lined with shacks and ramshackle homes, their walls patched with scavenged metal and planks. A few figures shuffled through the snow, their clothes threadbare and their faces hollow. The air smelled faintly of sulfur and rot, and even from here, she could hear the faint hum of mining equipment echoing through the valley.
A man approached them—broad-shouldered and wearing a thick coat lined with fur. His face was weathered, his beard streaked with gray, and his expression was one of thinly veiled hostility. Behind him, a group of workers lingered, their postures tense.
"Councillor Geyer," the man said, his voice gruff. "Name's Halstrom. I'm the foreman here. Didn't know we were expecting visitors."
"It's a surprise inspection," Geyer replied smoothly, her tone cool. "By order of the Council. I trust that won't be a problem?"
Halstrom's jaw tightened. "We're on a tight schedule here, ma'am. Any disruptions could put us behind target."
Geyer raised an eyebrow. "Surely the safety of your workers takes precedence over your schedule, Mr. Halstrom."
The foreman's eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing. Instead, he turned to the workers behind him, barking an order for them to return to their posts. They hesitated for a moment before shuffling away, casting wary glances at Geyer and her escort.
"This way," Halstrom said curtly, gesturing for them to follow.
Geyer followed Halstrom's broad back as he led them deeper into the heart of Englehoff. His steps were brisk, his boots crunching against the frozen ground with an air of practiced confidence. He was a man untouched by the struggles that surrounded him—healthy, well-fed, and dressed in a thick, fur-lined coat that radiated authority. Unlike the gaunt, hollow-eyed workers who shuffled in the shadows, Halstrom's posture was straight, his face clean, his energy unbothered by the weight of the environment.
He was a man who didn't belong here—at least, not in the way the others did.
"The mine's this way," he said curtly, not bothering to look back at Geyer or her soldiers. His voice was steady, but Geyer could hear the clipped edges beneath it. He wasn't pleased with her presence, and the tightness of his movements betrayed his discomfort.
Geyer's sharp eyes scanned the crumbling town as they walked. The buildings were pitiful: patched together with rusted sheets of metal, their roofs sagging under years of neglect. Smoke drifted lazily from chimneys, though the warmth it promised was likely a lie. The workers moved with a mechanical precision, their bodies hunched against the cold. They didn't even look up as Geyer's group passed, their faces hidden beneath soot-streaked masks and threadbare scarves.
"You're doing well for yourself, Mr. Halstrom," Geyer observed, her voice cutting through the brittle air. "While your workers look like they've been dragged through hell."
Halstrom glanced over his shoulder, his expression neutral but his eyes hard. "I do what's required to keep this operation running. If I didn't, none of us would have jobs."
"Jobs that kill them," Geyer countered, her tone icy. "And when they drop dead, you'll replace them without a second thought, won't you?"
Halstrom stopped abruptly, turning to face her. He was a tall man, with broad shoulders and a square jaw that might have been imposing if Geyer didn't meet him with an unflinching gaze. His eyes narrowed slightly, his lips pulling into a thin line.
"With all due respect, Councillor," he said, his voice carefully measured, "I don't have the luxury of idealism. These people need work. The SDC provides it. It's not perfect, but it's better than starving."
Geyer stepped closer, her presence sharp and commanding despite her smaller frame. "Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night, Halstrom? That this is better than starving? Tell me, how many of them have you buried this year? Ten? Twenty? Or did you stop counting once the bodies started piling up?"
Halstrom's jaw tightened, but he didn't answer. Instead, he turned sharply and resumed walking. Geyer followed, her soldiers fanning out behind her like silent shadows.
The mine loomed ahead—a cavernous opening carved into the rocky side of the canyon. It was a monument to exploitation, its rusted scaffolding and groaning conveyor belts a testament to the years of labor that had stripped this place of its soul. Workers moved in and out of the entrance like ants, their bodies weighed down by heavy equipment and exhaustion. A faint, rhythmic hum echoed from within, accompanied by the occasional screech of metal grinding against stone.
Halstrom stopped at the edge of the site, gesturing toward the mine. "Here it is. Production's been steady, despite the...setbacks."
"Setbacks?" Geyer repeated, her tone sharp.
Halstrom shrugged. "Accidents happen. It's the nature of the work."
Before he could elaborate, a sharp crack echoed through the air, followed by a low rumble that seemed to come from deep within the earth. The workers froze, their heads snapping toward the mine entrance. A moment later, the ground beneath their feet shuddered, and a plume of dust burst from the tunnel.
"Cave-in!" someone shouted, their voice high with panic.
Chaos erupted. Workers scrambled away from the mine, their movements frantic and uncoordinated. The air was filled with the sound of shouts and coughing as the dust cloud billowed outward, choking the already polluted air.
Halstrom's face went pale. "Damn it," he muttered, taking a step back.
But Geyer was already moving, her zweihander whipping from its sheath in a clean, practiced motion. The massive blade gleamed in the dim light, its edges honed to perfection. She surged forward, her boots pounding against the frozen ground as she closed the distance to the mine entrance.
A cascade of rocks tumbled toward a pair of workers who were too slow to get clear. Their panicked cries cut through the chaos, but Geyer was faster. She swung her zweihander in a wide, arcing motion, the blade cleaving through the falling debris like it was paper. Shards of stone scattered in every direction, harmlessly bouncing off the ground as the workers stumbled away, shaken but alive.
"Move!" Geyer barked, her voice ringing with authority. "Get them clear!"
Her soldiers rushed in to assist, pulling survivors from the edge of the debris field while others formed a perimeter to keep the workers back. Geyer stood at the forefront, her zweihander held at the ready, her eyes sharp and unyielding as more debris threatened to fall. Each time, her blade met the rocks with precision, cutting through the chaos with deadly efficiency. To the workers, she was a blur of motion—a force of nature standing between them and certain doom.
Geyer didn't waste a second. "Sergeant Edelweiss!" she barked, her voice slicing through the noise like a whip.
"Ma'am!" Edelweiss responded, already moving.
"Get your team to the entrance. Secure the area and start pulling survivors out," Geyer ordered. She turned to another squad of soldiers. "You—set up a perimeter and keep these workers back. We don't need anyone else getting hurt."
Chaos erupted. Workers scrambled away from the mine, their movements frantic and uncoordinated. The air was filled with the sound of shouts and coughing as the dust cloud billowed outward, choking the already polluted air.
The rumbling subsided, and the last of the falling rocks settled into an ominous stillness. Dust hung thick in the air, coating everything in a gray haze. Geyer stood at the edge of the mine entrance, her zweihander resting against the ground, the blade streaked with fine rock dust. The soldiers and workers around her fell silent, their breaths visible in the cold air, as the echoes of the cave-in faded into the distance.
And then, faintly, it came—muffled voices from deep within the collapsed tunnel.
"Help! We're trapped in here!"
The cries were weak but unmistakable. The workers froze, their eyes darting toward the mine entrance. Fear and uncertainty rippled through the crowd, but Geyer wasted no time.
"They're alive," she said sharply, her voice cutting through the frozen air. "Sergeant Edelweiss!"
"Ma'am!" Edelweiss snapped to attention, already anticipating her orders.
"Form a rescue team immediately," Geyer commanded. "Two squads: one to secure the structure and clear the rubble, the other to retrieve survivors. Equip braces, Dust-lamps, and extraction tools. I'll lead the operation myself." She turned to the rest of the soldiers. "The rest of you, hold the perimeter and keep these workers back. No one else goes in unless I say so."
Halstrom, pale and visibly shaken, stepped forward tentatively. "Councillor, with respect, the tunnel's unstable. If you go in—"
Geyer rounded on him, her gaze like frost. "If we wait, they die. Either help or stay out of my way."
Halstrom swallowed hard, nodding. "I'll get the schematics," he muttered, turning to bark frantic orders at a nearby worker.
Minutes later, the rescue team was assembled. Soldiers armed with Dust-powered tools and collapsible braces stood ready, their faces grim but focused. Dust-lamps flickered in the cold, throwing pale light into the dark mouth of the mine. Geyer adjusted her zweihander on her back, her expression unyielding as she stepped into the tunnel.
"Stay close," she ordered, her voice steady. "Watch for shifts in the structure. Call out anything unstable. We're not leaving anyone behind."
The air inside was heavy, choked with the acrid tang of Dust and the suffocating weight of stone. Every step echoed faintly, the sound swallowed by the oppressive silence of the tunnel. The soldiers worked quickly, driving support beams into creaking walls and clearing smaller debris as they advanced. Geyer led the way, her sharp eyes scanning for any sign of movement amidst the rubble.
"Over here!" a soldier called out, pointing to a narrow gap in the collapsed rock. "I can hear them just beyond this section!"
Geyer knelt by the opening, pressing her ear to the cold stone. The voices were faint but clear—panicked, desperate. "Hold on!" she shouted, her voice firm and commanding. "We're coming for you!"
She rose to her feet, turning to Edelweiss. "Stabilize this section. I need beams in place to keep it from caving further. Once it's braced, we start clearing the rubble."
The soldiers moved with precision, hammering braces into the shifting rock while others brought in Dust-powered cutting tools to chip away at the debris. Geyer joined them, her strength and skill turning her zweihander into a tool as much as a weapon. With each swing, she carved through larger stones, her blade cleaving through the jagged edges with practiced ease.
The gap widened slowly, revealing more of the collapsed passage. The faint cries of the trapped miners grew louder, spurring the team to work faster.
"Please! We're here! Help us!" one voice shouted, hoarse with strain.
Finally, with a groaning shift of rock, the last boulder was rolled aside, and the passage opened enough to see the huddled figures beyond. Five miners crouched in the dim light, their faces streaked with grime and fear. One of them had a bloodied arm pressed against his chest, while another sat slumped against the wall, his leg twisted unnaturally.
"There's five of them," Geyer said to Edelweiss. "Get the medics ready. We'll pull them out one at a time."
She reached into the space, her voice softening but losing none of its strength. "Come on. You're safe now. Follow my voice."
The first miner, a young man shaking with exhaustion, crawled through the gap, Geyer catching him by the arm and pulling him to safety. "Keep moving," she urged, guiding him toward the soldiers waiting with medical kits.
One by one, the miners were pulled free, their faces etched with relief and exhaustion. When the last, an older man with a broken leg, was carried out by two soldiers, Geyer finally stepped back and surveyed the scene.
"That's everyone," Edelweiss confirmed, his voice steady despite the tension in the air.
"Good," Geyer replied, her tone clipped. "Pull back. This tunnel's unstable. We're not risking anyone else for the sake of lingering."
Outside the mine, the rescued miners were handed off to medics, who began treating their injuries with swift efficiency. The crowd of workers that had gathered around the perimeter murmured in a mixture of awe and relief, their eyes fixed on Geyer as she emerged from the dust-choked tunnel.
Halstrom approached hesitantly, his fur-lined coat streaked with dirt but his earlier arrogance gone. "Councillor..." he began, his voice faltering.
Geyer cut him off with a sharp glare, her zweihander resting on her shoulder. "This mine is a deathtrap," she said coldly. "And it's only a matter of time before the next cave-in buries more than just five workers. The Council will hear about this, and so will the SDC. Mark my words, Halstrom—this ends now."
Halstrom opened his mouth to protest but quickly thought better of it. He stepped back, his face pale and drawn.
Geyer turned away, her attention shifting to the miners being treated nearby. She knelt beside one of them, a young man clutching a bloodied bandage around his arm. "You're safe now," she said quietly, her tone softer but no less resolute. "Rest. We'll make sure this doesn't happen again."
The miner looked up at her, his eyes wide with gratitude. "Thank you," he whispered. "You... you saved us."
Geyer didn't respond immediately. She straightened, her gaze sweeping over the battered town and its weary people. Her grip tightened on the hilt of her zweihander as she spoke, her voice low but firm.
"I only did what should've been done long ago."
And she will return to Atlas with fire and fury.
But unknown to Geyer, to Halstrom or even the wider world...
Not all decisions were made, solely by them.
Some decisions lay deep inside the heart of Remnant, buried, dark...and ancient.
And this ancient thing watched.
And smiled.
+++
A/N: It's Salem.
And she has an idea.
