[Atlas Tower – General's Office]
General James Ironwood sits behind his desk, silently watching the array of monitors in front of him. Each one displays real-time data from the massacre in Mantle that occurred just a few hours ago. Fragmented images, incomplete reports, constant visual noise. Despite the chaos, his attention is locked on a specific transmission: a direct video call with his team of specialists.
Winter appears on screen. Behind her, a cordoned-off area serves as the backdrop, marked by security tape and flashing lights. She speaks in a clear tone, standing firm even though the tension shows on her face, hardening her expression more than usual.
"We've examined the scene. It's confirmed, this was Vanta Kreel's hideout. A criminal leader who's been fighting for control over Mantle's lower districts for years."
The angle shifts. Now it's Vine in the frame. Behind him, several soldiers are carrying bodies covered in black sheets. They stack them with precision, one after another, forming a silent row.
"So far we've counted around eighty-five bodies, give or take."
Ironwood narrows his eyes. Vagueness is unacceptable, especially coming from his specialists.
"Give or take?"
Vine nods, without softening his tone or expression.
"Many of the bodies are incomplete. Some mutilated beyond recognition. Others… just aren't whole. It's difficult to get an exact count."
Ironwood doesn't respond. He just nods, eyes fixed on the screen. Deep down, he already knows—the situation is worse than he thought possible.
"Cause of death?" His voice comes out low, restrained, direct. Though inside, he already has a strong suspicion.
Tortuga, another of the specialists, appears on screen. She's bent over one of the bodies as she starts to speak. She rises as she carefully removes her forensic gloves.
"Claw wounds. Bite marks. Deep tears. All very similar to injuries caused by Grimm attacks."
Ironwood takes a deep breath, resting his hand on his chin for a moment.
"Are you saying this was caused by Grimm?"
The feed switches again. Clover is now shown crouched beside a charred fuse box.
"Negative, sir. The fuses were deliberately sabotaged. Everyone was locked inside before the massacre began. This wasn't a Grimm attack."
He answers without hesitation as he steps aside, revealing what's left of the security system.
"The attacker avoided all the cameras. They knew how to move without being seen. Had technical knowledge. This was planned."
Ironwood leans back slightly in his chair, exhaling slowly through his nose. That detail offers no comfort, quite the opposite.
"Any witnesses?"
"Just one. A survivor. They found him under several bodies, in shock. Harriet's questioning him right now, but he's still too shaken to give clear answers."
Ironwood nods silently, eyes still fixed on the screen. From the beginning, the scene was already hard to process, but each new report only worsens the overall picture.
"Anything else I should know?"
"They emptied the safes too. Took everything. Down to the last lien," says Elm as she appears on screen. In the background, the safes are visible—pried open by force, twisted, completely emptied.
"A robbery… disguised as a Grimm attack?" Ironwood frowns almost reflexively at the thought.
He doesn't like the idea, but he'd prefer it. A robbery and a massacre covered up, maybe carried out by a rival criminal gang. Something tangible. Something that fits within a logical framework. That's manageable, even predictable. In a way, it would be almost comforting compared to the alternative: accepting that the Queen Grimm's forces are actively operating inside Mantle.
His train of thought is cut off when Harriet suddenly appears on the transmission.
"Sir," she says urgently, straight to the point, "we have information from the survivor."
Ironwood straightens immediately, bracing himself against the desk.
"Speak, Specialist," he says, his posture reflecting the tension.
"He's still in shock, but we managed to get something coherent."
"Does he know who did it?"
Harriet hesitates. Her expression turns uneasy as she carefully chooses her words.
"Sir… the witness claims it was a Grimm."
Silence. That is exactly the answer Ironwood didn't want to hear.
But Harriet doesn't stop. This time, she continues without hesitation, her voice steady.
"But it wasn't a normal Grimm. He says… it changed shape. That it shifted between a woman and a Grimm creature."
The transmission freezes briefly, and an uncomfortable silence sets in, broken only by Winter.
"It could be someone with a body transformation Semblance," she adds, her tone unchanged. "It's rare… but possible."
Ironwood leans on the edge of the desk, tense, mentally reviewing the implications. He had already considered that possibility, but now it feels too convenient. It could be an unstable individual with a dangerous Semblance… or worse: a direct infiltration from the Queen Grimm's forces.
He doesn't have time for speculation.
"There's more, sir," Harriet cuts in before he can speak. Her tone already signals that what comes next won't be any better.
Ironwood shows no reaction, holding himself in check, though his focus sharpens.
"The witness confirmed the presence of at least four people at the scene during the massacre. All of them capable of using aura. Including Vanta Kreel."
He straightens at once. "What happened to them? There was no report that their bodies were found," he asks, already aware that Vanta's death was never confirmed.
"Their bodies aren't there," Harriet replies. "There's no trace of them among the recovered corpses. We only found blood trails at the back of the building. Everything points to them being taken."
Ironwood closes his eyes for a moment, pressing two fingers to his temple. This was worse than he had anticipated. This wasn't just a common attack. Grimms were involved. And now, someone was selectively taking the bodies of people with aura.
Ozpin needed to know. He couldn't hold this information back any longer.
The Queen Grimm's forces were operating in Mantle—but he still couldn't understand the motive. Why target a criminal gang's base? Why take the dead? What exactly were they looking for?
There was no time to keep speculating. He had to act. Now.
He exhales deeply, preparing to issue the order. "Specialist, your instruc—"
He doesn't finish the sentence. At that moment, all the screens in front of him flicker simultaneously, cutting off every transmission abruptly. A red message, looping endlessly, covers each monitor.
"ALERT: SYSTEM BREACH. ALERT: SYSTEM BREACH."
Ironwood rises to his feet immediately. The chair screeches as it slides backward before crashing to the floor with a sharp thud. But just as he's about to move, the message disappears. As suddenly as it appeared, the screens go completely dark.
"What was that?" he murmurs. The alert came directly from the central command system. Something is very wrong.
He presses the touch panel on his desk, trying to reestablish communication with his specialists. No response. He tries a secondary line. Still nothing. Only static.
Total interference. Communications are completely down.
He frowns, unable to hide his growing unease. Something feels wrong.
He turns toward the door, intending to coordinate directly with the security center, but he only takes two steps before an Atlesian unit blocks his path. It moves without warning, forcing him to stop in his tracks.
"Atlesian unit, step aside."
His voice is firm, direct. But the unit doesn't respond. Instead, it begins playing an automated message in a mechanical tone.
"False alarm detected. Communications are temporarily disabled. All personnel are to remain at their stations while the system reboots. The issue will be resolved shortly."
The message doesn't reassure him. If anything, every word only deepens his suspicion.
"Remain calm. The error will be resolved as soon as possible."
A brief, uncomfortable silence follows the announcement.
"Move." He repeats it more forcefully, more tense. But the unit remains still, blocking his way.
And then he feels it—a faint vibration beneath his feet, followed by a distant rumble. He doesn't hear it clearly… but he sees it.
From his office, through the tower's large window, Ironwood catches sight of an orange glow rising over the city of Atlas. It's not just one. Multiple explosions erupt across the skyline. Several points of fire flare between the buildings.
And that's not all.
Several Bullheads are descending. Too many. They're landing right in the middle of the city—in zones where they shouldn't even be flying over.
It takes him no time at all to understand what's happening.
The city is under attack.
Without hesitation, he draws his weapon and fires straight into the core of the Atlesian unit in front of him. The round punches through the casing with a sharp crack, and the robot's torso collapses, letting out a metallic clatter before it hits the floor.
There's no doubt now. The intrusion alert was real. The Atlesian units have been compromised.
He strides toward the door at a fast pace, but as soon as it opens, an entire squad of Atlesian robots is waiting on the other side. All of them armed. All of them aiming at him.
They fire instantly.
Ironwood activates his aura just in time. The first shots bounce off it as he retreats, returning fire with his revolver and trying to find room to maneuver. But then, the room shifts into emergency mode. The windows seal behind thick metal barriers, and the lighting switches to a pulsing red.
The door slams shut behind the units that entered, all of them raising their rifles at once.
Ironwood doesn't flinch.
He knows these units well. Under normal conditions, none of them would pose a real threat to him. He shoots the closest one without hesitation.
But something goes wrong.
The shot is dead on… and the unit dodges. Its movement is far too fast, too unnatural.
He frowns in disbelief. That's not normal. They're not supposed to be able to do that.
They've been reprogrammed somehow... enhanced. Every Atlesian unit moves in unison, shifting formations, working in perfect coordination as they open fire simultaneously.
Ironwood dodges with effort, shielding himself with his aura while firing back in steady bursts. But the units are gaining ground. They don't overexpose themselves. They don't advance randomly. They're fighting with strategy.
And the more time passes, the more he realizes—they're not trying to kill him. All the Atlesian units are holding back. Staying defensive.
And then he understands.
They're not trying to kill him. Whoever sent them knew that wouldn't work. They're here to stall him, to waste his time.
While outside… the city is under attack.
"Agh!" he growls through clenched teeth, furious.
He pushes harder. Fires nonstop, burst after burst, moving quickly between cover points in the room. He can't stay here. He can't afford to lose another second.
He has to get out. Regain control. As soon as possible.
[City of Mantle – Lower Districts]
"Specialists, your orders—" the general begins to say before the transmission abruptly cuts off, the message ending mid-sentence without warning.
Winter reacts instantly. She tries to reconnect the signal through her scroll, but there's no response. No image, no sound. She quickly looks up and sees Clover approaching with a serious expression.
"Can you get through to the general?" she asks, hoping the issue is only with her device.
But he shakes his head. Winter frowns. The connection shouldn't just drop like that without a reason. But only a few minutes pass before the communications come back online; this time, audio only. No image.
"There was an issue in the central command room. Communications will be down temporarily," says the general's voice. Although it's his, it sounds distorted, affected by interference.
"Understood!" the specialists respond in unison.
Winter feels a slight sense of relief hearing him again. "We await orders, sir."
At that moment, the transmission extends to all hunters and soldiers deployed across Mantle. The order comes through clearly:
"All soldiers are to regroup in the lower districts. Hold that position until further notice."
"What?!" Winter exclaims, louder than she intended. She steps forward. "General, with all due respect, this isn't a sound decision. If we regroup everyone in one place, we'll lose our strategic coverage. We need to continue the search—"
"SPECIALIST SCHNEE!"
The general's voice booms with authority, cutting off any attempt at argument.
"You will all follow my orders."
Winter doesn't respond. Not yet. Just then, Harriet arrives, escorting the rescued witness. Several Atlesian units position themselves nearby, silently surrounding her. The general's voice comes through again.
"In addition, hand the witness over to the Atlesian units. They will escort him back to Atlas for protection and interrogation."
"General…" Harriet frowns in protest. She had already begun the interrogation and was making progress.
"Specialist Harriet! Follow the instructions," he orders without hesitation.
Harriet steps back reluctantly, watching as two Atlesian units guide the witness toward a Bullhead descending between the buildings.
Winter stands motionless. She watches silently as soldiers and hunters arrive one after another, gathering in the designated zone. She can't shake the uncomfortable feeling in her chest. Helplessness. She knows something isn't right. And even if it's the general giving the orders, she can't stay silent.
"General, I'm concerned this may not be the right call," she says. Her voice trembles slightly, but she holds it steady.
"Relax, Winter. You don't need to worry about anything. Everything will be fine… I'll take care of it all," he replies, his tone soft, almost reassuring.
A tense silence takes over the channel. No one says anything. The specialists exchange quick, uneasy glances. Something's wrong.
"You're not the General… are you?" Tortuga asks, though they all already know the answer. The General would never have told them to relax.
Another silence follows, longer, heavier.
And then, the voice on the other end of the comms returns.
"Ah… this would've been so much easier if you'd just stayed still." The voice no longer tries to sound authoritative. It's tired, slow… almost fading.
Everyone freezes at the sound of it.
"Recover the witness!" Clover shouts, reacting instantly.
They all move at once. But it's too late. The lights on the Atlesian units shift, glowing a sharp yellow. And in just one second… Bang! Bang! Both units fire on the witness. The body drops like a sack to the ground.
"No!" Winter yells, trying to move forward, but Elm is faster—she crosses the distance in a flash and crushes both units with sheer force. Vine kneels beside the body, checking quickly… and shakes his head. The witness is dead. Never stood a chance.
Winter doesn't need anyone to explain what just happened.
The comms blackout, the witness murdered by Atlesian units under their direct command chain… It all adds up. This wasn't a technical glitch. It was an infiltration.
The central command room has been compromised.
"Specialists, move. The tower is under attack," Winter orders without hesitation. Her voice is steady, and everyone reacts at once, sprinting toward the nearest Bullhead.
But just as they're about to board, the vehicle's lights flash to the same yellow as the Atlesian units. The doors slam shut, and without warning, the aircraft lifts off.
"Soldier!" Winter shouts toward the pilot, stepping forward with a frown. "Land that ship now!"
She stops cold when Tortuga urgently points toward the cockpit. Inside, the operator is slamming on the glass in panic, unable to regain control. The Bullhead's been compromised too, she realizes as she watches it quickly fly off.
And it's not the only one. All nearby Bullheads follow suit. Doors sealing, rising without pilots, abandoning the area. Trucks, transports—everything that could've been used for retreat or evacuation… starts moving on its own, no driver in sight.
The entire system has been hijacked. It was a trap.
They were pulled away from the tower… and now they were stranded in Mantle, while the real attack was happening in Atlas.
Only Vine's voice pulls her out of her thoughts.
"Look," he says, quiet but firm, pointing toward the industrial sector.
Winter follows his gaze. In the distance, numerous Bullheads are flying in formation toward that zone, while others veer off toward different parts of the city. Explosions are already blooming—flashes of fire lighting up various districts.
Winter shook her head. There was no time to mourn what couldn't be changed.
"Harriet!" she ordered sharply. "Inform the Huntsmen—have them organize the soldiers. The city of Mantle is under attack!"
Without waiting for confirmation, she turned to the rest of the specialists.
"The rest of you, with me!" she said, already breaking into a full sprint toward the factories. The group followed instantly, staying close behind. It didn't take them long to arrive, but even with their speed, the scene that greeted them caught them off guard.
Atlesian units were rushing in groups toward the Dust processing facilities. They broke windows, forced doors, moving with purpose, relentless and precise.
And almost immediately, they began emerging again, carrying huge metal crates filled with Dust, which they stacked quickly inside the Bullheads. As soon as one was full, it took off without delay.
Winter froze for a few seconds, staring in disbelief.
The robots were looting the factories.
The explosions they'd seen from afar… they were likely doing the same in other parts of Mantle.
"Stop the robots!" she shouted, charging forward without a second thought.
The rest moved in sync, attacking alongside her. But they barely made it a few meters before one of the robots hurled a crate of Dust directly at the group. Before they could react, another unit shot the crate mid-air.
The explosion was immediate.
The blast sent them flying back, forcing them to shield themselves as a ringing pierced their ears. Flames spread fast, climbing the interior walls of the complex and wrapping around parts of the structure.
The Atlesian units didn't stop. They ignored the fire entirely, marching straight through the blaze, hauling as much Dust as they could while Bullheads kept descending one after another, picking up every load before taking off instantly.
More explosions echoed across the city, rumbling in the distance.
Winter clenched her fists. They couldn't all stay here. Defending just one factory was useless if the others were left exposed. There was no way to know how many more were being looted, and clearly, this was a citywide assault.
Staying in one place would be a mistake.
She looked at the team, one by one. "Spread out across the city. Protect the civilians and destroy any Atlesian units you find. I'll stay behind to defend the factories."
Tortuga and Elm exchanged a quick glance. Elm frowned, crossing her arms just briefly before speaking.
"With all due respect… I don't think you can protect all of them alone…"
But before she could finish the sentence, Winter had already moved ahead. Without a word, she raised her rapier and, with a single motion, summoned a massive glyph glowing brightly in the air, vibrant and humming with energy.
The glyph flared brightly, and within seconds, every nearby Atlesian unit was dragged toward it—spinning violently until they were crushed against one another. The dense mass of metal dropped to the ground with a heavy, echoing thud.
Elm said nothing. She just let out a soft huff and gave a resigned nod.
"Well… I guess she can."
"Let's move!" Tortuga shouted, and in an instant, they all took off, wasting no time.
Winter watched them go for only a breath. Then, without slowing, she launched herself forward using a speed glyph, racing through the streets of the industrial district. She couldn't afford to slow down. Every second mattered. Every second meant more Atlesian units stealing Dust, more risk of explosions, more damage piling up.
She reached the next plant without pausing and immediately conjured another suspended magnetic glyph. The nearby units barely had time to turn toward her before they were yanked violently into the air, spinning uncontrollably and crashing into one another. The new sphere of mangled metal slammed into the ground with a harsh metallic crash.
"I'll have to thank Daniel later," she muttered under her breath, just barely audible over the constant hum of wind and alarms.
She didn't stop.
She leapt over pipes, slid down rusted ramps, and used glyphs as makeshift platforms to gain height between buildings. Every time she detected the slightest metallic movement—on rooftops or at ground level—she launched another glyph. She neutralized the robots before they could escape with a single crate of Dust.
Explosions continued rumbling in the distance, shaking the air with muffled shockwaves. But Winter pressed on. She wouldn't let them take everything. Not while she was here.
[Atlas Tower – Central Command Room]
Daniel stood frozen in the middle of the control room, with Aegis perched on his head while a bead of sweat slowly, uncomfortably, rolled down his temple. Under normal circumstances, he'd be celebrating. A perfect infiltration of Atlas Tower? That was definitely something worth bragging about.
But now… well, now there was an Atlesian unit with its cold metal hand firmly gripping his testicles.
"Please… turn on. Please turn on…" he begged inwardly, clenching his teeth as he tried to activate his Haki. He focused it, forced it, mentally launched it toward that very specific spot. But nothing. He didn't have the control to direct it with that level of precision. Not yet.
"Did you know Atlesian units have hidden blades in their palms?" GLaDOS's voice echoed through the room, mocking, almost playful.
Daniel swallowed hard.
"Fascinating! Truly fascinating!" he replied through gritted teeth, smiling like a man on death row.
"Why so scared? I'm fairly certain that if I cut yours off... they'll grow back," GLaDOS added, sounding genuinely curious.
"No, no, no, no, no..." he whispered, eyes wide as he looked up toward the ceiling, his voice cracking slightly.
He couldn't help it, he looked skyward, as if salvation might descend from above.
"God… save me…" he thought desperately.
And right then, his interface activated. A window popped up in his vision, floating clearly in front of him. The message was short. Simple. Direct.
[No]
-//-
I've got a bunch of AI-generated images I'm gonna start uploading; won't say what they're for or why I made them, but they are (or were) related to the story.
[Image]
Author's note:
I swear to God this took me forever to write. Not because I didn't know what to say—oh no, the opposite. I wrote so much that the draft ended up being around 20,000 words. And I was like: I AM NOT WRITING THAT MUCH.
Especially since it was all just Mantle and Atlas going to hell, with subplots involving Weiss, Neon, Kat… and I thought: Mmhmm, this is getting heavy. People probably won't even like it.
So I decided to speed things up a bit, 'cause otherwise this arc would've dragged on forever.
I crammed all the important stuff into this part, and next chapter we're jumping into more exciting stuff again.
This whole Atlas saga started because—like 35 chapters ago—someone pointed out that the protagonist could sell the blueprints to Atlas.
I don't think that person's still around… but hey, leave your suggestions anyway. They might inspire me to write cooler stuff.
Anyway…
Kisses and Sex— I mean, Hugs! 💋