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So it is done: How Atlas died
🕑 Added 2022-09-14 01:01:09 +0000 UTCDid Robyn ever imagine how things would turn out like this?
That she would take the lead in the rebellion, how she would make Atlas take notice of her, how she would enter for the first time the holy of holiest Kingdom, the soaring city of Atlas?
Of course, she did.
But she didn't get her hopes up.
Such was the sad fate of those before her, and, Robyn thought, would be after her.
Mantle always have small resistance cells of all sorts.
There were political activists who wanted to fight Atlas peacefully, hoping in their own delusions that the decorative Mantle ‘representatives’ on the Atlas Council meant something. And that their rallies and public appearances reached the ears of the sitting Atlas elites.
There were those who originally intended to seize power by force – people no less naive than the former.
There were those who believed that smashing the windows of a police car or setting fire to a rubbish bin outside the local administration would somehow bring them closer to their goal of a free Mantle.
On and on, these groups consisted of Mantle’s ‘rebel’ armies. Ranging from associations of caring neighbors handing out food to the poor, to gangs from Mantle's slums who found a suitable excuse to rob passers-by, hiding behind phrases like ‘we need money to save Mantle’.
Such groups came and went, sometimes faster than they were noticed. And Robyn…
She probably expected the same thing to happen to hers as well.
Robyn didn’t even have an education except for compulsory school. She went to work in a factory as soon as she could, to try to support her family, and she worked just as silently as everyone else. Tried to keep her mind clear of thoughts of anything more than the next day’s meal, never mind speaking out a complaint.
She just needed to earn enough to have a roof over her head and soup on her plate by the end of the month – she wanted nothing more…
When exactly did things change?
When one of the guards attached to General James Ironwood himself joined her Mantle Liberation Front?
Or was it when she saw the first Atlas tank cross out its insufferable white emblem in red, replacing it with her own emblem?
Was it when she gave her first order for a direct engagement against Atlas's army?
When a truck full of equipment for would-be revolutionaries appears outside her little hideout?
Or was it when, on a single day on the other side of Remnant, when one Hunter declared himself King?
Digging into the past, Robyn could look for an answer to that question all she wanted, perhaps she could even find the answer.
But that question, the question of ‘what brought us to this?’ was not as important to Robyn as a question of a different nature.
What would happen next?
Robyn blinked a few times, as if trying to wipe the thoughtfulness on her mind with her eyelashes, before turning her gaze to her surroundings.
When this all began, back when Robyn wasn't even the leader yet, and their humble association didn't even bear the name ‘Mantle Liberation Front’. Back when Robyn and her friends, allies, were huddled in the basements of an old abandoned storage room near one of the dug up mines that could be found everywhere in Mantle, using old radios. Radios that they scavenged in the city dump, assembled piece by piece and from parts of other faulty electronics, In their room furnished with roughly chipped boards for seats, old crates for tables. They would stay in those frozen dug-out rooms that not even Mantle heat could reach, but which the eternal cold of Solitas could perfectly touch… Robyn could scarcely imagine where they could go.
And then, years later, she found herself here.
What had once been the basement of an old factory had been transformed first into a fortified bunker, and then into offices no worse than those boasted by the wealthy of Atlas.
Furnished with a large wooden desk, hand-decorated by woodcarvers, a gift from the Free Mantle Union, which had joined the Front a few months ago. On it a computer, one of the newer models, something the Allies had forwarded to her from Atlas. On the computer are reports on soldier movements, unit supplies, shelter construction and speculation on Ironwood's next moves.
Next to that is an intercom system manned by, uh, her secretary.
To think that she, Robyn Hill, a girl with no education, from a working-class family, had risen so high – she now had secretaries, bodyguards, subordinates, thousands of them.
As she was lost in her recollection, the hitherto silent transmitter on the desk released a sudden jolt of light, a faint blink of red to indicate that the receptionist had something to report. But then, still not so urgent as to distract Robyn from her business… which she has none of.
Robyn reached out and pressed the small black button, then leaned forward slightly, "I'm listening.”
“Miss Thyme, Miss Greenleaf and Mr. Taurus are here.” Robyn's secretary dry voice answered without a hitch, causing Robyn to nod, then, realizing that her companion could not see her facial expression and was still waiting for an answer, continued speaking.
“Good, let them through.”
Releasing the transmitter button, Robyn settled back into her chair, a comfortable expensive chair also passed from Atlas, before glancing toward the doors leading to her office which is now creaking open. Her guests are here.
A moment later, a heavy Army boot paced the expensive carpet that lined the floor of Robyn's office. Wearing it, a heavyset muscular woman, maybe two meters tall, with dark skin and a short Army haircut, her face sharp and straight, as if someone had moved a stone statue from its place. She was dressed in an austere army uniform, its coloring similar to Atlas', but far more similar to the original source of inspiration for Atlas's designers, the Mantle military uniform. Joanna Greenleaf looked exactly as a woman of her position should have looked – the commander in chief of the Mantle Liberation Front.
Next, a moment later, almost behind the shadow of the giant, came her other colleague and friend Fiona Thyme. She’s a short girl with white curly hair and two small sheep ears protruding from the sides of her head, indicating her faunus origins. Dressed in a white blouse and light black trousers, she seemed more like a photo negative reflection of Joanna. She occupied a similar, but less specific position than Joanna. If the Mantle Liberation Front already existed as a state, perhaps she could be said to hold the position of some kind of minister, perhaps even the Home Policy Councilwoman. But at the moment she occupied the position of Secretary General of the Front.
The third to enter the room, is a red-haired young man, tall despite his younger years. You could only identify him as a faunus by the pair of small horns that seem to blend into his hair, but it was the several large scars that crossed his face that attracted far more attention. The scar, disfiguring his good and even attractive features, cutting across his right cheek, his eyebrow above his right eye, and his lip, crossing just below his chin. The disfigurement gave him a look that discouraged any observer from asking questions or even approaching him. Adam Taurus, unlike the two girls who had arrived, held no post, perhaps the
self-appointed post of Robyn's personal bodyguard.
Without an actual post, his presence among the entrants might have raised some questions for the outside observer, but nobody in the Front would. It is simply that his loyalty to the Front's ideals was beyond question, as were his fighting skills – it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that he was the greatest lone fighter in the Front. Add his nasty temper into the mix, and so when he snuck up on Robyn with his katana to her neck to prove a point, nobody bothered to try to remove him. And that’s how Robyn acquired a bodyguard.
It didn’t take long for the three to squeeze in Robyn’s office, taking a seat at a couple of couches nearby. Their ease of movement clearly signalled that none of those present were a stranger to Robyn's private office and were familiar with the surroundings.
Robyn herself, rising from her chair, stretched slightly before she rounded her desk and dropped into the only chair left vacant, trailing the fourth side of the discussion table.
The only one who really shouldn't have been here was Adam, but with his inordinate strength and youthful zeal, nobody would contest his position as Robyn's personal bodyguard. Especially after he'd saved her from under Atlas' bullets – his position was as official as it’s going to get.
And even if someone succeeded in chasing him away – he wouldn’t care and just kept on standing by Robyn’s side, even if he had to break through a door – or a wall. Which is just as well that he’s preoccupied as Robyn’s bodyguard, otherwise he would start getting ideas…
Once, he tried to arrange a training session for the Front's new recruits. The result? Most of them had to be rushed to hospital with a variety of injuries. Some injuries even caused the doctors to wonder if the recruits were attacked by a wild animal!
Another recruit with similar manners would probably have been kicked out of the Front long ago, if not condemned altogether. But Robyn simply didn't want to kick out the orphan she herself had saved. Besides, as much as Adam was strong, he’s just as committed to the ideals of the Revolution, and had earned a certain reputation among the young and impressionable Front recruits. Especially among those who shared his hatred for Atlas – people he had impressed with his extremely brazen behavior.
So Robyn tried to pretend that at the moment, too, Adam was here not in spite of, but for some necessity, before glancing at her two lieutenants who had arrived with important information.
There was a pause for a couple of seconds – especially as Joanna glanced at Adam as if to try to force him out of the room by her indignation alone, which Adam simply ignored. Robyn made no comment about it, urging Joanna to just get on with her report with a silent gesture.
With one last look at Adam, Joanna finally began her report. “There were almost twenty incidents today, but none that went hot. So far, Atlas has held their terms of the truce.”
Robyn nodded curtly at these words.
The truce was announced almost a fortnight ago, after the summit proposal had first been announced as a desperate attempt to keep Mantle and Atlas from falling into the abyss of civil war. Since then, Joanna had appeared every day for a situation report, reporting any brewing conflicts or incidents – to see whether Atlas would actually honor their agreement or if they should prepare a retaliation. Luckily, so far at least, despite the two sides’ constant friction where in some places both were standing at the ready with guns, nothing had happened. At least, nothing major enough to start the civil war over.
“The General may be a bastard, but at least he’s a stickler to agreements…” Joanna sighed with a voice expressing such weariness that it might have seemed to the listener as if someone had run sandpaper over her throat.
“They can't be trusted – just relax, and they'll show their true face. I’m sure these last two weeks they were just scouting for weak points." Adam replied with undisguised anger and suspicion in his voice, causing Joanna to cast a distasteful glance at him before turning to Robyn with a silent ‘what in the Grimm is he doing here anyway?!’. In other words, business as usual.
“That’s true," Robyn sighed, "Any way you look at it – they can't hold the current truce forever. If all goes well, the summit will decide the fate of the standoff. If not…”
Robyn glanced grimly at Joanna. “I need the troops ready – any minute of the day or night.”
“It's not hard to give such an order, Robyn, but the constant readiness and nervous tension would be as exhausting as actual battle. We can’t weaken our position by asking our soldiers that." Joanna sighed, then threw Adam a glance to silence him from making any comments like ‘If only I trained them!’ before shaking her head, turning back to Robyn.
"Anyway, in another matter than civil war, the corridors for travel to the summit and for shipment to Atlas have been established. Just in case, we have created groups focused on instant response should anything not go according to plan…”
Adam only curled his lips at these words, clearly wanting to say something like ‘of course things won't go according to plan, they're Atlas' dogs!’ — but Joanna's eloquent look made him curl his lips and look away, pretending as if he absolutely did not want to get involved in the conversation.
“A lot of leading figures in international politics will be gathered in one small square tomorrow, along with you." Joanna slowly shifted her gaze back to Robyn,
"Atlas has officially agreed to the presence of our forces to provide security – alongside their own of course, but anything can happen in the current situation. Take care of yourself, it’s one thing to trigger a civil war, it’s another thing entirely to lose before we even start.”
“Don't worry, I'll be under Adam's protection," Robyn smiled before turning her gaze to Adam, but her smile was hollow – there was no confidence that things would go well inside Robyn.
The Summit was the best place to commit the most serious terrorist attack or mass murder in history. Just one bomb or one skilled assassin inside could plunge the world into an abyss of chaos even greater than the Atlas-Mantle civil war.
It was a golden opportunity for all would-be chess masters, something that only comes around once in a lifetime. To put a cherry on top – every visitor to the Summit has many enemies, some even just beside them – all simply because no world leader could live his life without making many enemies. And Robyn was going to be inside the same room as them
The strictest security measures had to be put in place for the presence of a world leader, all organized by the work of several government agencies, simply because neither side could trust the other completely.
In other words, the strictest measures taken were fully deserved – and yet, Hill didn't think she would be any safer at this Summit relative to the soldiers standing outside at the time, watching any enemy at gunpoint.
Shaking her head and the thought away from her, Robyn turned to Fiona.
“What about popular support? What’s the public sentiment?”
"There’s plenty," Fiona only shook her head. "In Mantle, no matter what happens, you have the support of the army and the people. The number of people who want a peaceful resolution is a little more – I'll say it's a sixty-forty split, but it's more complicated than that when accounting for the people who want both. In Mantle, and even more so in the Front itself, people believe in you – five out of ten are willing to join the fight, four are willing to stay out of the way, and only one in ten would protest the decision.”
“The situation in the Army and Atlas is of course much more complicated," Fiona shook her head.
Robyn Hill represented the ideal dream, the ideal symbol for the people of Mantle. She was a poor laborer, from a poor working-class family, who became the leader of the revolution and the voice of the oppressed common people, promising them social security, acceptable wages and the restoration of the ‘old order’. It was an idealized version of Mantle from before the Great War, when everything was better, when Mantle was a great power, and Atlas was just an Academy town.
It wasn't hard to imagine that the people of Mantle, tired of the constant pressure from Atlas, would have supported Robyn. But Atlas, for whom Robyn and Mantle itself posed an existential threat, and especially for the army created to serve Atlas?
“The army is split into three unequal factions – twenty percent or so are likely to cross over to our side, while another third, perhaps, can be persuaded to retreat or be forced to flee to other cities… The rest will fight.” Fiona shook her head as she finished her report.
Adam merely hummed at those words, clearly indicating that he was thinking of Atlas's fighting capabilities, but Joanna's gaze was far more serious.
The Mantle militia was a serious fighting force, they were motivated, and one should not underestimate what Mantle's strong men were capable of, from port loaders to miners. But, the Atlas army is a different beast altogether, they are Remnant's strongest army for a reason.
Even with all the help that Mantle would receive in the event of a clash between Mantle’s militia and Atlas’ army, even with half of Atlas‘ army defecting…
It would be a bloodbath.
And that's just talking about the army present in Atlas itself – should they receive any backup from their overseas bases… Especially if the remnants of the army, led by captains and lieutenants, fled there and fortified themselves in their new fiefdoms… Mantle would lose, badly.
“On the other hand, we have virtually no support in Atlas," Fiona glanced sadly at her feet, saying what was to be expected in the current situation. "Even saying that we have a five percent support, seems too optimistic to me…”
“And then there are the robots," Adam made an unexpectedly important comment, "Those who are programmed to obey. There are many of them in the army, but some of them can be lured to our side, especially if we could get some of the commanders or technicians. But the personal armies of the wealthy Atlesian? That's another thing entirely.”
Robyn merely nodded at this information, silently trying to find the answer in the patterns of the wooden table in front of her.
The summit must take place and it must succeed.
Robyn shook her head.
If the summit doesn't succeed…
Robyn looked up gloomily at her surroundings.
It didn't matter if the Front or the General won.
Mantle will lose either way.
***
Amanda knew she had nothing to fear – at least as far as General Ironwood was concerned. Atlas was well protected.
That was easy to believe, seeing the numerous roadblocks and army patrols through the streets of Atlas.
Amanda couldn't even remember the last time she'd seen a mere police officer in Atlas or even a patrol car driving slowly down the street. Nor does she see a couple of bored cops walking the beat, more interested in where they were having lunch today than in catching criminals.
The streets of Atlas were now a completely different sight than what it was not even a couple of weeks ago.
Pedestrians now rarely appeared on the streets. And those that did, would walk hurriedly with either their scarfs or coats pulled as far as it can go to hide their faces. They would walk, no scurry, with the utmost haste all the while cringing away from the watchful gaze of the ever-vigilant army, silently inspecting every person – and especially the faunus – striding down the street.
Amanda was only glad that her work shift ended two hours before curfew, leaving her with plenty of time to get home – and she was especially glad that she was living in Atlas.
What would have happened to her in Mantle – Amanda was afraid to imagine.
Trying to keep her feet moving as quickly as possible without glancing around. Amanda moved down the street, carefully maneuvering between the bins and streetlights, glancing at all the small details that caught her eye, trying her best not to trip.
Rocks, dust, ice-cream wrappers…
A leaflet, with Robyn Hill holding her hand up in an inviting gesture, surrounded by dark figures.
Beneath the more than understandable appealing picture read, ‘Freedom for Atlas will begin with freedom for Mantle!’
Amanda looked away quickly lest she’s mistaken for a rebel sympathizer.
It was most likely the result of attempts to agitate the people of Atlas – perhaps someone had simply thrown away the leaflet they had found… Or they were deliberately placing traps to get the innocent people arrested.
Amanda cast one last glance at the small piece of paper, no landmine, that had already begun to peel away under the slowly falling snow mixing with the roadside mud before hurrying forward.
Amanda even somewhat sympathized, in a way, with the Mantle workers, who were driven to despair… But only so far, she definitely did not want to be lumped in with them.
She herself had worked in a job that would make most people pity her lot, as a waitress in a small café, getting paltry pay for her working hours and relying mostly only on tips from customers.
A tip, for which she often had to pretend not to notice the looks on her visitors' faces.
Amanda clearly took after her mother, inheriting both her piercing gaze and her height, and undoubtedly her prominent figure and eye-catching morning sunshine hair. The only reason Amanda ended up as a waitress rather than a model, was the competition and the high threshold for entering the modelling business, and not for a lack of beauty on her part.
However, perhaps when this fiasco with Mantle is resolved, she will try again. Maybe she would try out along with her twin, Lee. Aren't the two beautiful twins exactly what advertisers around the world are looking for?
When this is all over.
Amanda shook her head slightly before she ducked out of her musings, realizing that she had already reached the right address.
Stopping for a second and kicking her boots a couple of times, shaking the snow off of them, Amanda raised her hand, pressing the sign with her mother's name on it. Then after a second, hearing a slight squeak, the door unlocking, she pulled the handle of the front door, taking a step inside.
A couple of flights later, Amanda reached the right floor. Noticing the door already ajar with the smell of something delicious wafting from inside, Amanda frowned slightly as she felt her stomach rumbling.
She had been busing food to customers all day, working around the clock without a lunch break – which was only natural, given that it was lunchtime, when people visited the café that was the peak hour for waiters. Naturally, she was hungry!
After passing the open door, Amanda found herself in the hallway leading inside the three-bedroom flat. Not ideal, but for now, because of the situation, Amanda and Lee were not spending any money to move out of this place, where they had to share a room with a stranger.
“Oh, you’re home already, Amanda? I didn’t hear Sunny unlocking the door.” Looking out of one of the rooms, Amanda's stepfather, her mother's roommate really, Kurt smiled and greeted her with a smile.
“Come on, dinner will be ready soon. Oh, right, Lee's going to be a little late tonight, so can you help me in the meantime?”
Amanda closed the front door behind her and kicked off her shoes before taking a couple of steps inside.
As said, Lee wasn't home yet… But her mother, Sunny, was already cooking in the kitchen – and now years later after they lost their home, Amanda could even say she was waiting for her cooking.
After Sunny had had to re-learn how to cook, that is – it was a long time before Amanda began to like the result of her cooking.
Shaking her head, Amanda shook those thoughts off her mind.
It had all been so long ago that they lost their home, that sometimes Amanda preferred to think it hadn't happened at all…
***
Pain ran through her mind – the pain throbbing somewhere inside her head, as if a searing clot was pulsating as her heartbeat throbbed.
Her eyes stung as the relentless sun bore down on it, and the viscous, acrid mucus flowed down her throat, causing her stomach to contract helplessly in an attempt to expel the vile liquid.
A dry rustling sound flowed from her ears to the inside of her head, its sound grating through her nerves, causing her fragments of consciousness to twitch convulsively in some half-forgotten reflex. Then, her dry mouth was filled with a liquid with a pungent, astringent wooden taste. She coughed it out with a painful writhing, and a few moments later the warm liquid dribbled down her body from her throat, as she reflexively turned to not choke.
A moment, after a second, then a third cough, the liquid was once again pushed down her throat, forcing her to swallow it. Then, the pain was leaving her mind, and the piercing burning light was becoming less harsh.
Another sip, and another, and after a few minutes her body was slowly able to lift her arms.
Her body shifted, so her gaze could see her surroundings.
Once upon a time, this place could be called upscale. Expensive carpet on the floor, custom painted portraits on the walls, crystal carved statues on the sides of the front door. The bed, under the shadow of an expensive canopy, with large windows casting white light into the room, and a chandelier studded with artificial diamonds shimmering in all colors of the rainbow in the light.
But that's how it used to be. Once upon a time long ago.
Now the carpet, woven by Vacuo's masters, was shamefully trying to hide the faded patches of dirty color. In some places, on the contrary, it looked like something had spilled on it, the bleached corners, indicating how hard the servants had tried to hide what had been spilled on this carpet.
Spilled – or expelled?
The once clean panes of glass were misted over with dust, as they had clearly been bypassed by the servants for a long time. The portraits were skewed – and judging by the appearance of one of the portraits, its picture showing an imposing man of about thirty, with gorgeous dark-colored hair and a neat little mustache above his upper lip, had clearly been dropped. With force at that, as the cracked and bent frame around the portrait revealed.
The bed, now clearly bedraggled for long hours, looked like a funeral bed, with the remains of the deceased imprinted in it.
And then there were the bottles… Lots of bottles. Some empty, some nearly full, and some with the last half of a shot remaining at the bottom. The bottles range from the expensive high-end wine to the cheap cognac that even a worker returning from the mine would be ashamed to drink. The cheap swill contained in muddy old bottles with worn labels – or with no labels whatsoever, still holds the remains of a flammable liquid that could barely even be called alcohol.
In the body's hand lay one such bottle – a liter bottle of expensive wine… A bottle from which the body had just taken a sip from.
The body? No, wrong.
The body tried to strain its memory as it came reluctantly, popping up from the depth of its mind like bloated corpses of thoughts, the image making its stomach squirm again.
And the smell! Brothers the smell. It was a combination of the smell of an unwashed body, of sweat, and alcohol with old, very old traces of ammonia and acid.
Vomit and urine, to be exact.
A moment later, a loud blast of pain made the body cringe, as the body’s owner tried in vain to clamp its ears – but the blow was delivered once more, then once more, and once more.
“THAT'S ENOUGH!” The body tried to scream loudly, but only a strangled wheeze escaped its throat.
“Madam, are you up yet?” — A voice came from behind the door.
Madam… Madam… Such a familiar word. Why?
Her body bent again in preparation before a sharp flash of pain pierced her body's mind, making her shudder.
“Yes, I’m awake, I'll be right… out," Willow Schnee managed to wheeze again before lashing out at the bottle again, at the sound of distant footsteps.
Willow Schnee… What have you come to be?
Willow slowly rose to her feet, staggering as she did so, needing to grab the nearby nightstand to stand even for a second. The stability allowed her to take a step to face the door.
Her hair was completely messy, and her clothes smelled like they hadn't been changed in months. Her breath reeked of alcohol and rottenness…
Willow paused for a moment, staring at the foggy, murky glass, before she put her hand back on the bottle and, wincing slightly, opened the door and headed down the corridor.
Atlas was dying before her eyes…
Willow, not even trying to remember exactly when Winter had shown up at Schnee Manor, slowly shuffled her feet.
Willow Schnee illustrated this fact quite well.
