Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first thing Whitley always remembered was the sky. It wasn't beautiful, it wasn't full of stars, and it wasn't even cloudy. All that existed, all that it was, was dark. It permeated every shadow, every facet of the streets of Mantle. It was probably an omen, looking back on it. An omen for the tragedy was about to occur.

In front of him, only by inches, was his Uncle Warden and Aunt Wisteria. They had brought him down to Mantle, a momentary celebration of an occasion Whitley only faintly recalled. All that mattered is that his Uncle had found a reason to force Father to give the boy a break. Just a tiny break from those boring duties, from that that cold house, from being abandoned. Oh, it hadn't happened yet, but even then the boy knew it was coming. That it was happening.

The means that they celebrated was simple—A night out to eat with a close friend of Warden's while enjoying momentary festivities. It wasn't much, but it meant the world to a boy starved of affection. Walking in-between them, Whitley was on his way home. He didn't want to go, he never wanted to leave his Uncle's care, but he knew the wrath his father would unleash if he voiced such an opinion. So he was determined to enjoy every second while he still could, even as it was drifting away.

None of them saw it coming. As they turned the corner, a man in what amounted to a ratty trench coat and ripped jeans stood in front of them. Before they could even blink, he had drawn a gun on them. At first, Whitley thought it was a Faunus. Mantle was full of them, many wronged by Jacques, and at a glance the dirt that caked his skin looked like stripes. It was easy to think this was someone who wanted revenge. But as his skin rippled, and the dirt cracked, Whitley noticed that the street punk's eyes held no recognition. All he saw were two wallets who strolled into the unsavory part of town.

"Son, you don't have to do this." Warden stated as he put his hands up, trying to talk him down, making himself the focus to take attention away from Whitley and Wisteria. He didn't need to—The Schnee Semblance and his overwhelming physicality made it easy, especially with Aura. It was just his Uncle's nature, his kindness, that compelled him to speak.

"Y-you don't understand! I got d-debts! Debts I NEED to pay if I wanna live!" The street punk raged, waving his handgun around.

"I understand that. I do. But you don't have to do this. I'll personally give you the money, and extra, without a second thought if you just put the gun down."

For a moment, it almost looked like it worked. The Schnee boy could see the thoughts and emotions conflict inside him, and for a second he almost put the gun down. Then that moment of reason, of logic, fled away as insecurity and fear took hold.

"I can't trust you! So just do what I say! Hand over your cash, and no one gets hurt!" He commanded, steeling his gaze as he pointed the weapon again.

"Okay," the feminine voice of Whitley's Aunt cut in, and she went down to grab her purse, to listen to orders. But Warden's taking of all the man's attention had worked against him, and instead of registering her words, all he saw was Wisteria's hands going into her bags to bring out something. Reflex took over.

BANG!

He pulled the trigger, and Wisteria cried out as the bullet met her dead in the chest, causing her white and blue dress to be flooded with red. She fell forward, her pearl necklace coming apart and clacking on the floor. Time seemed to slow as the other two Schnees watched in horror.

When at his best, or even at his most awful off day, Warden could've easily handled the street punk. But in the middle of watching his wife die? All combat ability, even that of instinctively holding up his passive Aura field for defense, had been destroyed by the cold and drowning dread that flooded his bones. That's all the weakness the man with the gun needed to up his kill count from "one" to "two."

"WISTERIA-"

Reflex took over at the sound of his voice.

BANG!

Bullet casings clinked on the dirty streets of Mantle, and the last Schnee with a Heart died that day. Crying out for his Uncle, he leapt forward to try and catch the body of the man he had admired since youth. However, he was as naught but a child. His efforts were in vain, and the light in Warden Schnee's eyes, which had been so full of cheer, cheer he had inherited from his father, withered away.

The street punks eyes widened in surprise at what he'd done. Looking side to side in fear, the now faceless man—Because how could Whitley ever remember such a face when the sight of his dead relatives dominated his vision? With the way their blood rippled and warped, coating his fingers, his clothes, and his snow white hair? With the smell of cast iron, of the still living dead filling his nostrils? With the sensation of white hot rage and sorrow taking form and sliding down his cheeks as he felt dirt clung to his weeping body? With the way he could taste the essence of death in the air, suffusing onto his tongue and tainting the flavor of anything he'd ever eat?—Took the lien that Wisteria and Warden had, as well as a few valuables, and ran away. Leaving little Whitley Schnee alone on his knees. Abandoned. Again.

The last thing Whitley always remembers is the Bat. Smelling a fresh kill, a freshly created corpse, swooping down and biting into the newly made carcasses, sapping them of the blood they were leaking. It filled every inch of his vision, every inch of who he was, and every inch of his future. In it's cold, dark eyes. He saw himself. He saw the abyss. And he didn't blink.


---- NINE YEARS LATER —


Footsteps echoed the halls of the Manor he called home, Whitley moved with all the grace and fluidity expected of a Schnee. His shoes left a soft but resounding sound through the corridor, signaling a presence that was non-combative but impossible to miss, forcing him to be the center of attention. To be the presence you deferred to, naturally, intellectually. The walk of someone who was just inordinately important.

It was at that moment his sister, bless her heart, stormed into that wing of the house. It more than just audible, it was demanding, forceful, and raging. Clearly, Weiss was on the warpath. As she stomped in her heels, she looked around with a glare that radiated only menace before she found the source of her ire. Given the way her eyes narrowed and she moved from "random raging" to "focused fury," apparently it was him.

It didn't take long for her to make her way over to him. Crossing her arms, she looked him directly in the eyes with what can only be confusion and irritation.

"Why?!" She demanded.

"Why what, dear sister?" The Schnee boy asked coolly, letting his hand come up from behind him, motioning for her to—In his father's words—stop being a moron and actually articulate her thoughts.

"Why did you convince Father to send me to Beacon?" Weiss clarified through gritted teeth.

"Was that not what you wanted? To leave for Beacon? I was quite sure it was the case, but if I got it wrong, apologies-" Whitley replied "innocently," with a knowing smile on his face.

"You KNOW that's not what I meant. I obviously want to go to Beacon. It's no secret. But that doesn't explain why you helped. What's your angle?"

"My…angle? My sister, I don't quite understand. I just wanted to do this out of the kindness of my heart." Almost mocking, but not quite.

"I know you Whitley! You always have an angle." She doubled down on the accusation.

"Why, you've got the totally wrong idea." He says smugly, with a hint of faux shock and hurt for good measure. "I just happened to realize that there are a litany of mines we don't have access to near Vale, and that your stay at Beacon could be a valuable way to have a Schnee there as representative to acquire those mines. After all, our acquiring of Radian's and their deposits of Space Dust was purely a stroke of luck caused by our Father in the momentary weak transitional period between Hawthorne and Ironwood. That influence is great, having plundered and benefited from the material and technology within, but it didn't help us establish enough of a foothold within Vale to create a new stronghold of our power outside Atlas. It couldn't of—Too much spending and power was needed to accommodate the findings there. But now, after the Dust has settled…" Whitley trailed off, for her to finish his thought.

"…They're vulnerable." She said breathily as the girl immediately caught on. "They're not only vulnerable, but untouched because of the rebuilding effort caused by that widespread meteor shower."

"Precisely. So if we attempted it, we'd have an immense political foothold. Enough that Father might be able to act as what is essentially as Shadow Councilmember not on just one Council, but two." Whitley continued as he started to circle her. "Of course, we couldn't just send anyone. We need one of our faces to properly apply political pressure. Combine that with the fact I pointed out that this is a great opportunity to work as a learning experience for you, and Father was ready to change his tune." The fifteen year old finished, smirking.

"Learning experience?" Weiss asked, a sick look starting to grow on her face.

"Oh please, Weiss, let's not pretend you actually understand the true mechanics of our company. You're off to galavant as a barbarian. If you're to inherit the company, you need to prove you can actually make it work as Heir. I mean, I'm not Heir yet and I've already made the company bigger than Father already dreamed—And he dreams quite large—Through my various investments, advisory, and actual movements within the company. You've swung a metal stick and claimed that makes you more worthy. You're simply untested and brought back zero profits." Whitley was no longer looking at her, instead inspecting his nails.

"So that's your angle, then. A test from Father to meet his expectations, and if I fail…if I fail you become Heir…" Weiss states aloud as her eyes filled with realization. "…You…you…!"

"Nothing quite so dramatic, Weiss. I've set no terms, but I imagine your results will affect Father's decision-making." Looking at his sister with his calculating eyes. "Don't you agree?"

The growing fury on Weiss' face couldn't be understated, and no longer having the self control to deal with her brother without potentially exploiting her physical ability—Because if she did her Father would surely have words with her and she could suffer serious consequences—She stomped past him to stew in her anger and scheme herself.

Once he was certain that Weiss was unable to see or hear him, he turned to the corner of the corridor and spoke softly.

"You can come out now, Klein."

"Finally. It was starting to become a bit of a bother to maintain incognito while holding in a sneeze, sir." The butler responded as he stepped out from hiding, strolling forward at a brisk pace to stand at attention.

"Oh? The Great Klein, Head Butler of the Schnee Estate has tasks even difficult for him?" The teen jested as he put his hands behind his back again.

"Yes, even I have my limits. You won't succeed, by the way." Klein merely rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

"Succeed in what, Klein?" He asked, but he knew the answer.

"In trying to get me not to pry. Why didn't you tell her the truth, Master Whitley? Why did you lie?"

"I didn't lie. I merely explained my argument to Father and let her draw her own conclusions." The snow haired boy said defensively, as if that was much better.

"And yet, I notice you didn't correct them. You let her assume the worst, purposely weaved your reason within condescension, and made it near impossible for her to see beyond what you told her." Klein pressed, not letting up.

With a sigh, Whitley gave in somewhat. Though, only somewhat.

"And what would I tell her, Klein? That I did it to genuinely help her, even as she knowingly leaves me HERE, alone?"

Klein winced, but nodded.

"As if she'll believe such…such…rubbish. Besides, her being gone is good. Gives me more control over the Manor, more of a voice in my Father's ear, and—"

"More opportunities for your 'night-time strolling,' I presume." Klein snarked. "Whatever you need to tell yourself, sir."

"Shut it, Klein. Just attend to my sister before she loses herself to a tantrum. And prepare the car."

"The white or Black car, sir?" The butler asked with an air of exasperation.

"The Black one. I believe I have heard a bit of the criminal element gathering for a drug deal in the…investigation…we ran on my last night-time stroll, and I want to stay out of sight so I don't fall into an unscrupulous crowd." Whitley replied as he looked down the hall.

"Of course, sir. I have always heard the unscrupulous types shy away from 'dark colored vehicles.'"

The youngest Scion of the Schnee family stalked towards the computer in his secret headquarters as the Sun began to set, Klein sitting at attention at his left side, pressing buttons on the keyboard. He was bringing up various articles, classified information Atlas thought they'd kept under wraps, and more. It was clear that whatever this headquarters was for, it was all under the table.

And what a headquarters it was. It was built into a cavern, doused in the rich shadows of night, with platforms built into and around the structure. The light of the large computer and the scant bulbs illuminated the cave, but it was only a stopgap that merely shaped the shrouds of darkness. It did not get rid of them. To the back lay a set of suits, behind metal and glass, standing a silent vigil—Ready to be used at any time. Stretched to the side was an entire area dedicated to the runway and parking spot of various vehicles, each looking as if midnight was made physical. Off to a corner were the remnants of technology, weapons, and Whitley's own personally made devices on a desk covered with state of the art engineering equipment. Next to that was what effectively was a lab, with top of the line resources and work for chemistry. It went on and on. A seemingly endless space that had an area dedicated for each skill that the Schnee had mastered. Combat, forensics, medicine, and more.

None of that was Whitley's focus, though. Instead he stood behind Klein and spoke with a new edge to his voice. As if he was putting the concept of fear itself into his words.

"Any information on the blue and red streak in Vale?" The snow haired teen inquired.

"Yes, sir. It's been spotted again. Your theory on whatever it is leaving sizable impressions on airspace through vibration was spot on. We can triangulate some manner of location, now, if you want." Klein answered dutifully.

Whitley hummed, before sounding his dissent.

"No. Whatever it is seems to be helping people. I have no reason to bother. Besides, it's not in Atlas or Mantle. It's not encroaching on my city, and nor am I on it. Do keep an eye on reports, though."

"Yes, Master Whitley. Though I noticed something interesting."

"Oh?"

"It's first flight pattern, sighting and save…it happened the same day you first went out on patrol. This heroic streak and your dark persona started in parallel."

"Interesting. Concerning. But not incriminating. Could be a coincidence." Whitley reasoned out loud as he strolled over to the computer and pressed a button, causing a shift in the floor.

"I thought you don't believe in coincidence, sir?"

"I don't." The teen watched as the cave did as expected, the floors finishing their movement and bringing Whitley's current suit up to him for him to change into. "But I can't focus on something like that while crime still infests my city."

It took only moments, but what sold in the place of Whitley Schnee was replaced by something…else. Somewhat taller, thicker, and his white dress clothes were totally replaced with a rippling set of grays and blacks. Under the cowl and pointed ears was still the teen, but to all that gazed upon him in the cold night of Atlas, they'd only see the abyss. They'd only see the Bat.

Covered head to toe in a suit holding dozens of gadgets with their own unique purposes, the Bat clenched his fist as he turned around.

"I took the liberty of preparing the car like you asked, sir." Klein interjected, standing next to the vehicle in question. Though calling it a car was…generous. It was more like a weapon of mass destruction on wheels, compactified, given a sleek form that allowed it to also move at impossible speeds, and was designed to give nightmares to those who all gazed upon its vesiage. "I believe you mentioned something about a drug bust?"

"Thank you, Klein. And I did. There's a drug deal that's supposed to go down near the square. Something new, something dangerous—Potentially filled with Dust, they're pushing on the streets, trying to get the impoverished Faunus hooked, because population centers of them are the only areas they're selling. After that, I'll be on patrol."

"Mm. Do try to be back before five, sir. It would be incredibly difficult to explain to your family why you've gone missing."

"Tch. As if they'd notice."

"They're more perceptive than you realize…" Klein began, but the Bat dismissed him. "If you say so, sir."

The Dark Knight merely rolled his neck and slipped into the Batmobile, putting his hands on the steering wheel. The plates of the floor started sliding and shifting again, lining up the car to be driven off into the blackened streets of Mantle. The HUD of the vehicle lit up where the radio would have been, an advanced version of the application of SmartScroll technology being used as a touchscreen that interfaced and controlled every bit of the Bat's unholy hot rod. Said hot rod's thrusters and afterburners started to reveal their immense power as it blasted off down the runway, taking off into the unknown.

Tom was a fairly normal guy, in his own opinion. Sure, he was on the wrong side of the law, but at this point, who in Mantle wasn't? The place was a shithole, and he's learned in it that the only way to get ahead in life wasn't to run faster, harder, or longer than anyone else. It was tripping others, throwing 'em down, and generally shooting others in legs so you could get a better position in the pointless race called 'Life.' So when he'd heard that some new gang was hiring, he was interested. When he heard they were selling drugs—Massively profitable business? He'd been ready to sign up. When he was told that drug was some new Dust-infused hit that would shakeup the market and rank in BIG money? Consider him already signed up as of three weeks before the gang even started.

Of course, he wasn't anyone special within the group. The guy who made the stuff was an anonymous source, but Tom figured that made sense. Who wants to endanger the egghead that makes the profitable product? The leader was someone he'd never heard before, but they were allegedly ex-Atlas military and founded their little group, alongside a few major cronies who left the military with him. Add on that he joined a bit late and the number twos of the cronies and whatnot were really each other, and Tom was really just a grunt. A soon to be very well paid grunt, mind you, but still just a grunt nonetheless.

That meant his job, really, was just to be a hired gun. He'd stand to the side, look tough, their gang would sell to the other gang, (Tom had no idea what they were about), for just a decent percentage of the profits funneling back to them when they make money off selling the stuff to whatever dumb fuckin' animal decided to try the stuff. That's not to say he wasn't capable of getting in and getting dirty, but given there was no bad blood, there's no real reason for things to go off track. Events like these were typically anticlimactic, despite what the movies may tell ya.

Which is why, as everyone gathered around to finally get this over with, including Alex—One of the ex-military leaders—it was so utterly surprising when all the lights suddenly shut off, leaving everyone confused and in the dark. Immediately, weapons were drawn.

"Betraying us on our first deal?! We won't forget this!" Tom cried, pointing his firearm at the last place he remembered seeing the rival gang.

"This wasn't us! We thought YOU were betraying us!" Someone from the rival gang shouted back, which made Tom pause. This wasn't either of them? Then who-?

Before he could finish that thought, the warehouse was filled back up with light. Natural light, illuminating small fractions of the location of their drug deal, helpfully provided by the Shattered Moon. Tom slowly backed away, looking side to side trying to make sure nothing caught him unawares. Immediately, one of Tom's allies screamed and was dragged off into the darkness. All that could be heard after was a sickening crunch.

On alert, Tom immediately sped up his backwards walk towards the exit. As soon as he turned, something whisked by, leaving only the sound of cloth flapping, causing a man to disappear before his very eyes.

SNAP.

"Shit, shit…we gotta move, we gotta get out of here!" Tom shouted to whoever remained. He didn't imagine there were very many. Turning around, he just bolted. Attempting to run off. Alas, it wasn't meant to be.

Suddenly, whatever had been destroying them, the thing that had decimated them in the dark was finally in front of him, in the light—And it was horrifying. Impossibly tall, impossibly wide, with skin made of coal and eyes made of liquid ivory. Having no better option, Tom fired his gun at it, to see if he could stun it. To see if it was human.

The bullet stopped dead. There was no impact. It did not stumble. It didn't even flare an Aura. It was shaped like a man but…it lacked a Soul. Before he could contemplate the fact a Soulless Monster was in front of him, its clawed hand jutted out and gripped him by the throat, lifting him off the floor. From this view, he could see that everyone had been beaten. Broken. He was the last one left. Two entire gangs, crushed in moments by some incomprehensible creature.

"Who is your supplier?" The creature asked with a cutting voice—One so precise and so cultivated to terrify it felt like it was dissecting his brain from the inside out.

"W-what?" Tom asked. He felt he could be excused in his confusion. Often, Grimm don't TALK. Two, Grimm USUALLY aren't looking for high class drugs.

"Your supplier for your drugs. Tell me who they are."

"I-I don't know man, I don't know! I'm just a hired gun!"

"I don't believe you." It reached out with its other, gnarled hand and grabbed Tom's ring finger. The man FELT it shatter. He screamed and cried out in pain.

"I'M TELLING THE TRUTH! I'M TELLING THE TRRRUTH! I SWEAR!" Tom tried to convince it, but it shattered ANOTHER

"Then I suppose you'll have to give me some information that convinces me to stop. After all, you have eight more fingers, ten toes, and twenty-four ribs. So many different things for me to break…"

"O-OKAY, OKAY!" Panting, Tom looked into the eyes of the monster and gulped. "I was honest before. I-I don't know. But I know WHERE they go for pickup. It's near the old place that Atlas used to use as a port in Mantle before they upgraded after the Revolution. They go there every Friday. I promise." He was essentially begging for his life now, but the man wasn't ashamed to say that.

The monster stared him in the eyes for what felt like hours, even if it was only seconds, analyzing him for falsehood. Once it found none, it dropped him.

"T-thank you! Thank you!" Tom repeated over and over as he cradled his hand, crying, just glad to keep his life. Then the monster bent down.

"Remember this, Tom. I know where you live. Where you work. I even have your credit card number. You cannot hide from me, Tom. You cannot hide from the Dark. If I find you have lied, or committed another crime…I will find you."

Tom froze, his blood going cold as his body burned hot, his already rising fear going critical. I-it knew what? It…oh god. Oh GOD. It took all of his energy to even just start rocking as he nodded in terror. Letting his voice softly break the silence, he let the question that had been burning his mind since he laid eyes upon it—Literally minutes ago—As he watched it walk away. It answered, right before dematerializing before his very eyes.

"W-what are you?"

"I'm Batman."

Chapter Text

Whitley wasn't the most intimidating person on the planet—Or well, he was, just not as his public face—So he unfortunately had to deal with the irritating children of this gala as seriously as he dealt with his father. Which wasn't great, because having to deal with them was just as annoying. In fact, moreso. But he couldn't let a single iota of his vehement displeasure touch his features, so he maintained it all. The charming smile, the ever polite tone, and aura of perfected smugness. (Just enough that you recognize yourself as an inferior individual, but reigned in enough it sounds genuinely nice that if you act on it in any way you're the asshole and he was justified in exploiting his wealth against you. The Jacques Schnee person expression.)

So it was with great (veiled) disgust that he stalked and strolled over to various visitors and guests. Whitley exchanged pleasantries, shared "private" details about their companies that would "absolutely" lead to a mutually deal in the future, and generally spoke at each other. Not to each other—Never that—But at each other. Because all of them were wearing masks at this event. The only difference is Whitley's was layered, hiding multiple identities within each other, whereas everyone else was hiding a singular mask. It was at that thought he noticed her.

Black hair, golden eyes, and fair skin. She was a vision sent by the divine, and she topped off the look with a stunning midnight Mistralian dress—Hugging her frame and accentuating her bountiful curves. She was walking sex appeal, the height of desirable. But that's not why he was drawn to her. It'd be easy to say he wasn't so shallow that those features would affect him so, based on her features. There was no denying she was attractive, of course, but it was totally irrelevant compared to what captured his attention. It was the look in her amber gaze. The understanding of suffering, the control she had over it…the fact she was wearing a layered mask. Like him.

Walking over casually, he raised a brow as he began to speak.

"You're a face I don't recognize, miss…?"

"Autumn. Ashley Autumn." She replied in a sultry voice, cultivated to tantalize. Shifting forward a tad, it was a clear ploy to leverage her body in conversation. The Schnee didn't let it affect him.

"Miss Autumn. For what reason does my father and I owe the pleasure of your appearance? You're not of standard Atlesian upper crust, and not often do those who are strangers to the Schnee get invited to such events." The boy noted as stepped to the side, taking the spot next to her against the wall. As he did, he studied her features—Constantly.

"Ah. I'm not here for anything in Atlas you can provide—"

Lie.

"—I'm here under permission of Headmaster Lionheart to act as a sort of…security for the party."

Truth.

Whitley nodded, as if convinced. To be fair, he partially was, like the partial truth she gave.

"I see. To think that we have a Huntress attending our little gala. I'm honored. Can I get you a drink?" The teen asked as he tilted his head and curled a brow, noticing interesting rivets along her dress, the lining acting as a great contrast to the black by acting as a lighter shade, as well as complimenting her eyes. He recognized that sheen.

"To refuse one such as you would be the epitome of rude, no?" Autumn said with a faux smile, one that was just as fake as his own suave expression, one that hadn't even been broken by his analysis.

"Don't be so presumptuous. All of Remnant benefits from your sacrifice and efforts. If anything, we would be rude to deny you something." The snow haired boy replied as he made a gesture, and immediately a servant came forward to attend them. "What tickles your fancy?"

After a moment of thought, Autumn turned to the servant, she placed her order. You can tell a lot about what someone orders. Experience with the drinks, upper class society, and more importantly, how inebriated one wanted to be.

"I'd like the D'Arc Mistralian Chartreuse, preferably from a year after the Great War started but before the tide turning Battle of Chinomachi." She said softly, her gaze not leaving Whitley's and still not looking at him all the same.

Her choice was…interesting. Strong, but that made sense. Aura helped protect against alcohol, poison, and general toxins, so stronger drinks were needed for Huntresses to really feel…anything at all when they consumed. That said, it wasn't too strong, so for her it would at best be a small effect. Something that would make absolute sense given her position as security. Mistralian preference also fit the truth she implied, (because anyone can be assigned a job by Lionheart), to be her origin. However, what stuck out the most was the practicality of the order and her reaction to it. Not in that it was so exact—She literally gave a range of years—But in that it prioritized flavor and enjoyment over posterity, whilst also being yet so refined it was oozing posterity anyway. No one could call her out on her choice. In fact, they'd look dumb if they did. The reaction was just as striking, the wistful look in her eyes. Not of desire to return to a different time, but a nostalgia, a remembrance of pain she'd conquered. Her eyes glazed a bit, starting to lack focus.

"Interesting. I'm more partial to the Valean D'Arc variety. I'm of the understanding the climates yield a more flavorful berry, resulting in its different and more varied effect on the tongue." Whitley chimed, breaking her reverie and focusing back on him. "Though, don't let anyone know that. If I admit anything other than Atlesian supremacy, I'm considered a traitor to my nation." The teen jests.

"Ah. Well don't worry, your secret is safe with me, Mr. Schnee." Autumn chuckled, her faux smile becoming a bit more…real. Not completely, but a layer of her mask had come undone.

"I'm glad I have someone so trustworthy at my side." Whitley said with a wry grin. "So tell me, how much does Lionheart pay you? If you'd like to be privately contracted and make this a more regular job for you, I'm sure we could work out a deal of sorts."

"And would I attend to you as my primary defender?" She asked, but the Schnee could already see the 'No,' in her eyes. So, she was after something in Atlas, something he could give, but not something she needs consistent contact for. Additionally, it likely wasn't money. The SDC could fork over any amount of money, work perks, and the like, so it was an inherently better deal than anything she'd get from Lionheart, or anyone else, really. Yet she declined. Thus it couldn't be currency, job security, or anything of that ilk.

"Of course not, unless you wanted that job instead. I intended to keep you at your current post." Whitley spoke truthfully.

She hummed for a moment, then shook her head no.

"I'm sorry Mr. Schnee, I'm afraid I'll have to decline. It's a wonderful offer, and I may try to come back to it later—"

Lie?

"—But I have other, prior engagements--"

Truth.

"—to attend to. Starting with a trip through Mistral, unfortunately."

Truth.

Whitley merely nodded in understanding, letting his gaze flick to the side as he heard the movement of hard boots on the floor. Coming his way. Of course—He finds someone to relate to, even if they're a criminal element he's investigating, and someone else steps in. How droll.

The man in question was tall—Exceedingly so. He had to be to cut the presence in the room he did as General of the Atlas military. He stayed silent though—Knowing his place and the custom of these interactions.

"I'm sorry Miss Autumn, it seems I'm needed by Atlas's finest. I'll be back with you shortly." Turning, the teen pulled out his Scroll and typed out an order to Klein as he noted her immediate start to move away. It took only a second—Which was good, because James Ironwood was on him immediately after he finished.

"Whitley."

"General Ironwood. I trust you've had an entertaining evening?"

"Of course. Your father's parties are perfect, as always." The statement was fact, but the words did not match the general's true feelings.

"Though, I'm surprised you've sought me instead of my father."

Ironwood winced a bit, but not in such a way that belied weakness. If anything, the wince itself was fake. To disarm. Just like how Whitley disarmed Autumn into revealing more of her plans than she intended.

"That obvious, am I?"

"You aren't. At least to anyone not a Schnee. It's sensible that you talk to us, any of us, to outsiders. But we both know the only real Schnee in power and worth talking to, unless you intend to try and marry off some secret lovechild to me, is my father." Whitley answered genuinely—Behind a veneer of confidence and perhaps condescension.

He didn't hate Ironwood—He was supposed to, and he absolutely played the part, but he could not disparage a man trying his best to fix an inherently broken world. There's a reason their Moon was Shattered, that their planet was named Remnant. Everything was broken, inherently, and all they had left in this world of bloody evolution was the pieces after to put things back together. The fact he was trying, like Whitley was trying, only made him more likable, though a bit reckless and single-minded.

"That isn't true. Perhaps you can't see it, or you do and lie about it, but it's become clear to many that Jacques has a successor with his mind. His ruthlessness. It's your initiatives that have bolstered profits of the SDC through wellness efforts. Your initiatives that have repaired its reputation after exploiting the Faunus for over two decades by altering and improving policies in such a way that you profit even as you lose money by treating them kindly. Your initiatives in technology that have made the SDC integral to Atlas' structure. It already was, to be sure, after the meteor shower and surprising technological boom that followed, but you've pushed it further." Ironwood praised.

For most people, that's a good thing. For Whitley? Not so much. It meant that Ironwood was—As Klein would put it in his "Angry" personality—"Blowing smoke up his ass." He wanted something. Something big and only Whitley could provide. Considering he met Autumn just before this, he was experiencing a serious case of deja vu.

"I'm glad you think so highly of me and my efforts." Whitley spoke curtly.

If Ironwood noticed, he either didn't care or did and pushed on anyway.

"Moreover, in comparison you seem to have a…brutal pragmatism to you. You've limited the White Fang's attacks on you since the SDC treats Faunus better, corralled support from the Academies, making it political suicide to stand against you, and lent out your technologies in such a way all benefit." The general finished, finally done with his positive reinforcement.

"When you put it that way, you make me sound like a genius. I can assure you, I'm no such thing." Whitley offered coolly.

"Humble too, it seems." The metal man commented in what was almost snark.

"So you've come to prey on my 'brutal pragmatism,' then?"

"Yes." The military leader just came out and said it, ripping off the bandaid.

"How so?"

"The technology of the SDC…you've lent it out for use. Even military use. But you've not allowed any research on any of the machines. There's even built in hardware and code that causes internal self-destruct, obliterating software and hardware, preventing anyone from ever getting their hands on your secrets."

"And how would you know that, General? It's only known to those who try to break into it."

"Intelligence from our team after finding out someone else tried it." Without missing a beat, he waved a hand dismissively.

Lie and Truth.

"Ah, I see. The point, then?"

"You need to convince your father to remove those limitations. Specifically to us. The SDC's monopoly has only grown stronger now that it's ranged into so many fields—It practically owns all business. It did before, but after the meteor shower and your efforts, it's unstoppable. And you're well aware of how much the military would gladly play any price to gain the ability to utilize such technology freely. Your forces are impressive, but your production and profits would be much larger if you just gave us the technology."

"Mm. You overestimate me and underestimate my father. Yes, the profits and production would be increased, but we'd lose the exclusivity of our offer. As it stands, he could force you to pay the same as you intend to propose and you'd have to bow. If you don't, he sells to Vale, or Mistral. In time they outstrip you, and the SDC becomes the single greatest power on Remnant. To be frank, it already is. For me to convince my father, you'd need me to be a veritable magician and he'd have to be a fool." Whitley pointed out callously.

Ironwood clenched his fist, looking away.

"But you'd know all that. Yet you risked it anyway. Knowing there'd be repercussions if my father heard you trying to act beyond your station." The Schnee noted and the General stiffened. "Ooh, touched a nerve. That implies you're desperate. You see a need to increase arms. Why?"

"That's…classified. And I see Winter was right." Ironwood commented as he steeled his gaze.

"Oh? And what does my dear sister say about me?"

"You're just like your father. You give and are kind, so much more kind, but it's out of the same greed Jacques has. You're no better than him." The general bit out.

"How sweet of her. It'd be so like her to know me after she abandoned Weiss and I for countless years. Oh, wait! Just me. Dear Weiss got the privilege of a sister. At least the parts Winter cared to play. I only earned their shadows."

Ironwood flinched. A real flinch. Not a disarming wince that played at weakness, but true vulnerability, true hurt hid behind his eyes. It was clear he wanted to retort, to defend Winter and—In part—Weiss. But he couldn't. Whitley was right. So instead he stayed silent as the boy pressed on.

"She must be psychic. Or spying. Regardless, I'll keep this talk between us, little doggy. After all, if I told my father, he'd force you to play fetch." Then the Schnee flicked his wrist. The general, cowed, had no choice but to step aside as the teen walked away. After all, crime in Mantle wasn't going to go away.

Whitley walked into the Batcave, his butler waiting for his arrival. Not even skipping a beat, he let his inquisitive eyes flick to Klein, who sighed and yawned. Currently he was in his Drowsy mood.

"As always, you were right sir. I kept track of her through the cameras as much as I could, but she disappeared. She seemed to have headed to the server room. I checked after she left and there was nothing amiss in there. I even ran one of your test drives and algorithms. Not a single thing amiss in the code."

"But…?"

"She tried a hack, sir. It's only thanks to your rigorous training, isolationism, and hidden backends that connect to our more impressive firewalls we avoided and even detected it. She succeeded in that server room, unfortunately, even if undetectable at the source. Though, thanks to minor safeguards within the building, there's been no infiltration to the SDC. Solely the Atlas military, who had connected to our servers for allow for the automatic confirmation for their airship verification."

"Mm. We'll have to warn Ironwood somehow."

"Speaking of, I overheard your conversation sir."

"…" Whitley refused to dignify that with a response. It'd start a conversation.

"Did you truly have to be so condescending to him?" Klein poked. Unfortunately for the Schnee, it seemed it started anyway.

"He wouldn't have believed in my mask if I didn't. You know how imperative it is that everyone believes in the part I play."

"Yes yes, but there's a difference in between pointing out that deal's flaws arrogantly to acknowledging his desperation, to debasing a man and essentially calling him an idiot whilst at the same time dragging your sister—His right hand—Through the mud in such a way that leaves him unable to speak."

"There's levels to condescension, Klein. My father plays on the highest one, so I must too."

"And your kindness?"

"What?" Whitley froze.

"Don't think I didn't notice. Your father asked and you covered for Ironwood, as you promised. In fact, the whole promise itself. That was full grounds for Jacques to fleece the military for its worth, but you spared him."

"His military is a necessary asset to the defense of Atlas and Mantle. It was merely…pragmatism." He responded, quoting the general.

"You know sir, it impresses me you fool so many people when you're such an awful liar." Klein snarked as his eyes changed, becoming quite an Angry red.

"I have no idea what you mean."

"You know exactly how much to charge to allow it to stay afloat operable whilst draining it dry. In fact, you're smart enough to know that Jacques on the warpath against them could be leveraged to replace them, having them become contracted under the SDC and make the totally of both cities and all around it under the SDC's fist."

"An undesirable end, giving my father that much power." The Schnee deflected.

"How long do you think it'll take him to realize it too? He's a general. It's his job to read people. How long do you think it'll take for him to see how that was the kindest thing you could do?"

"Drop it, Klein."

The butler fell silent, ceasing the pressure on the subject. He knew any further would put him on Whitley's bad side. Not that he'd ever be in danger, but he's rather not deal with the cold shoulder. After a pause, he spoke again.

"Fine. Back on track, then." Turning to the computer as his eyes returned to his normal self, he started typing. "Whilst we devise a way to inform and prove to Ironwood of the hack without compromising ourselves, we can work on targeting the hacker."

"I thought you said my algorithms found it undetectable?" The teen asked, happy to hear Klein had moved on—For now.

"It is. But since we know that it occurred, we can do some basic to see the new connection it made. It looks like everything else Atlas registered, so they'll never notice, but comparing the lists I found what it is. From there, we can trace where it's transmitting from."

"Undetectable, but not untraceable then. I'll have to rewrite my algorithms to account for that. Brilliant thinking, Klein."

"Not as such, sir. There's an additional connection to whatever it's transmitting to—Seemingly a scroll—And that connection is truly untraceable."

"So she's an intermediary…" Whitley let out with a soft sigh.

"Seems about right."

"I'll be on my way to confront her, then."

"Are you sure, sir? It's one thing to confront the criminal elements of Atlas and Mantle, but this is a Huntress. She's quite a bit more dangerous than the standard scum of Remnant." Klein asked, concerned.

"Ah, so her records indicate honesty?"

"For the most part, yes. There are gaps and other abnormalities, but standard ones that many have, and especially aren't uncommon from those from the frontier. But it wouldn't have mattered if it didn't. You already knew she was when you talked to her." Klein stated like it was fact. Because it was. Whitley had absolutely noted the aura of danger and power around her, of combat experience, of the promise of pain if he got too close. Hence why he got very close.

Whitley didn't deny it. He couldn't. Just as he had boxed in Ironwood, Klein had boxed him in. Instead, he just hummed his agreement.

"Yes. I did, and I will fight and beat her. No level of power matters against the Batman. It stands as a symbol. My crusade ceases to matter if I am cowed as easily as a military general is by a child if at the slightest indication of a power discrepancy. Besides, I myself am at her level." The Schnee tried to dismiss the concern, but he wasn't going to succeed in running away. Not this time.

"No!" Klein shouted as he slammed his hand against the keyboard, tired of having his attempts to conversate, to advise, thrown to the wayside. "The symbol may be beyond mortality, but the MAN WEARING IT ISN'T! He's a BOY. MY BOY. And he wants to fight a Huntress with Lionheart's ear. Lionheart, a Headmaster who was personally put in place by one of the best Huntsman to live, Headmaster Ozpin. You can't-You won't act as if my concern is meaningless. As if simply being 'on her level,' matters. Battles of life and death are more than just 'level.' They're complex, come down to circumstance, even dumb luck, and you're going to charge in? I won't allow it!" The butler ranted. As he finished, he was panting, staring at Whitley with blazing eyes.

"Are you done?" Was all the response he got.

"…Yes."

"Good. Because we both know you can't stop me. Either I leave without your help, or I leave with it. Regardless, I'm leaving." Klein scowled, but he didn't debate the topic further. "And I'm not charging in. Obviously I intend to combat her, but as I was talking with her, I noticed the gold on her dress. It's Fire Dust."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I'm a Schnee. It's my job to know Dust."

"True..."

"It's weaved into the fabric. Lining every bit of her body. It's done as such to draw the eye to her curves, and thus doubles to heighten her appeal—Which she leverages—As well as acting as a weapon she can always draw and wear. Considering no other Dust types, her combat abilities will primarily range in fire. Cross reference that with any combat abilities recorded by Lionheart. He should have them given to him via her reports after Huntress Missions. Once done I adjust some gear, and just like that, Batman neutralizes her strongest asset. Unless the Dust is a bluff, but that's an expensive bluff."

"…Fine. I'll help you combat a Huntress. But only because you've forced my hand and have a plan." Klein hissed, tapping the keys. Then he paused and spoke out of turn.

"There may be a problem."

"I can see it. Not a single report? Her record looks quite real and credible, but Lionheart hasn't recorded any data on her Hunts. It's not unheard of for Huntsmen to miss one or two, but none?" The snow haired teen murmured.

"If she has Lionheart's ear and is putting in no reports, perhaps she's his shadow operator, like Qrow Branwen is to Ozpin?" Klein offered.

"If she was, we'd know about her." Whitley replied immediately. The butler conceded the point.

"Then she's an anomaly. A dangerous one, in Atlas, who hacked the server rooms. Oh dear. Perhaps Batman is necessary for this one…" Klein sighed in defeat, all his energy gone.

"I'm glad you're seeing things my way, Klein. We'll still adjust to nullify her use of Fire Dust, though to be on the safer side I'll prioritize stealth. For now, though, we'll operate under the belief the information presented is fake." The Schnee commented as he began his work. Began the change. The change into The Bat.

The room in which the Huntress stayed in was dark. She stayed in a remote location—A run of the mill house in the city, but near the edge. Perfect for escape and infiltration.

'Ashley Autumn' was pacing the room, her heels clicking as she ran the events of the night through her head over and over to give her report to her superior. Not Lionheart, but instead a being that was…older. Stronger. Terrifying. This was one of her missions, to prove herself to the woman who had cultivated her and her power. Before the final step that would grant her the gift needed and the information necessary to become truly powerful. All that remained was another night's stay, to investigate the rumor of—

The room…darkened. It seemed impossible to do so, all light in the room had already been absent, but it darkened still. Gas filled in, and sounds of footsteps could be heard, like a scampering child.

Her eyes flicked about, side to side, and she realized that despite what she heard, reality didn't seem to match. She sensed no presence, felt no breeze, and experienced no more than the emptiness of that room.

Realizing the less than ideal circumstances in which she had been trapped in, she clicked her tongue. After all, it'd take more than the dark and sounds to drive fear into her. Though, she could take solace in completing that secondary objective faster, because it seems the rumors were true. The Bat was real.

Letting her Aura fill her clothes, she used her Aura to burn bright, to give sight to herself by dispelling the dark. She was still wearing her outfit from her sneak in, a black suit and mask, so her identity was covered. For now. But what that also meant is it—Despite being oriented differently—Had Dust woven in. Using that as the framework, she used her Semblance, manipulating the Dust she heated into twin swords as light finally shone through the shadows.

And for all the good that did her. Her body involuntarily doubled over, having been hit by something in the solar plexus. Her Aura made the damage minimal, but it still stunned her mind—She expected to see her target, after all. It was only after her body was rocked again—In the face as she skidded back, did she see the attacker in the light of her burning embers.

He was tall. Taller than her. Sporting broad shoulders and milky white eyes alongside a body that was almost one with the night itself, she could see why someone would conclude it was a Grimm. But thanks to her experience with them, personal experience that only few could match, she knew this was not that. Or, if it was, it was…evolved.Human-like. There was only one way to test.

All of that observation happened in seconds as she finally regained control of her body, against the momentum the creature created. It lunged forward, not giving her a moment to rest.

"Stop!" The Huntress commanded with a 'put on' voice, but it took no heed, its clawed hand swiping to tear her in two. Not a Grimm—If it was, it would've listened.

She deflected the blow deftly, surprised by the amount of power it held even for a being like this, and quickly returned with a blow of her own, forcing him back. 'Autumn' quickly noted the lack of Aura. Correcting her thoughts, she concluded it was a Grimm. But one beyond measure. A renegade capable of sentience.

It charged forward again, and this time she was ready, meeting him head on. Swinging her right sword with utmost precision, her white hot blade was blocked by his wrist, which held miniature extending blades of their own. It caught her weapon with them, and as she intended to swing with her left arm to remove the pressure he was putting on her, the creature instead flowed like water, slipping forward in a motion that broke the blade. Continuing on, the wrist-blades that once held her sword cut across her chest, causing light to flash.

Not to be outdone, as Autumn took a hit, so too did the Bat. Her sword, which had been broken, immediately after shattering came to life in the air and became a pointed barrage, slamming into the chest of the monster. Again, no signs of Aura, but no signs of damage. The attack hit true, though, as the Beast after her was pushed back by the series of blows. She was prepared to charge back in, but stopped herself. It hadn't started attacking again, so maybe the command—?

Then it spoke.

"Your hack on Atlas. Who sent you and why did you do it?"

The voice grated on the Huntress' brain, sending silvers of pure terror into her body. It was limited, and only halted her body for a moment, but it was there. This…thing. This…Grimm? It wasn't just sentient, it was essentially a Grimm-Person. Just like…She let the thought die. It wasn't good to show any weakness. And its voice sounded exactly what she thought Grimm would sound like before she met her Mistress—Worse, even.

"I have no idea what you mean." The woman denied smoothly in that same altered voice. Normally she didn't speak in this outfit, but to test if it was Grimm, she had to, to issue a command for it to obey. So she had to think quickly. The voice was still seductive and sweet, still perfect, but far enough away from her own that no one could put the two together.

Currently, as she tried to think her way around the monster, she took stock of what that exchange meant. It was clearly trained. As good as her—Potentially better, even though that was doubtful. Or was it? The creature was Grimm, the Grimm are connected to her Mistress, and thus said Mistress' thoughts, her training, could be beamed through. Of course, none of such had worked before, but those were mindless Grimm. This had thoughts, was capable of speech, and utilizing technology. It had to, to understand hacking. Though, she was admittedly grasping at straws to try and comprehend what she was looking at. 'Autumn' started walking in a circle, and so too did the monster.

"Don't play the fool. You infiltrated that server room and implemented a hack of some kind. Not a plan devised by you, however. Who supplied it to you, and why?"

"I'll have you know I'm a skilled hacker in my own right. Not that I used those skills tonight." She replied coolly, but the hairs on her body stood up.

It knew. How did it know? What was the tip off? Moreover, how did it know it wasn't her who was acting as a free agent and not someone else? There must've been some flaw in her plot, or perhaps a Semblance? No, Semblances require Aura. Aura requires a Soul. The Grimm lack those. Unless this wasn't a Grimm? But then, what was it?

It didn't speak again, either clearly realizing the woman wasn't going to give up any answers or no longer finding the skill worth using. It leapt forward again, and this time—Having noted that its strength surpassed her's, she elected to evade. Side stepping the strike, the Huntress twisted on her heel and went to return with a right-house kick to its head.

Blocking the blow, the hand of the monster enveloped her Dustweave on her leg as he picked her up and slammed her into the ground, causing her Aura to flare up again. In that same instant, the Dustweave superheated, burning his hand. Or what seemed like a burn, anyway, as he stepped back in pain but no injury was marked on his palm. Interesting.

Getting up with a rising handspring, 'Autumn' used her Semblance to ignite her other leg and bring into existence her bow and three arrows. Firing her array, she watched as he swept his arm to the side and a cloak of midnight came forth from behind him, taking the brunt of the impact—And resulting explosion—casually. As he pulled his arm back to the side, 'fluidly slid forward, like that of a dancer, trying to catch him off guard in the fraction of a moment with a surprise blow.

It didn't even phase him. As if he anticipated the attack, he moved downward and tagged her burning leg, forcing her off her feet. Not that it stopped her, as she landed on her palms, twisted her hips, and smashed them into the head of the Bat. Pushing off her hands, she landed on her feet and began to stalk towards the monster, to hit it again. Her bow came down to strike at him, but he slipped under the attack and batted at her other leg, knocking her off balance. A tiny opening.

It was enough. The Bat capitalized on it immediately, his fist rising up into an uppercut that met her chin, sending her airborne. Then, moving faster than she thought possible given her size, caught up to her moving body and gave it a double axe handle, sending her crashing into the ground below. Then a fist caught her downed body, and another, and another, each blow causing Aura to flare. She couldn't escape, he was too strong, too fast, too skilled. Of course, had the Bat been as wide open she would've been the same to him, but that wasn't the current situation.

So the Huntress did the only thing she could. Flaring up her Dust across her arms and legs to force the Bat away. And it worked—Mostly. Because while the creature was forced away, she noticed quite quickly her legs no longer were able to generate the heated fabric. He had mollified her abilities from the waist down, somehow. Then their interactions clicked in her head.

His hands. Those focused attacks and defense on the woman's legs, they weren't just breaking balance, striking at her defenses weaknesses, or avoiding damage, that 'interesting reaction' to her burning from her legs was him interfering with her power. Fortunately, her upper arms still retained their Dustweave capabilities, so she could still leverage them as necessary. But she had to charge up to do what she wanted, to buy time.

"I had heard that the Bat was an impressive warrior, but you exceeded all expectations. You've demonstrated intelligence, skill, strength, speed—A flawless fighter." 'Autumn' sang his praises, trying to play to his ego. His claws extended and he was about. Clearly, that wasn't working. So she played a different card. The promise of information.

"So I think you've earned a bit of information. You're right, I hacked their servers, and I am at the command of another. But only for money-" She didn't get to finish.

"Liar." He rushed in, and she leapt away. His fist smashed through the wall, breaking it completely.

"What?" Autumn inquired in total surprise.

"You…lied."

So it had the ability to discern fact from fiction? Tch, how irritating. It seems any falsehood she weaved would have to be based on truth. Which was bad, because revealing anything would have her Mistress on her neck. The Huntress needed more time.

"Mm. I didn't expect you to be so capable of that, too. I wonder, are the rumors true? Are you that of the Grimm?"

The Beast stayed silent, his milky eyes unable to be read despite her greatest efforts. He was about to charge again, and finally, FINALLY she built up enough power. Slamming her two Dustweave Gauntlets against each other, she created a shockwave. An explosion that sent the Bat reeling and caused smoke to fill in everywhere. In an instant, both Bat and Huntress were gone.

Hours later, the huntress was on one knee, having changed into a new dress. Crimson with a golden lining, much more combat appropriate and yet still form fitting, still showing just enough that—When leveraged right—It turned most men against themselves. She was in another house, a safe house that was off the record, waiting her Mistress' call. It took a little bit, but it came through the tentacled orb she gazed upon.

"Cinder." The white skinned woman uttered from the Seer, a soft but menacing voice. Just as reflective of the Grimm as the Bat. "I trust you have your report?"

"Yes, my Lady. I successfully infiltrated the Servers, implementing Watts' virus and escaped without any detection. I even met his former protégé, and while I think he may have been overexaggerating a bit, he wasn't too off base with his praise. The Schnee boy is smart. Or at least is convincingly so. He noted my suspicious presence, kept me on my toes, and even cowed Ironwood—Which Watts will be glad to hear, the bastard, into submission."

"I see. Then it was a total success?"

Cinder weighed her options, and decided it would be better to just bite the bullet.

"Not as such." She admitted, and the Seer's tentacles started to move, angrily, but not attacking.

"…Go on."

"The other objective, verifying the existence of the Bat? I have verified he exists. I fought him. Somehow, he knew of my infiltration."

"I thought you claimed you evaded detection?"

"I did. No one at the party was the wiser. Not even an alarm raised, and Watts' drive left no alarms either. He must've figured it out through some other method."

"Ah. And what of him?"

"He's not a Grimm. Or if it's a Grimm, he's not under your control."

"Are you questioning my power?" The witch asked calmly, hiding the immense fury behind it if she answered incorrectly.

"No, my Lady. I mean it quite literally. I commanded him and it did not stop him. If he is of the Grimm, he exists…uniquely." She clarified as fast as possible, eager to explain punishment.

"I see." The Seer's rage ceased. "Then as an asset?"

"Incredible. He was stronger than me, impressively fast, hyper-intelligent—For Grimm, and if he is man then for finding out, locating me, and nullifying my abilities so quickly—and could even verify when I told the truth from my lies. A near flawless predator." Cinder described honestly.

"You sound enamored."

"Of course not, my Lady. I merely respect his power. He fought me to a standstill until he nullified my Dustweave on my legs. I had to flee, then." The crimson dressed villain answered quickly.

"Of course. Keep up the good work. Whilst the Bat did discover you, given his reported nature I do not find your failure there to be a transgression worth punishing. Take your trip to Mistral. Watts will supply you the information and tools necessary for the next step of the plan."

"Thank you for your kindness…Mistress Salem."

Chapter Text

Whitley's (internal) scowl could not be understated. He wanted to be out and about, on patrol, but he was stuck fulfilling his duty as the youngest Scion of the Schnees. Specifically, advising his father with his supergenius on the various technologies and moves they should make in the future. Such as the current initiative he was speaking on.

"I would like for you to utilize your technical knowledge in knowing which of these projects in Research and Development should be given more funding or axed." Jacques stated impassively, the ever cold look in his eyes growing ever colder still. Sliding a clipboard with the relevant information. Goals, level of success recorded, how much it was cutting into spending…Tch. Only his father would have that listed as relevant.

"Oh? And how would I know of such details?" Whitley asked, needling his father for a more specific order.

"I know I told you to play at humble about your accomplishments in public, but there's no reason to be coy with me. You went on that 'Soul Searching' trip shortly after the death of my brother-in-law for a great number of years and returned well learned in many fields. It was your intelligence that further jumpstarted the SDC to its current state." Jacques returned coolly, motioning Whitley to perform his task.

"If you say so, Father. After this, may I take upon myself a visit to Atlas Academy?" The young Schnee asked with a saccharine voice, but Jacques merely raised a brow.

"Whatever for?"

"I'm currently working on a project for…cybersecurity. One that'll shake up the market once we introduce it to Atlas. To do that, I need an audience with some of their military." Whitley answered with a small white lie.

"Mm. If you're working on it, I have no doubt it'll be a success. That said, how much of a profit will this project of yours really generate?" The older Schnee inquired as he leaned back, considering the proposal.

"It's sure to be something that'll become required in all of Atlas' technology. Getting the ability to use what I've invented, a revolutionary new coding language that accelerates processing and removes a litany of flaws within their software will net us a suitably large increase. Likely around an eleven percent overall increase to the company." The boy reported dutifully.

"That is large, but it makes sense. The industrial complex of our military spends quite a bit on its weapons, technology, and defense of our floating fortress," Jacques murmured thoughtfully. "Very well. I approve."

Whitley merely nodded as he picked up the clipboard, started to review the list his father gave him. Starting from the top, he slowly slide his fingers downward as he read off the names, spending, and other senseless details.

"Victor Fries. Currently working in cryogenics—Currently has made several breakthroughs, but hasn't achieved the goal he's set out to achieve, which is medicinal in nature. He's taking quite a bit of money, but I don't see why we should cut his funding."

Jacques hummed.

"Jervis Tetch. Neuroscience. Hasn't made many breakthroughs, but has only started recently, so we can't fault him for it. He also hasn't made much of a cost on the company, so he should stay."

Jacques hummed again.

"Jonathan Crane. Working within neuroscience, specifically neurochemistry. Particularly on fear and negative emotions. Not much of a breakthrough, but he's working on something that could solve issues with the Grimm. He's invaluable."

It was clear Jacques wasn't happy to hear that, his third him showing a progressive level of distaste that Whitley was vetoing basically every choice.

"What about Langstrom?"

"What about Langstrom?" Whitley asked as he looked up, staring at his father.

"Is he allowed to have his project closed? His work doesn't provide particular benefit, he hasn't reported significant breakthroughs, and he's costly."

"No, I don't think so. His work is incredibly important with Faunus relations. Not to mention you're overlooking he was forced to pause his work thanks to an interruption caused by our re-locating of resources. The fact he hadn't moved to another company is frankly astonishing." The young Schnee shot him down.

"Tch. Fine. But I can't keep them all on my payroll forever. It's one thing if they reported results, but they've been bumbling about for years." Jacques bit out as he put his hands together.

"You know as well as I do, Father, that these things take time. Had you been nearly as quick to eliminate research on those technologies from the meteor shower, we'd not be where we are today." Whitley pointed out, to his father's ire.

"True. I suppose you're right in this instance—As you always are—So I'll maintain their funding. I'll even report the news to them personally—That should provide them some cheer." The elder Schnee reasoned, taking the clipboard.

"I'm glad you found my advice helpful, Father." The teen chimed as he turned around. Walking out the room, he spotted Weiss preparing to leave on her bullhead.

"Little Whitley Schnee, abandoned again."

The voice from his memory, from his dreams, rang loud and clear. He shook his head and tuned it out, shaking his head away from the sight with a snort.

'Weiss can do what she wants. She's only playing into my hands by doing this, so it doesn't matter in the end. It's not like it changes anything anyway. I am alone, always.'

Steeling his will, he strolled away without even saying goodbye. Not realizing that eyes just like his, crystal blue, were watching the entire time.

Dr. Kirk Langstrom was a man of many talents. He was good at cooking, cleaning, and most importantly, biology. Of course, you wouldn't know it by looking at his lab. Takeout was strewn about everywhere, his equipment had no organization, and he had failed to report anything worthwhile in quite some time to his bosses

That's not to say he had no findings. He had plenty. In fact he had been abusing one for a little bit now, and he fully intended on reporting its effects, honest! It was just…he had to do more research! Yeah, that was it! He needed to really hammer home the side effects. The fact he hadn't found any yet after so many trials didn't matter.

So what if his thoughts were a bit scattered now? If his mind couldn't quite…function the way it used to. It was all stuff that didn't quite matter, because every time he got one of those amazing injections he felt free, he felt like the true form of himself had been unleashed and it felt good. It was better than love. Better than sex-Though don't let his wife hear about that-Better than anything he had felt before. And he wanted more. So much more. Langstrom circled his lab, waiting for the serum to be complete, when suddenly-

ALERT. ALERT.

-His computer notified him of the incoming presence of his boss. Jacques Schnee. Terrible man, awful person, and very very well paying. At least he currently is. His mind, woefully scattered and unable to think clearly, could only take in the information before him without deeper consideration. His lack of reports. The appearance of Jacques. The look on the man's face as he stalked the hall.

He was getting his funding cut!

No! No no no! He couldn't let Jacques do this. He wouldn't!

The scientist's brain started whirring, and not in a good way. Suddenly, the man had went from a moving haze to a storm of activity, hurriedly working as best he could to finish his next set of vials. He mixed chemicals, he superheated and cooled, he prepared an injector, and as Jacques Schnee knocked on the door, he was ready.

Only to hesitate. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he could just sit the needle down...

"Are you going to let him take me away?"

"N-no, it's just--I'm assuming things, and maybe-"

"You KNOW what Jacques is like..."

"M-mister Schnee is s-sometimes very difficult to work with, b-but..."

"But nothing! You KNOW what you need to do..."

"N-no...I'm..."

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

"Doctor Langstrom? I've come to talk to you about-"

Kirk Langstrom froze. He stared at the door like a deer in headlights, and reacted the only way he could. Had he been a person, he wouldn't of went into fight or flight. But his mind had degenerated. He was more his 'True Self' than human now. And so his animal-mind took control, took the reins, and-

INJECT.

Dropping the needle, his body started to tremble. The Doctor clutched his sides as he fell onto his lab table, swinging his arms in pain. Fur grew on his arms, his back CRACKED, and WINGS grew from it as his ears elongated and his eyes became large and beady.

Langstrom was gone.

Man-Bat was in charge.

And he had an extreme hatred for Jacques Schnee.

Jacques Schnee, who was just behind the door.

The Man-Bat SMASHED through the door, grabbing Jacques, who squawked in fear and surprise, calling for aid. None of it mattered. Words fell on massively receptive ears that could understand not a single bit of coherent thought. All it knew was it's hatred. Lifting the Schnee, he SLAMMED him into the wall. Pull back. SLAM. Pull back. SLAM.

Over and over again, until he was satisfied. With a tilt of his head, the Man-Bat stared at it's prey. At Jacques Gele, because the blood that had splattered around him had ruined all the white that gave him claim to the Schnee name. was brutalized and battered. It took everything in Jacques to even move, but he succeeded, shouting for aid.

Fortunately, he was close enough for security to hear. Multiple trained men and women with Aura ran in, trying to tame the monster, to bring down the mysterious creature. Bullets bounced off it, physical attacks didn't even phase it, and to be honest their training wasn't even applicable towards it. They were trained to be limited help against Grimm and to stop the attacks of untrained civilians or lowly trained Aura Unlocked individuals.

They were no Huntsman. Moreover, this creature was like no Grimm like they'd ever seen before. Before any of them could really formulate a plan to try and counter it, in the midst of their attack it charged in. Dragging Jacques on it's hindquarters, it was mindless, feral, and strove for freedom intelligently anyway. The various guards were naught more than gnats against a windshield, thrown aside like yesterday's news.

SCREECHING, the Man-Bat-Still clutching Jacques-took flight and smashed through lab after lab. Fries', Tetch's, Crane's, and more. Each one dousing the snow-haired man in some insane concoction or another. Finally, the beast felt it necessary to drop it's dead weight and tossed the Gele into the green radioactive muck of Dust.

Crashing into the ceiling, it flew unimpeded by the various well-made floors thanks to its strength and was unharmed by the explosion that followed.

Naught but hours later, Atlas was up in arms. The most important man in the world was just brutalized and exploded in his own building by some...monster that snuck into it somehow. Whispers of it being the rumored Batman were afoot, and all Whitley could think was...

"Good riddance." The boy said in the depths of the Batcave. His blue burning eyes staring at the reports of Jacques' likely death on the news. "All this planning, all my scheming, and all of it rendered pleasantly pointless by some schmuck who was able to sneak in some rapid monster."

Klein was happy as well to be rid of Jacques, but was much less enthused. In fact, he was downright concerned. Whilst yes, Jacques was a man who was awful, terrible, and deserved death, he had never thought that his charge would be so uncaring that he wouldn't shed even a single tear. Deserving or not, that was his father.

And yet Whitley Schnee couldn't care less.

It was downright disturbing. Horrible. But also...relieving? Don't get Klein wrong, he understood how bad of a situation that meant Whitley was in mentally, so enveloped in justice that he had frankly seen the person beneath as expendable, as a weapon of the Batman's will...as...worthless. It's why he seemed to have a Death Wish. Yet...he couldn't deny that he was glad he didn't have to feign sorrow. Didn't have to try and pretend to care about a man so...non-violently evil...to the boy. He didn't think he could, to be honest.

So instead, just this once, he was going to ignore it. Ignore the signs. Ignore the feeling in his gut telling him to mourn, to grieve. Idly, he wondered if Whitley was even capable of it-But in an instant, shamefully, he cut it to ribbons in his own mind. Klein refused to let himself think that way about the Young Master, even if it was tempting.

"I'm glad you're in such high spirits, but if Jacques dies then you won't inherit the company. He's yet to have altered the inheritance, legally." The butler gently reminded the boy.

"I'm aware. However, I doubt the Board Members will be fine with that. I just have to do some conniving and I'll be in the hotseat. Then I can do some major reformation." Whitley said with a gleam in his eye that could only come from Jacques. Everyone realized it, but they were much the same. Just in ways that no one could percieve. They only saw superficial similarities, like mannerisms and speech. But not the drive, the brillance, the almost suicidal way the two men would move to get what they wanted.

Jacques Gele walked into a household full of men and women richer than he was, full of men and women who could destroy him effortlessly and cover it up, with his head held high, arrogantly, and walked out Jacques Schnee. Moreover, he took everything from that house without raising a hand, except to abuse his wife and children, and had the gall to make the Schnees thank him for it. It was utterly suicidal. But he did it.

And Klein could see that same thing developing in Whitley, just for positive goals. Many would see this as a postive trait. Klein didn't. He wept for a boy that didn't exist, murdered in that alley. His concern was for a child that was mentally destroyed at an age most would be happy to play with toys. Suicidal willpower? That spoke only of bad omens, of fools and dead men.

He did not want Whitley Schnee to grow into a dead man. So he changed the subject.

"Whilst that is all fine and dandy, what of the creature?"

"I intend to figure it out. As despicable as my father was, crime is crime. I merely wanted to relish the moment for a bit, is all." Whitley replied curtly, getting up and starting to walk away.

"Where are you going, Young Master?"

"The crime scene, Klein. My computer is powerful, but it can't give me details the crime scene will." The Schnee explained as he got set into changing into the Bat.

"Sir, that crime scene is covered head to toe in Atlas personnel! You can't exactly just walk in!"

"Of course not, Klein. I have a multi-stage plan. You know how I operate. Trust me." He said as he put a hand on his butler's shoulder.

"Fine. I trust you."

The Bat just walked in.

That may seem like a distinct impossiblity considering the amount of personnel that stalked the place, making sure every five feet of the whole building had someone or something monitoring it, but the creature that was the Night Personified was more than a match for such tactics. He was capable of stealth beyond imagination, and as such not a single Atlesian, living or non-living, noticed his entry.

Stalking the shadows themselves, he slid into the abyss. He flitted from corner to corner, took to the shrouds of night, and embraced the darkness. Soon he came upon the scene of the tragedy. One that killed many people, causing harm to others. The reports were still coming in and awaited for the ones inside the room to leave. Listening closely, he was able to hear their conversation. The two speaking were Ironwood and Specialist Schnee.

"This isn't going to go over well with the media, sir." The Specialist commented as she looked over the crime scene with contempt.

"I know. Moreover, this'll put me in the doghouse with the others in the military." The General commented with a grunt, studying the environment.

"I don't see why. No one could have predicted a breach in security like this. Moreover, my father specifically disallowed any Atlas military to operate as defense."

"Politics often don't make sense."

"Tch. Fine. But how exactly do we spin this? After all, my father is hospitalized, we have a monster on the loose, and we can't locate a single breach in security, if anything at all, in the midst of all this rubble. All we have are the tapes."

"I'm not sure. Speaking of the tapes, it seems the Batman--A rumor I thought mere myth, was quite real."

"I'm not sure, sir." The Schnee spoke as she moved to the side.

"How so? We have irrefutable visual evidence."

"Of a Bat-Creature, yes. Not Batman."

"The difference?"

"Eyewitness accounts label him as distinctly black, not brown. He consistenly wears a cape or cloak. Batman speaks, and is even distinctly kind to children according to a woman who was saved by him. He gave her kids candy."

"...And this is a feral brown bat beast." Ironwood rumbled.

"Precisely. The coincidence is remarkable, but it seems to be that. Coincidence."

"And yet both punished the wicked."

"We don't praise broken clocks for being right twice a day, sir."

"Mm. True. Then I suppose we do the best we can to hunt down the creature and keep the rumor of Batman classified as that: Rumor. Just in case, though, heighten our surveillance." The general ordered as he began his leave, his right hand following behind him. Once the Bat was sure that the two were truly gone, he stalked into the lab.

It was a mess. Covered in the scientific advancements of many men and women who had worked for the Schnee Dust Company, it was clear that a great loss had occurred. To science. To lives. To Remnant. Wildlife of insane proportion jutted out, frost coated the walls, and mechanical eyes were strewn about everywhere.

The Bat scanned the scene, and noticed something immediately. Ironwood and Specialist Schnee were correct. At least from the remains of the explosion, which made anything difficult to tell, but there was no sign of forced entry. Of any sneaking. Not even of the claw marks that the beast would leave by merely walking. Additionally, no containment units for such a beast existed in the lab. Whatever it was, the Bat was certain, it came to be in Langstrom's Lab.

Turning to the side, he noticed a vial. Unmarked. Odd--It was Schnee Policy that all chemicals were to noted and recorded. One, for safety, but two, to avoid lawsuits caused by any negligence. It was almost impossible to slip by the policy, too-Guards were required to check as you exited and entered the premises, which was especially important to limit any company stealing as well. That meant these vials never left the lab. That meant Langstrom made something, and didn't report it. Picking it up, he pocketed it.

The Bat continued his patrol of the room, but there wasn't much more to observe. The crime happened in mere moments-The beast didn't exactly leave much evidence behind other than the fur, which he was already going to collect for analysis. Once he was satisfied, he pocketed the fur and pushed a putton on his cowl as he put it on a covert drone and sent it off.

"Agent K, I'm sending you a vial and the creature's fur. Subject it through thorough analysis. While you do that, track the patterns of aerial movement the same way we did the blue and red streak in Vale. From there get me a location. Soon, that monster will be brought to Justice. Like all within Atlas and Mantle."

"Of course, sir. Would you like crepes and tea to go with that order?"

"I do. Prepared to perfection so I can walk in and eat when I return."

"You must think yourself funny."

"I think myself Batman."

"It seems our furry friend-" Agent K was clearly changing the subject. "-flew off towards the warmer location of downtown Mantle."

That made sense to the Bat. Atlas was fairly cold and not suitable for warm blooded creatures, so it flocking towards warmer environments spoke of making biological sense. That also implied it wasn't Grimm. Grimm were facsimiles of life, unable to feel cold or warmth. They were beautiful in that way-Soulless and free, despite being heartless monsters.

Looking off the edge of the building, he walked off of it without a second glance, gliding on the night sky itself at high speed. Continuing his descent down into the depths of Atlas and into the clouded skies of Mantle, he continued his travel further and further downward. Until he heard it. The screeching. The crying. The Bat.

Bat met Bat at hypersonic speed-Crashing into one another in the skies of the starlit heavens. Blackened fist met brown fur, pearly white fangs met midnight skin, and the strength of two beasts who desired to dominate the dark clashed like gods of old. As they flew downwards, the darker Bat gripped the face of the monster he faced, dragging it into a building.

Concrete and metal warped as Batman dragged Man-Bat through the side of a skyscaper. Not to be outdone, the Man-Bat cried out and kicked with it's hindquarters, pushing it's foe away to fall closer and closer to the earth. Quickly it took to pursue to try and take advantage over it's coal counterpart. But in its mindless chase, it found itself flipped over by the very prey it wished to catch, being forced to take punch after punch.

Strength of ten men repeatedly smashed into the nostrils of the abomination, but it's pain would not hinder it. The thing that was Kirk Langstrom closed it's winged arms, trapping Batman within it's arms, forcing the Dark Knight to take the stab of fangs and claws into his body. It didn't pierce skin, but it did draw pain. All that amount from it is a grunt, though, as electricity raced through Man-Bat, forcing it to let go.

Flapping it's wings, it shook off the pain and tried to regain control of it's flight-But now with the Man-Bat weakened, Batman wasn't going to give it that chance. Before it could figure out what was happening, it was used as a surfboard for Batman to use as a brace against the rapidly incoming ground, forcing it to suffer as it's face was pushed through countless feet of land. It went still.

The Dark Knight got off of it, preparing to pick up the creature and drag it into the Batcave.

"SIR! STOP YOUR HUNT! THE CREATURE, IT'S LANGSTROM!" The Agent cried over the frequency.

Batman froze, turning around. "It's what?"

Before he could get an answer, though, Man-Bat had woken back up and SMACKED the one who defeated it away. Too afraid and injured to resume the challenge over dominion in the sky, it screeched and flapped it's wings, flying far, far away from the one who brought it low before the Atlesian could get back up and try to beat it down again.

"Sir?"

"It got away." The Bat didn't have the heart to tell Agent K it was his fault.

Whitley strode into the Batcave, scowling. "Explain."

"I analyzed the DNA of the creature through it's fur, and at first it didn't make much sense. It was bat, clearly, but remnants of human were in there. In fact, it was human on a baseline level." Klein immediately started, having cut out basically all the jokes and amusement for deadly seriousness.

"And?"

"I moved onto the vial, trying to analyze what it does. Considering what Langstrom was working on, I figured I'd need a human sample to test anything he made-Were it made by him. So I took a bit of the blood you've stored already-"

Whitley hummed, noting he'd have to replace that.

"-And observed. See for yourself." With that, Klein motioned to the computer, which played the recording of the events. As they watched, they could see how Whitley's DNA was altered and transmogrified into something bat-like. Turning it into a real version of the monster that the Schnee played at being. It was horrific, disgusting...and endlessly fascinating.

"How interesting. I'll need to study this later. But...whilst this proves that this creature we're hunting is a former person, what makes this Langstrom?" Whitley inquired, motioning for Klein to continue. Whilst it made sense to just assume it was, given that Langstrom didn't really have others in his lab (outside of his wife) he wasn't going to write off the possibility of it being some unlucky thief.

Klein came up short. He hadn't thought beyond the obvious conclusion-Because, well, it was obvious. In fact, Whitley was sure it was Langstrom as well, but they needed proof beyond proof. Especially if they wanted to help the man and reverse this process-Assuming he was the wrong person and injecting him based on whatever cure they make with the wrong genetic code could have disastrous effects. It was just better to be safe rather than sorry.

"Mm..." Whitley turned to the computer and started typing, searching for Langstrom's genetic code within the criminal database. Nothing. He was simply a straight arrow, which made sense honestly. The Schnee expanded the search, though, and-Bam. A result. Seems Langstrom had tested his heritage a couple of years ago alongside his wife. It was still logged within their online database, so all he had to do was cross reference the changes that his own DNA went through, compare the creature's DNA to the simulated version, and...

...MATCH.

"Seems you were right, Klein. Hm. That makes this difficult." The Schnee intoned as he stared at the screen.

"How so, sir?"

"Not only do we have to beat this thing, we have to cure it. And the one man who would be skilled enough to do it in a single night is the thing we're hunting."

"Ah. Right. But I imagine you won't let such circumstances stop you..."

"Of course not, Klein. It just means that this will take more than one night."

Chapter Text

James Ironwood stood resolutely in his office, staring impassively at the damage caused in the dead of night. One of his skyscrapers had a giant gash down the side, and no one could quite explain why. The only thing that could be known for sure was the monster that had breached the SDC's Science Division was involved, alongside some gritty footage of a night creature of some sort that challenged it. And to be frank, the night creature had been winning handily when the fight had last been documented, before they ended up completely away from any device capable of recording them.

Fortunately the SDC had come forward to not only pay and repair all of the damage, but foot the bill for a complete overhaul and restructure that entire part of Mantle, totally improving it. The project would be done quickly, it would line pockets, and it was further proof of how Whitley Schnee used kindness as a weapon to make himself richer than Jacques could ever imagine. If nothing else, James was impressed.

Putting a hand on his chin, he tried to estimate the power of whatever monster could do this—In Huntsman terms—But no one could quite match up to the destruction that had been wrought. There were a distinct few who could come close, of course; Namely the Branwen twins, the Arc patriarch (through his Railgun-Sword), Maria when she had been in her prime, Ozpin, and Glynda Goodwitch. Most of those were impossible. Three of them were accounted for, (Ozpin, Glynda, and Arc), and Qrow had lost contact somewhere in Mistral. Technically Raven could be anywhere, but Qrow meets up with Raven semi-regularly, Tai was still on Patch, Ozpin in Beacon, and Summer was dead. Any new teleport locations would have to travel with the Tribe. And it wasn't anywhere near Atlas.

Regardless, that wasn't the point of the thought exercise. The point was trying to think of someone who could generate as much power as this monster did, if it was capable of being bested by Huntsmen and Huntresses. Sadly, Ironwood found his options somewhat lacking—Only five fit, and none were viable to be utilized on short notice. Really, he could only combat this threat with a Maiden. His Maiden. Which was currently bedridden and unable to help. So he was reliant on the next best thing—His Ace-Ops and the secret project he had Polendina working on. James merely sighed and sat in his chair, thinking on what he'd seen. Monster fighting monster. Bat and Bat.

His ears prickled as he heard the telltale sound of clicking heels two hallways away. Ah, there was one of his Ace-Ops now. The strongest, most trusted, and highest ranking. Winter Schnee.

She stormed in, fury apparent on her face. It seems something had ticked her off. Well, something other than the fact that a monster they had yet to comprehend tore apart a building and utterly throttled a creature they'd yet to even capture. It had completely one upped them, frankly. It found the beast, beat it down, and demonstrated power comparable to one of their military weapons with what he can only assume was its bare hands or some ability inherent to its physiology. Point being, she was aware of the utter disaster, and was yet even more infuriated than she was this morning.

"Winter." He intoned blandly, waiting for her outburst.

"General Ironwood." She sat there. Waiting. Waiting for permission from her superior officer to speak.

"You may speak."

"It was there." Winter bit out venomously, stepping forward and almost slamming a tablet down in front of him on his desk. It groaned in pain.

All Ironwood could do was lean forward in confusion and furrowed brows. "What?"

"We've reverse engineered its trajectory from footage. The new creature's, separate from whatever tore apart the SDC. It was there at the crime scene when we were." The Specialist said, each word dripping with an unyielding wrath. After all, it spoke of failure on her part. Lack of care, lack of training, lack of skill.

"That's not possible. Aura enhances the senses to superhuman degrees. I can hear a pin drop from three floors down. Something that big and mobile would've been heard by us, surely." James pointed out rationally. Because it was true—If it had been in their presence, a single footstep would've given it away entirely.

"That's what I said. But they've run the numbers repeatedly. There's no mistake. It was at the crime scene." Winter said in a laugh without mirth.

"Then it must've been at a later time…" Ironwood tried to reason, but his right hand interjected.

"No, the timestamps have been checked, run, and cross referenced with witness accounts. More specifically, since somehow no one saw a skyscraper get ripped open, the first reports and recited sightings of noticing its deformation. Repeatedly. There is no mistake. It was there." The Schnee bit out.

"That's…it's not possible." James said disbelievingly, looking at the evidence and yet not quite comprehending it as he read the tablet over and over.

"And yet here we are. I can only apologize for my inability, sir. I've clearly let myself lose my edge and will promptly-" Winter began, but was cut off.

"You'll do no such thing. We both know I haven't, and yet I failed to notice this creature's presence as well. It's no fault of your own this happened—We've merely severely underestimated the capabilities of what we hunt. Additionally, you have no self control when it comes to pushing yourself in training. If I let you do what you want, it'll impact your performance negatively." The general left no room for argument, and Winter acquiesced, but only reluctantly. It was clearly visible in the way she bristled in defiance despite obeying the orders.

"Yes, sir." Was all she gritted out before glaring down at the tablet and what it meant angrily.

"Let's go over what we know, then. It's inordinately powerful, has near impossible stealth capabilities, has the capacity to track and take out a beast faster and better than we could even truly start our operations, and left no trace outside of barely functional footage from the bottom of Atlas—Old analog cameras from decades ago—Most of which don't work, the ones that did barely had operational optics as well as old and spotty film, and had no connection to any digital media, forcing us to piece together what it captured piece by piece for countless hours." James recited as he licked his hands together. "It's an utter ghost. If we weren't absolutely sure it existed, it registers as a trick of the light on those cams."

The Schnee set her jaw. "Do you have any plans, sir?"

"I'm afraid I don't. Any firepower I have to throw at it capable of matching what it did has significant civilian casualties. If it's got stealth like we think, only our machines will be able to pick up on it through their EM-Scanners. But we have no idea where to look and machines lack the human element to even begin to start trying. Its ability to operate is also impressive, so anything we throw at it might be meaningless considering the relative time it would take to get to where it was." Ironwood listed with fingers linked together, and was about to go further when Winter scowled.

"Sir, you can't seriously be suggesting this thing is unbeatable-"

"Of course I'm not, Winter. It's just an incredibly delicate scenario that we've no got no heads or tails on, for now. Everything and everyone is beatable. Even the most fearsome of the Grimm. We just have to think outside the box, gain more intel, or adapt to the situation." He said placatingly before a subtle realization dawned on him and he changed tacts. "Speaking of adaptation and intelligence, have you spoken to Whitley about this? He could be of great aid if he lends some of his technological prowess…"

The Specialist froze, caught red handed without even realizing she committed a crime to begin with. "No sir. I had not."

"Have you spoken to him at all?" James pressed.

"No, sir."

"Not even about what happened to Jacques?" The general continued, as if it he was telling a child what to do.

"No, sir."

"And Weiss?"

"I…have." Winter admitted after turning her head.

Ironwood grimaced as he recalled the Schnee boy's words. He had wanted to defend Winter at the time, but he couldn't—Not when Whitley wasn't wrong. And further proof of how true it was just smacked him in the face. Even ignoring the immense advantage of having Whitley 'on his team,' would be reason enough to want to help, James genuinely felt compelled to aid in fixing their family. It just was so difficult with each Schnee being so unreasonably (though justifiably) stubborn. Each more than the last.

"Dear Weiss got the privilege of a sister. At least the parts Winter cared to play. I only earned their shadows."

It had grated then, and it grated now. How could he speak in defense of Winter when she made no effort to care beyond Weiss, and even then only to a limited extent? How could he speak in defense of Weiss when she knew what would happen if an elder Schnee sibling left a younger to rot, having experienced it herself, and inflicted that pain anyway? How could he speak in defense of Willow when she hadn't been more than a husk of flesh for more than a decade, now? They made it all impossible to fix when none of them were self-aware enough to have basic empathy and reach out to help each other. To rise above the hurt.

Ironwood let the thoughts stir within him as he pressed on. "And? How is she?"

"She doesn't know. Weiss…Weiss thought he deserved to die, for certain, but I don't think she ever really wanted him to. Moreover, she wanted to beat him. Beat Jacques at the game he played. Beat Jacques at running the company. And now that he's seemingly gone…she's both happy and yet empty. But more than that, she's…she's sad. Because the thought of him dead made her think of what could have been. She's…mourning a man who didn't exist, a life that never was." The woman explained as best she could. As if she knew the words by memory, but could not relate to them. Their thoughts and emotions foreign to her and her sensibilities.

"And you?" James asked softly.

"I've no such reservations. Maybe I would've felt something in my younger years, but now…it's a hollow vindication at best. My rage has always stayed strong, but any happiness or sadness at his passing I could feel is…gone. I can only describe it as a great big ball of…nothing." Winter said honestly, which Ironwood was grateful for. He didn't want to have to parse the truth from her words.

"I see. What will you do now?"

"Same as I've always done, sir. Protect and serve." It was immediate, without hesitation, and blunt.

Ironwood hummed. "You should speak with your brother."

"I'll make sure I try my best to gain the-"

"Not about that. About your father." The general said pointedly.

"There's nothing to talk about. Jacques is all but dead. We live on."

"Yes, but-"

"I must respectfully decline, sir." Winter said, shutting him down.

James merely sighed. 'You can lead a horse to water, but you can't force it to drink,' people said. They were wrong.They'd never met Winter Schnee. Not only would she never drink, she wouldn't allow herself to be led to water to begin with. She'd rather sit, stubbornly.

"Fine." Rolling his jaw. "Tell the Ace-Ops to focus surveillance on Mantle, That's where the creatures went, after all. Then tell Polendina we need reports on his progress. While you do that, I'll try and talk to Whitley to see if I can get his aid."

"After he humiliated you?" The Schnee snarled.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Two simple reasons. First off—It's really our only option. The SDC simply has us outgunned in our entirety. The only reason Jacques Schnee isn't sitting where I am is because he's not a military tactician, he's a businessman, and because he hasn't seen a reason to try to take it. We need their aid. Second, because he's the only in we have and on the cusp of leading the company once Jacques passes." Ironwood said simply.

"Weiss is the Heir." Winter pointed out sharply.

"Let's not play coy. Weiss may be legally entitled to be Heir thanks to the fact Jacques hasn't altered the documentation—For reasons I simply don't understand given how Whitley's basically made him richer than his wildest dreams—But we both know she's going to need more than that to get what she wants. She needs connections. Board members on her side. Trust in her ability to gain profits and lead a company. Something she doesn't have."

"She will prove herself, in time." Winter said with narrowing eyes.

The general almost chuckled at how defensive the girl was over the younger Schnee, (a small reminder that a big sister there remained, even if diminished by her life experience), but he stifled it and merely took on a reassuring tone. "I don't doubt it—Weiss is absolutely smart and adaptive enough to figure it out. But would they let her? Why give her a chance when the tried and true answer has been there working like a charm?"

"I…I suppose not."

"Precisely. Besides, I think he's been given a worse reputation than he actually deserves." Ironwood mentioned offhandedly, ready to end the conversation, but Winter's eyes hard focused on him again.

"Again, why? He's humiliated you."

"Yes, but after some thought it occurred to me it was the nicest thing he could do." James said with a sigh as he leaned back into his chair. A rare thing indeed.

"Nicest-?" The oldest Schnee sibling looked ready to implode. General Ironwood wouldn't let her.

"Winter, think. If he really was so heartless and in his father's pocket, why didn't he let Jacques destroy me? He saw through me entirely. He even verbally cited how that very meeting would give Jacques plenty of reason and political power to end what I am and what I do."

"Simple. He wants you to be indebted to him." The woman replied stubbornly.

"Don't be so sure. Anything I could do for him, Jacques could literally make happen. Even if I assumed that to be true, it'd make no sense. He didn't try to foster good will like one would expect--He made a show of cowing me. Further, he knows all of Atlas is indebted to him. It's his brain that's catapulted us. It's…redundant. And your brother is both efficient and intelligent enough to know that." Ironwood pointed out with a waving hand.

"Then he's looking for a combat capable ally." Just as stubbornly as before.

"Winter. Your brother can buy the strongest Huntsmen money can afford him." Ironwood chided.

"Then…"

"…Then when you look at it from a big picture angle, you realize it's the only option he had. He needed to cow me to make me stop and show himself off—To bolster his standing within the Company. Even if he denied me and left it be, he'd be seen as colluding. Bad thing to be when the military and SDC have been at each other's throats since before the Meteor Shower. He also correctly pointed out that he could only deny me. Jacques isn't dumb enough to lose the exclusivity on his tech. That leaves, specifically, the question of why he wouldn't inform Jacques, since as I've mentioned earlier it'd have been the perfect moment to totally subsume us. That means he doesn't want that to happen. Even if he's against me, he must also be against Jacques as well." The General finished, having laid it all out.

"If you say so, sir. May I be dismissed?" It was curt. And it is the only response he received.

Ironwood wanted to lecture her, to ask her why she couldn't see beyond her misconceptions, to force her to listen and talk to the boy. To try. But as much as he wanted to do that, he also knew there was a limit to even his goodwill the oldest Schnee had for him. So instead he merely nodded. Nodded and wondered why she refused to be more than the Shadow.

Whitley strolled down the winding corridors of the Schnee Manor with a pep in his step. He'd visited his hospitalized father, shed some crocodile tears—If only for the press, given his sisters had totally abandoned the older man and thus could not leverage their "sadness," the way he could, and had run his rounds with various board members in secret. Once his father passed, Weiss simply wouldn't be a factor he'd have to deal with anymore.

And if his chest tightened at the thought, it was something to do with his elation at finally winning their little duel. After all, it had been waged for nearly his whole life. Of course, he hadn't been aware the entire time, but once he had returned from his little "trip" he was fully prepared for the chess match this charade was. For it was chess, and a charade. Nothing so advanced as real military tactics or serious beyond one man's ego and greed.

The Schnee had let that consume him, to drive him to the decisions that needed to be done. He'd cut out his own heart if necessary for the protection of Atlas and Mantle. That meant ridding himself of any emotion, any doubt, any fear, and any connection. All that remained was the Vengeance. The Mission. Channeled through him as the weapon that would decimate the criminal underworld.

Now there was no time to hesitate. Currently he was mostly moving around the house to appease the need for appearances in it. Whilst he had done his best to insure no one slipped between the cracks, even the almighty Whitley Schnee was not omnipotent. Even he had weak points and flaws. If he hadn't, then crime wouldn't exist in Atlas and Mantle at all. He'd wave his hands and it, along with the Grimm, would simply all cease to be.

Unfortunately Whitley lived in no such reality, constrained by physics, mortality, and technology. As such, he needed to be seen by any press or spies who slipped inside during the chaos of the attack on the SDC by Langstrom. Moreover, he had to appear to be moping, as if he cared. Truthfully, he doubted any made it through, but it was better safe than sorry. More importantly, however, Whitley was running calculations.

Trying to understand and cure this…Man-Bat that the doctor had created out of his own body. Trying to plan around it. He'd yet to make headway. The same was true for revealing the hack to Ironwood without revealing Batman was real, though he had the outline of a plan thought up. He intended to rebuild their software with his own personally made coding language. Not the one he uses for the Batcave, obviously. This one was partially inspired by the language of whatever species' tech crashed here in the Meteor Shower. (Whitley's Batcave language took it completely, applied the intricacies of Watts' teachings, his own intellect, and the unique developments of Remnant & its own coding languages to make it completely superior in every way. He wouldn't be forking that over anytime soon.)

Once he was satisfied with the rounds he'd made, he stepped out onto a bullhead and let himself be taken down to Mantle. Flicking his gaze to the side through the window, he let it callously flick over the gash through the skyscraper. One may have thought it poor form to commit such damage, but Whitley oversaw from a bigger picture. If Batman could cause damage that needed repair in areas that desperately needed renovation (and denied it by the corrupt) then good. It forced a reason for the elite to repair Mantle, to fix the problems they caused, to help the impoverished. And if the SDC footed the bill, even better. It was personally funneling money into infrastructure, industries, and initiatives he personally oversaw. Making it incredibly difficult for others to botch his efforts.

As a bonus, in his father's eyes the return on significant profits and the massive boost in PR would be justification enough to do it—And the same applied to the greedy incarnate that was all those board members. All he had to do was keep it up and Mantle would be just as developed as Atlas. Whitley would tear down the skyline personally so he could build it back up in his own image. The image of the saved. Of the protected. Of the weak. Of the little boy who lost the only good family he had thanks to a punk with a gun.

Letting his arctic gaze continue moving, he let it flick to the shadowed hostels, motels, and basically encampments. Those were people. His people. Terrorized by the threat of a creature none but he could understand. He grimaced. He shouldn't have let Langstrom escape. He should've been infallible. Klein's words shouldn't have rattled him so. It was his fault that the beast wasn't removed. Wasn't defeated. As Whitley looked at the crater their clash had caused, as the bullhead neared the landing, his icy eyes steeled into a dangerous resolution. He would have his Vengeance. He would own the Night. He would be it all made manifest, he would be…Batman.

The youngest Schnee stepped into the Batcave, his fingers wrenching into horrid shapes, into crude claws and back into the manner of man. He wasn't in his suit yet, he hadn't even changed outfits, he was merely forcing his fingers into what he imagined Langstrom felt like. To truly embody the characteristics of a Bat. It'd be a lie to say that the monstrous form wasn't compelling. To shed all real mortality for becoming the true nightmare for all of Atlas and Mantle to see.

But it was clear that such formulas were beyond the human brain. That it was mere fantasy, and that Whitley would lose himself to the feral nature Langstrom had brought upon himself. Such a state left a bitter distaste to the boy's mouth. If there was one thing that the Schnee intensely valued, it was his own cunning. His intellect. In a world of Gods and Monsters, he was a mere man. Simply…human.

He needed every advantage, every strength, and there was no power more dominating and absolute than the Human (and Faunus) brain. Cutting it out in exchange for the meager improvement to physical power—Because no matter how much it empowered one, without brilliance it would always be meager—Was simply unacceptable. A condition Whitley could never allow, even under the most extreme of emergencies. It was simply a principle he could not break or part from.

Looking up from his fingers, he stared at his laboratories within the Batcave, still trying to think his way into curing the Man-Bat. Sitting in his chair, he studied the results on the Batcomputer, attempting to draw logic or reason out of the frankly mad science he saw before him. The structures of Bat DNA, of the Faunus DNA that Langstrom had used as the intermediary between his own Human DNA and that of the Animal's. It was understandable to him, easily followed in the detailed research that Langstrom had made. However, was it reversible?

Currently, the answer to that was beyond him. Or rather, simply unknown. Call him arrogant, but Whitley was confident he was smart enough to figure it out. That he could solve the equations, the chemistry and the biology. He just needed to find whatever he was missing. Whatever understanding that he lacked.

That was when Klein spoke up.

"No headway, sir?"

"No, Klein. The answer remains elusive. It seems that Langstrom was more clever than anyone imagined. He's unraveled the secrets of Animal-Faunus-Human Genetic Relation and used it to turn himself into a monster. Moreover, we've yet to solve luring him. It's surprising he had solved it only so recently, though…you'd think he would've…reported it…" Whitley paused as his words died off, thinking of the list his father had handed him.

Then he started typing, rapidly. Cross referencing sightings, reports, and witness accounts of Bat-related phenomena. Then he filtered out the locations he had recorded that he himself had operated in. The Belfry, Downtown, the Skyscrapers—Everywhere Batman had been. That left a decent chunk of locations that Batman was reported where he objectively never was. Opening up some of the files, he flicked between them, speed reading.

"Sir?"

"It's not recent. We never thought to look back or read further into reports, assuming it was impossible to miss and mistaking reports on him for ones on me. The truth is, Langstrom's been at this for weeks. Maybe a few months. And it seems to have gotten longer and longer over time. Given his mindlessness in that state, it must naturally wear off…" Whitley described as he peered into the endless swathes of information.

"…But…?" Klein prodded.

"…Based on the fact his genome here is yet to revert, it might become so long it's impossible to determine when he reverts, or never will." The Schnee finished grimly.

"So despite the silver lining, we'll still need to invest in creating a counter serum…" Klein said with a hum, looking at the work without understanding a single bit of it. "It's a shame his wife couldn't be of any help. She's just as educated as him in their field, after all."

"You…you're a genius, Klein." Whitley breathed.

"And never you forget it, Young Master. Now—Would you please educate me in my genius? My mouth works a tad faster than my mind, I'm afraid." The butler jested good naturedly.

"His wife. She's the key, Applying the serum's alteration to genetic code, we can use it to generate a simulation of what his wife's pheromones would be if she had changed like him. Through that, we create the ultimate lure." The Schnee explained as he started working on exactly that, pulling Missus Doctor Langstrom's genetic record for SDC security clearance.

"And the cure, sir?"

"His wife is the other half of the equation. We've been doing this wrong—solely looking at this through biology and chemistry. We've totally forgotten and ignored her, that he achieved this with help from his wife, a physicist." Whitley stood up and got to work, excitedly typing on the keyboard, solving it at top speed. In a matter of minutes, what went from "impossible to solve," became utter child's play.

One simulation later and the cure was an unadulterated success. He ran it multiple times, just to make sure, and hyper-accelerated the passage of time within it to test for reverting back into the Man-Bat, but it was totally effective. He'd solved it. He'd utterly solved the conundrum that he had been almost totally stonewalling him all day. The exhilaration of figuring out something complex, something advanced, of learning and figuring out what none had before—It coursed within him.

He'd almost forgotten it entirely after leaving Watts, his final intelligence-related instructor. It left him full of childish glee, of adrenaline, and then he spotted Klein's knowing smirk and he killed it dead. He had resolved himself to Vengeance this morning. To be the bane of the criminal underworld. Was it so easy for him to forget? To write off his resolve? He refused to let it be so. Atlas and Mantle needed an emotionless defender. One not so easily caught up in the world of exploration, as exciting as it was.

Once he had immediately destroyed his joy, it seemed like a mirror had taken to Whitley, because Klein's face directly frowned at the loss of cheer the Schnee caused himself. It seemed he quite distinctly disagreed with the thought process the boy had, but the youngest Scion of the richest family on Remnant barely let it faze him. Rarely was Klein aware of what the boy truly needed. Balking everytime he pushed his limit. Digging his heels in everytime he fought the world's worst. Refusing to see eye to eye until Whitley forced the issue. He even wanted Whitley to try and befriend some of the disgusting youth of today, or resolve his problems with his sisters.

None of that was necessary or good for him. All he needed was Klein to listen, patch him up, and occasionally aid. Not whatever he thought his job was. Whitley was in the business of fighting crime at any cost. Klein's misgivings on that were indicative to him that perhaps, just maybe, he'd need to find a way to cut him out of the equation. He was well equipped in the sciences enough to fix himself, he could solve—

"No." Klein cut in.

"Hm?"

"I know what you're thinking, Young Master Whitley. It will not happen. I'm here to stay for every day of your crusade."

"I've made no such suggestions." He tried to retort, but it was weak.

Klein let him know how weak with a knowing gaze. "And you never will."

Whitley crossed his arms and looked away petulantly.

The Bat sat in shadow, unseen, unheard, and beyond reproach. It was ten past midnight in the depths of the warmer pockets of Mantle, unpopulated and free from any would be bystanders. He'd been releasing the pheromone mist for some time now, awaiting for the inevitable arrival of the Man-Bat. Because it would be inevitable. Langstrom's wife was important to the psyche beneath the feral monster's control, and the pheromone was the chemical the animal part of the puzzle craved in its desire to mate. Both halves would be drawn here.

It was merely a matter of time. And based on the screeching that was taking place, it would happen pretty soon. All that the Dark Knight needed was patience. Any moment, Langstrom would descend. Any moment, this farce and threat would be completely over.

Except for two things. One, he had completely underestimated the Langstrom intelligence behind the Man-Bat. The Bat was correct in assuming it was a mindless feral creature, and in presuming Langstrom had influence. But he was incorrect in assuming a level of separation. To be fair, he would've been absolutely right weeks or even days ago. The fact is, as the doctor repeated the process, the difference between "Man" and "Bat" minimized. Now he had the ability to use memory. He could recognize his predator. He could feel total fear at the sight of him. And he could feel the urge to flee. However, that wasn't enough to deviate from the instinct of flying towards its mate.

No, that was the fault of the second factor. While The Bat had done his best to minimize bystanders, to minimize witnesses, to remove any foreign element, he had also underestimated Human (and Faunus) stupidity. Because right there, only a few yards away, outside of the perception of the Dark Knight, who had been so focused on his prey that he didn't spot them, was a child. A little boy with white hair, red eyes, fox ears (and a tail) that matched the color of his hair, in a blue shirt and grey baggy pants.

The Animal part of the Man-Bat decided the best way to prove itself to its prospective mate was to propose with prey. Additionally, if it was refused, it could engorge itself after. The Human half, the one that recognized and feared the beast that drug it's face down a skyscraper, wanted to run away, wanted a meat shield to throw in between himself and what it could only perceive as Living Death. Those two thought processes, separate yet unified, coalesced into the action of Man-Bat descending in the opposite direction of where it was lured and grabbing the boy as…well, a hostage.

"No! NO!" The Bat called out in anger, and with his grappling hook zipped across the field, after the mutated form of Langstrom, who was carrying the crying. "AGENT K, THE SUBJECT FOUND AND TOOK A CHILD!"

"What?! We ran multiple evaluations! That area should be clear!" Was what came through, panicked.

"He must've just broken the perimeter! I'm giving chase!"

"And the trap? It isn't mobile!"

"Irrelevant! The kid's life takes priority!" The Bat bit out immediately.

"Of course, but how do you intend to CURE him if he doesn't walk into the trap?!"

"I still have my own injector and serum. So…Improvisation." The Dark Knight growled.

Zooming across the sky, his fist prepared to strike the Man-Bat, but as if the monster sensed the beastly fury that was about to come down upon him, he raised up and put the child in the way, forcing the Bat to not follow through on the attack. Pulling away, the Dark Knight pulled out his cape and threw it outward, his black visage now in its full glory.

It blinded the creature, and the Caped Crusader used that opportunity to SLAM his legs into the chest of Man-Bat, trying to force him—And thus the Faunus boy—towards the ground. It was to no avail. The physical force that was once the crime fighter's greatest strength was now his greatest weakness, as he could no longer battle his foe without impunity. Instead, it only gave Langstrom the opportunity to smack away his predator.

The hybrid screeched and the Faunus boy cried out again, going further and further into the sky. The crime fighter couldn't get too close, or even inject the monster in the air, as doing so threatened their lives via the great big fall they'd suffer through. While he was confident he could catch both reverted human and child at that speed, and safely at that, there was no way he was going to risk their lives on confidence. On ego.

Instead he utilized his tools. The creature before him used echolocation—highly refined echolocation, at that. The Dark Knight did, too, through the Sonic Sensor, built into his earlobe. It had a range limit of about twenty five meters, so he'd have to get close, but if he adjusted his frequency to something that would disorient Man-Bat, he'd get the opening he'd need. Pressing the side of his cowl, it started rising tjust required a bit more time.

Langstrom ascended further, but so too did the Bat, having already adjusted for its primitive strategy. As such, his fists landed true against the hybrid's face, causing it to squeal in agony. Then another. One more. But before the Caped Crusader could get too stuck into the beatdown and cause the beast to lash out or panick too much, he purposely leapt away—Causing the Man-Bat to retreat a bit and try to fly back towards the lure that had been set up. It seemed that even after seeing the trap being sprung, that the hybrid couldn't help the pull of its physiological need to find its mate.

Good. The Bat descended alongside the creature, and threw his Batarangs, specifically choosing to miss to funnel the hybrid's path. It worked to a limited extent, steering the creature both downward and left. Then his Batarang's curved on their return, grazing the beast over and over again. It screeched in agony, but maintained its hold over the crying Faunus boy. The Dark Knight did the only logical thing, then.

He TACKLED the Man-Bat, FORCING it's trajectory into where he wanted.

PUNCH.

He took a deep breath. Using his will to maintain focus. To maintain trajectory.

PUNCH!

He didn't let it faze him. The Bat would endure. He would survive. Weather the storm.

PUNCH!

The Caped Crusader SQUEEZED the body of his prey with one arm, continuing to latch on as he then pressed the button on his cowl. His Sonic Sensor.

SCREEEE!

Man-Bat utterly lost it, completely discombobulated by the sound wave attacking at a frequency only he could hear. As such, he let go of the Faunus and was no longer bound by his predator. As they fell, nearly crashing into the floor, the Knight wrapped his arms and billowing cloak around the child, the Night itself acting as protector and defender of those who could not defend themselves. Then, slowing down, his descent, both child and Bat met the dirt still hard. But the Bat was strong, he was fierce, and instead of breaking against pavement, giving way to physical reality, the planet itself gave way to him.

"Are you okay?" Batman asked the boy, who sniffled. He nodded, looking up at the one who prowled the Night with a hopeful gaze, with eyes that revered and adored. He saw not the monster that devastated the Criminal Underworld. He saw a Hero. He saw a God.

"I-is it going to get me, Mister?" The child asked fearfully.

"No. Not on my watch. Observe." He turned the boy over to see the Man-Bat, and all he saw was a screeching, writhing thing. Nothing to fear. Nothing to be so utterly terrified of.

"H-he's harmless?"

"So long as I am around, always." The voice that would draw terror from many, cultivated to wring it out of the cells of the victims brains instead drew hope, and in how forced it was from a child's perception, a giggle.

"T-then what about when you aren't?"

"Nothing can kill what I am. So long as you believe. What's your name?"

"Radley!" The boy's voice was strong now, confident in the presence of a protector.

"You were very brave, Radley. Many would've wet themselves in your shoes. Instead you stood firm."

"But I cried!" Radley points out disbelievingly.

"Crying doesn't mean you weren't brave. It means you cried while acting bravely."

"Really…?" The boy asked while preening, tears forgotten.

"Really." Batman affirmed. The Dark Knight then pulled out a candy and gave it to the Faunus child, who took it with glee. "Stay right here, Radley. I have a monster to take care of."

"Okay!"

Batman turned around and walked towards Man-Bat, who could only squeal, cry, screech, scream, and hiss. Its terror mounted, its horror grew. All that it knew was it had been caught, that the predator who swallowed the meatsack it had carried in the sky was after it. The hybrid tried to crawl away desperately, but it was all for naught. A boot stomped on its back, forcing it still, and the crime fighter bent down and forced the injector from his belt into its throat.

In front of the Bat's very eyes, the Man-Bat died. The wings forced themselves back into the spinal column, the fur shed, the ears shrank, its musculature shifted, and Kirk Langstrom was back in charge.

"W-what?" Said the Doctor, blinking in surprise. "H-how?"

"Kirk Langstrom."

His gaze flicked up and he looked into the eyes of the Night. Of the Abyss. Of Death.

"You…! Predator!" Kirk cried out, recognizing what stood above him. How could he not?

"Yes. And you will be going away for a while. I know what you've been up to these past few months."

Langstrom's eyes widened. "No! NonononoNO!"

The Bat didn't respond. He merely cuffed the man and strung him up before looking into the sky. Atlas' press and military were descending. It seemed they had caught the latter half of the battle thanks to Man-Bat's lack of discretion. The Dark Knight hadn't noticed thanks to his focus on saving the kid's life.

On one end, it would make operating more difficult. People now knew the Legend was real. On the other hand, it made this situation with Langstrom and getting Radley somewhere safe easier. Turning his gaze to the child, he wrote a note explaining as much as he could and handed it to the Faunus boy.

"Give this only to the General. Tell them that Batman instructed you to do so."

Then the Bat stayed with him as long as he could, until those in bullheads touched down. Then he vanished before their very eyes. Naught more than that of a wisp, scattered into the stars.

Meanwhile…somewhere in a hospital room, beyond all cameras and without anyone watching…Electricity pulsed. Heat coursed through blood vessels with impunity. Flesh became fluorescent and bone became solid. Genetic code was forever altered. Moreover, the body's injuries ceased to matter, pulling itself together unnaturally. Like a puppet with strings inside, connecting itself together almost as if magnets were inside the meat puppet.

The brain recognized these changes and adapted. Fiery intestines remodeled and sewn itself shut. Bones fused, joints twisted, and lungs became plasma. It took less than twenty seconds, but the mangled—Essentially barely breathing carcass—Became a person. One that was of the the living flame. Of radiation. A literal Blight on the world.

Arctic blue eyes snapped open, a crystal that was as azure as it was wrathful. All the changes ceased to be, the mind of a human man believing he was human taking over and making all the alterations turn off, leaving him healed without a single clue as to how he still survived. Looking in the mirror, the man stared at himself and grinned smugly. Of course he survived. He had conquered the economical minefield of Atlas, he'd conquered its military industrial complex, and now he had conquered Death.

Because Jacques Schnee lives.

Chapter Text

"This Batman is a menace! He patrols around the entirety of our Kingdom and enacts his own version of justice on the populace as he sees fit!" A voice shouted into a microphone to his audience, the newscaster raving.

"But is that so bad? Clearly, it's been to the benefit of all the people of Atlas. People are being saved. Mantle is thriving now. We've only benefited from the appearance of the Batman." His co-host, a woman, replied in a more neutral tone.

Pzzt!

"With the confirmation of what was thought to be local myth--Batman--Being real, Atlas feels the gears of fate shifting. A vigilante in our midst, fighting from the dark. Will he bring us into the light, or will he drag us down into the abyss with him?" A different female newscaster reported to her camera.

Pzzt!

"Oi! You heard the news?" A man in a Scottish accent (from down near Vale) asked another man.

"What news?"

"Batman's real!"

"Come off it! Batman's a fake, a phony."

"Nah, they got footage of him taking out that Bat-Monster-Fuck that caused that explosion awhile back."

"Pfft. That load of shit? My money's on a new fucking Atlas-Knight model playing dress up. Our government bolsters the publicity of their new toy before revealing at some point their new strong ass robot."

"Oh yeah? And what'd be the point of that?"

"They can write off any failures it makes as some other freak to shift the blame. You see it all the time being revealed on the message boards."

Pzzt!

"I'm telling ya, John, the Batman is the next big thing. I mean, just think about it. We've got our own superhero, same as that bloody streak back in Vale and that Warrior in Argus or Mistral or wherever the Hell she fights. Batman merch, Batman TV Shows, Batman games--Companies are going to make a killing off this."

"But would they really? Tying their brands to a vigilante seems like an incredibly risky and dangerous move."

"You're right. That's if they're trying to market him as a hero, though. Something like Vale's big blue boyscout. But we didn't get the boyscout. We got a horror monster. So market him like one for Halloween season specifically and only tie yourself to him that part of the year…"

"Ca-ching!"

"Got it in one, John."

Pzzt!

"We've got a monster in our midst and people are cheering. Just another show of the brillant intelligence our people have."

"What do you suggest they do, then? Ignore the good he brought to them?"

"Of course not. But everyone is acting like Batman is something or someone we can trust. We can't. Sleep with one eye open. Believe in the cold hard facts--Nothing, not even help from criminal scum--Comes for free. Watch out for wherever he may strike next. And if he ever changes his coat colors, well you can say I was the one to keep you on the straight and narrow."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Then we benefit and are prepared just in case it happens, even if it never will. It's always better to be safe, rather than sorry."

Pzzt!

"Lisa Lavender here, reporting in to say that it seems our world has…begun to change. All at once, on the same day, Batman, the Streak, and the Warrior have begun to fight for what is right. For what is good. While I cannot say for certain the methods or goals of the Bat or the Warrior, as I haven't met or observed them, I can say that our Superman is a guiding figure for our community. We rally behind him. We are inspired by him. And we trust and believe in him. A hero like this is a rare occurrence, and we are blessed to have them among us. I can only hope that our faith is rewarded, and that my audience takes note to be cautiously optimistic. Don't shut out the Bat or the Warrior. Embrace them as we've embraced Superman. Embrace the good will of the few. Embrace…tomorrow."

Pzzt!

Pandemonium had overtaken all of the continent of Solitas. Dormir, Mantle, the City of Atlas, all of it was shaken by the reveal of Batman to be real. Crime rates hit record lows, whispers of terror filled the air, and the myth that had plagued the streets had become manifest. There was a tension in the atmosphere, an energy to it that only rose. It was electric.

Whitley savored it all with gusto. It seemed that his dream for a better Kingdom would become true in all of its glory. How delightful. How wonderful!
There was a pep the boy's step as he strode through the halls of the ever quiet and alabaster Schnee Manor. So much so that he hadn't even noticed he had made a wrong turn. As soon as he realized, though, he went to turn on his heel—

"Whitley?" A voice cut through the cold and silent house. The teen froze, slowly sliding his gaze towards the source.

"Hello, Mother." He greeted curtly. "I'm surprised you aren't in your garden."

Willow winced, the statement innocent but the implication like a whip crack. 'Shouldn't you be lost in a bottle already?'

She focused her drifting mind, working against the spirits she always let consume her. "Yes, well…I figured it was time for a change of pace. I still hadn't made my public response to Jacques being hospitalized."

"Oh? How quaint. I wish you well, Mother." He responded, trying to shake her off. Apparently, she didn't get the memo.

Whitley got two steps away before a hand jutted out, gripping his pale skin, keeping him still. His burning blue eyes flicked into his mother's, and for a brief instant he could see the woman she used to be. A fighter. Full of cold fire. Just as quickly though, it faded.

The boy could force his arm away—He was more than strong enough to do so, but he wasn't supposed to be. He was to lack Aura, to be weak. That meant Whitley couldn't force her away. Instead he had to wait. So he talked. "Is there something you need, Mother?"

Willow looked at her hand as if it were traitorous. Ah, so that's what this was. An unchecked impulse. How adorable. She wanted to bond now that her husband was dead. The matriarch coughed and pulled away. "I-I…yes. I was hoping we could…talk. Over tea."

"I'm sorry, Mother, but I'm quite busy. Whilst Father is feeling under the weather, so to speak, I have had to take up his duties. That means my time is painfully limited." The teen coolly stated with a polite smile.

"A-ah. Surely you m-must have…some free time? Or someone to take up a few responsibilities?" The older Schnee asked desperately.

"Seems not. Everyone wants to rush into the Future. I am that Future. Thus they want me, and I intend to supply their demand." Whitley replied, still polite, but a bit more forceful. 'Take the hint. I don't want or need you. Nobody does.'

Willow opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Not even a strangled gasp. Then it closed and she stepped back, hurt. Withdrawing into herself and stumbling away. But on the eve of her husband's demise, she was more determined than even the boy expected. "Are you…are you sure?"

"Quite, Mother. Don't fret. I'm sure some of your hired help can keep you company, so that you may better nurse the spirits that will surely accompany your tea." It was so simple, so gentle, and yet so utterly scathing. Willow recoiled as if she had been slapped, and her treat into herself became only more pronounced.

Whitley, in turn, only took out a handkerchief and wiped the remnants of filth off his arm. Then, silently, he threw it into the nearby waste disposal—As one did with matters like this—and walked away. Not even sparing her a second glance. How could he, when she hadn't deigned to spare one to him?

Winter Schnee was a woman of grace, integrity, and courage. Admittedly, things like pride, ego, and vanity peeked through the edges of her character. Flaws that couldn't be helped. How could she not have pride in her skills? How could she possibly resist the swell in her self-esteem when she further proved her prowess? How could she turn away from the validation of her success despite the limitations—Both external and internal—Presented against her?

So she didn't. She instead allowed it to wash over her, and then proceeded to steer and control it. Limit it. It was good to be proud and confident, but bad to be arrogant. It was good to trust in your skills, but bad to ignore others out of warped sense of superiority. And it was good to allow success to bolster personal morale, but bad to forget humility and that some individuals were in a different league altogether.

Like that dusty old crow. Oh, how Winter hated him. He was everything a Huntsman wasn't and yet a renowned warrior nonetheless. He was rebellious, he was crude, and he was a walking irritant. And yet…Winter could not deny that he stood as a legend across the globe, even to her. While she would never admit it, simply crossing blades with that man would be an honor.

Point being, her character had flaws. Even she was aware of it, despite not wanting to acknowledge them. And often she could keep them in check. However one of her features, her temper, could get the better of her when pushed—Especially when it's the direct undermining of her authority and presence. As was the case now, with this…this vigilante prowling her Kingdom!

So she strode in with a plan of attack in her folded arms, resting in between her hands. Having cross referenced the various Batman sightings, eliminated what appeared to be appearances of Doctor Langstrom, (apparently his latest 'expedition' was not a first attempt, but rather a dangerous retrial. Evidence the Caped Crusader had given them via the hands of a child), and any other hints they could use. Unfortunately, there weren't very many. Whatever or whoever this "Batman" was was impossibly good at covering their tracks.

The room she had walked into was completely closed off. No windows, grey walls, no cameras, barely a few desks, and far away from the rest of Atlesian technology. She had yet to inquire why, but Winter trusted General Ironwood absolutely, and thus didn't even deign to do so, wholly believing that whatever reason there was for this was a good one. Often, he proved her right. Closing the door behind her, she watched as James paced the room.

"Reporting at your request, sir."

"At ease, Winter." James let his gaze flick around before centering back on the Schnee and stopped his movement, crossing his arms behind him. "I've called you here for our meeting instead of my office because I've been informed our technology has been compromised."

The white haired woman froze, raising a brow as her mouth slowly opened and let out a strangled breath.

"Precisely. I could scarcely believe it myself, but it came straight from…Batman. On the child's note. It proved it by referencing our very passcode to certain areas that only a small few should know, all of whom are dead except me, who has only stored it within my desktop under mountains of encryptions." The General said a face full of features pulled tight from stress. "It claims that the hack it refers to came from another party, but honestly it doesn't matter if 'Batman' is right, because the figure itself has hacked us."

Winter's mouth shut and her jaw clenched even further than that, teeth almost grinding. "I see, sir. How much is compromised?"

"Everything. There's nothing we have that is clean."

"That…" It was absurd. Their technology was understood by a notoriously short list of people on even a basic level, and as it got more advanced that list grew shorter still. Even Pietro would be hard pressed to say his understanding was so total--Or if he could say it, he was wisely keeping quiet about it. "...What do we do, then?"

"We have no recourse. There is nothing we can actively do to help ourselves. At least, there wasn't until two hours ago." Ironwood stated calmly, holding his Scroll out for the Specialist to read. She did so with startling efficiency, completing it in seconds.

"My brother…?"

"Yes. He's offering to, as fast as he possibly can, completely overhaul our coding from the ground up into a totally new language. Faster, smarter, more efficient, and revealing any discrepancies in code as well as purging them. It's too good to be true."

"You think him to be the hacker?" She asked almost disbelievingly.

"It'd be convenient, but no. Doesn't make much sense for him to do it. But we know that the SDC has people who scope out holes in their competitors. Corporate espionage." Ironwood clarified dismissively.

"Ah. So a little bird told him of our plight and he's willing to use his super-brain to solve our issue in exchange for a likely massive fortune." Winter realized before she scowled.

"As far as I can tell, yes. And it's not just my gut-I went and had everything looked over everything, checked his activities, everything. If it's him, he's impossibly good. I can confidently say it's not, though."

The Schnee hummed as she set her collection of folders down, still scowling. "I see. Well, given that situation has been handled, I elect we move to more pressing matters: Hunting the Batman. I've collected his various appearances, done my best to track his movements, and applied rigorous levels of in depth research into his capabilities to figure out how we may beat him."

"And?"

"I am…ashamed to admit that nothing worth reporting came up. He seems to patrol all corners of our Kingdom. No one area is more or less patrolled for us to try to estimate any location. Triangulation based on atmospheric movements has led us nowhere. We applied it to his night against Langstrom and only Langstrom's movements were recorded. Our teams have even tried to fathom his combat capabilities based on testimonies, and they're baffling. Fiction made real." Winter reported as she slid all the folders to him.

Ironwood started reading it off with a frown. "Lacks Aura, has disturbingly high understanding of Human Physiology, has strength level reported to be beyond that of Huntsmen, operates at speeds of at least the Huntsman level, manifests out of the air through darkness, is impossible to detect--As he was the figure who evaded us at the Schnee Labs--Must fight with techniques and knowledge of fighting styles from across the globe based on the sheer variety and manner of which his physical attacks harm his victims, and with his hack unprecedented understanding of technology."

And that was just the first page. He flipped through more and more, each new facet a new terrifying feature of a walking abomination. The General's frown grew more and more pronounced as he read the report before putting it back down on the table. "...This…"

"...Is utter fantasy. It requires a level of thinking beyond human comprehension. Only something inhuman could be this capable, this skilled." Winter finished the man's thought with contempt, staring at the report as if it personally offended her. And it sort of did--It implicitly and explicitly implied no Specialist could defeat this 'Dark Knight' in battle. It was untouchable.

James' iron fist clenched the desk. Then it crunched the wood into sand. With a grunt, his metal arm articulated its joints slowly, the cybernetics giving him an idea. The General smirked. "You know what, Winter? You're right. It's inhuman. So let us attack it with something just as inhuman. Tell Pietro that his project just got its field test."

"Of course, sir." The woman replied with a look just as arrogant.

Robyn Hill, in one of their many safehouses down in the dumps of Mantle, stared at the screen in front of her with conjoined hands, thinking. Turning to her trusted right hand (and lover, but that wasn't relevant to their discussions within their group), May, she clicked her tongue in thought. The Marigold scowled, not liking that expression.

"What are you thinking?" May demanded.

"Well, if this Batman is real, and cares about Mantle…" The leader started with a grin.

"No. No-no-no."

"...He can join our group!"

"Robyn. I love you, but no. We don't even know what it is. Have you not heard the testimonies? It lacks Aura. It's a walking and talking Grimm, basically." The woman scowled to her superior. She was a no-nonsense woman, and thus things like ranking or authority were basically entirely meaningless to her.

That said, the leader she had chosen was a woman she had a habit of listening to anyway. "Yeah. And those same testimonies report he-It-Whatever it is, is a softie with kids. It saved a Faunus child."

Fiona took this moment to chime in. "That makes it a plus in my book, boss. I mean, if I'm gonna work with a Grimm-Monster-Man, I can't have him being prejudiced." The Faunus quipped with a shy smile on her face.

Joanna, stoic figure that she was, only made an affirmative grunt at first before she took the moment to finally utter any words that would actually influence the conversation. "I have my reservations as well, like May, but there's no reason to dismiss aid to Mantle. It needs every bit it can get."

"See? Majority vote, May!" Robyn said with a shit-eating grin, the charming one she knew the Marigold hated that it loved.

May crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, scoffing. "Fine. I'll join. But if we get eaten alive by this thing, I'm going to say I told you so hard I'll be rolling in my grave."

"Yeah, yeah." Robyn said with a roll of her eyes as she hugged May, who fought like a cat to try and get out of the hold her leader had her in. "C'mon, you know you love this."

"No, I hate this!" Right as she uttered it, Robyn's arms glowed red.

The entire group broke out into laughter at May's plight. Eventually she was able to extricate herself from the figurehead of the Happy Huntresses, dusting herself off and pointedly ignoring the soft pink blush that had colored her cheeks. And if you were smart, you'd ignore it too, lest you feel an arrowhead pierce your knee. With a cough, she focused on the group and spoke once more.

"Okay. We're recruiting Batman. How exactly is that going to go down? We gonna commit a crime and then ask him nicely to not beat the tar out of us?" May asked in the epitome of sarcasm and snark, a sardonic tone radiating through her voice.

Robyn only had one thing to say to that, with a grin that was worth one million watts.

"We're going to have a stakeout."

Whitley made it to his room after a bit more of his father's duties, and as he closed the door he turned to find the Head Butler waiting for him. The teen's eyes were as hard as steel, awaiting what he knew was going to come.

"You should be more forgiving to your mother, Master Whitley." The man chided sternly.

"I refuse. You nor her can make me play that farce. It's fifteen years too late for her to want to care. I may be a Schnee, but I am also a Gele. The cold of this house has been nothing but the expected, for weathering its storm is in my blood." The boy snarled, not willing to bend on this.

He could see why. He could understand her reasons. He may have been Jacques Schnee's son, but she was his wife. The woman who had to bed with the unloving bastard thrice to create their family. From a logical standpoint, Whitley knew he should offer her a chance. But his fury would not be quelled.

Call him childish. For once, he was actually acting his age. Not bound by the responsibility of his name, curse of intelligence, the need to prevent the tragedy that befell his Aunt and Uncle. This very well could be the first and only childish action he'd take since that night. And it was deserved.

How many nights had he weathered that cold? How many days had the Sun never shone in this accursed house? How many dusks was he denied? How many twilights? No, he could not stand her pitiful attempts to re-connect. Not now. Not when he was finally past whatever emotions he had once held for his mother. Not after he had killed the care he had for his sisters. Not after he had already prepared to dance on the grave of his father. Not after he had already given up hope.

No. Not now. Not ever.

"Master Whitley--"

"I will not ever hear of this conversation. Not yesterday, not today, and not tomorrow. It will cease to have ever occurred, and will never occur again." The teen gritted out stubbornly. "Am I clear?"

"Mas-"

"Am I clear?"

Klein sighed and gave in. For now, he'd leave it be. Now that Jacques was all but dead, they had all the time in the world to bury the hatchet and reconnect. And it wasn't like he couldn't understand the boy's rage. Willow's attempt must have felt the epitome of hollow at a time like this. After all, instead of actually casting Jacques out, she just passively waited until he passed and then acted on that circumstance to try and patch things up over tea. Tea. As if some biscuits and dirt water would smooth over almost comically large levels of neglect as Jacques engaged in abusing everyone in the household.

"Yes, sir."

The burning in Whitley's eyes, in time, faded. The boy let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding as the rage that had kept him standing tall ebbed out of him. The Schnee rested on his excessively large mattress and merely sat, silently. After a few moments, he spoke. "I'll be meeting Ironwood either late today or early tomorrow. My new coding language is integral to him now, so he can't refuse. I'll charge him for it, of course, because the board would have nothing less, and then we can move on to focusing on whoever was directing 'Ashley.' It is nearing dark, so we must be off to visit the depths."

Klein nodded as he strolled to the door, opening it for the teen to walk through. Whitley moved without speaking, crossing through the threshold and began his brisk pace through the hallowed halls of Schnee Manor, (it had been consecrated back in Nicholas Schnees' time, as the humanity of old had been far more religious), and went to the front door of the Manor with grace that befit an Angel. Then, as Klein opened that door too, Whitley froze, heart stopping dead.

In front of him stood a man in an expensive white suit, with white hair and a mustache, back straight and hands behind his back. He looked completely uninjured, had no aide, and well kept. Their eyes met, arctic blue eyes meeting the gaze of more arctic blue. Their pale skin glittered in the coming twilight together, their pallor renowned even amongst Atlesians. He was the richest man on Remnant. Father of three. Usurper of the greatest empire to ever exist.

He was Jacques Schnee.

As his long and spindly arms unwrapped from behind his body and embraced Whitley, the boy could only say one thing in the softest voice mankind had ever known.

"Father…?"

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