Mantle

Mondays.

There were very few people in the world who liked Mondays.

People who work for a living hated Mondays. There was always too little time to rest on the weekends, while work continued to pile up over the weekend before breaking out in an unstoppable stream of urgent questions, reports, and other such minutiae on a brand-new Monday.

Robyn Hill hated Mondays too. She hated them when she still worked in the garment factory, she still hated them now.

The army and police were always particularly prone to beatings on Mondays, while on weekends the number of patrolmen would decrease. And the few that do remain were more willing to let things slide to finish their shift earlier, everyone in Mantle knew that. And coincidentally, for no particular reason, the weekends would also see a stark increase in crime, where Monday's officers had to deal with the sudden increase in crime over the weekend in addition to their usual routine.

So, on Mondays, Robyn kept to herself and her corner of the house.

Taking a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, she flicked her lighter before lighting a cigarette and inhaling the smoke, calming herself a little.

On Mondays, she did not visit her contacts and quieted down for a while.

On Mondays, the police, the army, the whole colonial administration, acted particularly embittered, and unfortunately, more effectively.

Robyn Hill knew that Mantle had never been on friendly terms with Atlas. Maybe once, so long ago that only the history books remembered it, but never in memory, did Atlas treat Mantle in any equal standing. Atlas had always spat on Mantle, the poor people dragged in the mud and forced to work twelve-hour days to supply another oh-so-important rich man his breakfast in bed and dust for his brand-new car.

Whoever decided to create a floating city must be out of his goddamn mind.

The Flying City is not only a symbol of Atlas supremacy, it's a logistical nightmare. Resources? Food? Building materials? Everything had to be shipped either by air, which raised the price of everything ridiculously high, or required an incredible feat of engineering. Like the one the Schnee had made by running bloody pipes to bring dust to Atlas from Mantle.

Robyn Hill had not completed her studies at any university, but she had enough school knowledge to know just how much resources it costs to build, let alone maintain, the pipes. How much material does it take to make a pipe four kilometers long, big enough for a shipping container to pass, and thick enough so that it would not break at the slightest whiff of wind? How much dust does it need to be spent for maintenance, or for the mere creation of force to pull the iron containers stuffed with dust, two kilometers high? How much time, effort, and expense?

Anything sold in Atlas cost many times the price one would find it on Mantle. Not that anything sold in Atlas would be so 'plebeian' that anyone on Mantle could afford them.

And for Atlas, that was a mark of quality.

What was the point of selling cheap products if they would become that much more expensive just to sell? Wouldn't it be much easier to initially ship things that are so expensive that the cost of shipping would only be a fraction of their cost?

This was the case with everything at Atlas.

If it was food, it was exclusively the most expensive. If a vehicle, exclusively high-end. If clothing, exclusively premium.

Robyn held back her anger, trying not to break her cigarette, a rare quality in Mantle, imagining the golden spoons in Atlas would bring anyone on Mantle to rage, and took another drag.

The Flying City is a logistical nightmare. They could put a power plant in Atlas, a heating station, but what about water? Water supply and sewage treatment? Two such simple things that many people don't even think about.

Mantle had underground lakes and geothermal springs, but not Atlas. Atlas needs water to wash its sports cars, bought for no reason other than to show off. Where would one drive their powerful cars in such a cramped city? Water to wash away their crap, that would still cost more than the lives of the people of Mantle.

The Flying City is a logistical nightmare. The cost of maintaining the water system for one year exceeds the income of all the people in the slums of Mantle combined for ten. But you can't do otherwise with the water supply. Unlike sewage.

Rubbish, shit, why spend insane amounts of money to create some kind of efficient system?

It's much easier to just pour it all down.

There's a Mantle down there. Who in Atlas gives a shit about Mantle?

Robyn took another drag.

Atlas had never liked Mantle. And it was absolutely mutual.

Ever since she was a little girl she'd heard her parents arguing, the adults around her, all the time expressing their hate for Atlas, demanding respect for their rights, demanding concessions… But only ever to each other, in the comfort and privacy of their homes, looking warily all the while, afraid. All the adults only have the audacity to demand something from an imaginary target, all the while jostling for their jobs, for the pathetic scraps Atlas tossed them from high above.

For if you don't even get the scraps, you won't live another day.

For every one rebel, willing to fight for their future, there are ten cornered families and children, cold and hungry.

Robyn Hill completed nine years of school and went to work in a factory. The milling shop… Huh, is the machine she worked on still in its old location?

It was there that she first heard about the 'liberation of Mantle'.

Another group of people threatening the sky, but only able to tuck their tails and flee once the sky turned its gaze on them. Robyn had seen hundreds of such groups. Desperate people, trying to pour out their pain and bitterness and find support in the people around them, as if to assure themselves that they weren't the only ones cursed by the gods, that Mantle itself was cursed.

These groups came and went faster than Robyn could work a single shift at the factory.

She had no interest in joining a group of people who only wanted to vent their frustrations and yet, do nothing.

And then her mother died.

Another industrial accident at yet another factory. Another simple statistic, a number on a spreadsheet. Five thousand lien for the funeral and a dry letter about how another rich man is shedding tears as he looks at the unfortunate Mantle man who gave his life for his second dessert for the evening table…

Robyn tossed the burned out butt at her feet, stomping it out as she drew a second cigarette from the pack. Forcing herself to ignore the boiling hate by inhaling the poisoned smoke, as she imagined another fat rich man washing down his dinner with expensive whiskey.

This is probably the kind of thing that drives people to seek out the groups, a desire to howl, to cry, to threaten the sky while sitting impotently, trying to find support from the people around them.

That was her reason for doing so four and a half years ago. Four and a half years ago, she had found support among the people that then called themselves the 'Mantle Liberation Group'. Yet another group of losers, capable only of gathering and telling each other dreams of Atlas' death, of the city falling in flames and the return of the Kingdom of Mantle's former greatness.

A time when Atlas was not a city, but a mere Academy of Hunters, a mere dot on the map of the great realm of Mantle. A time before the Great War. A time that is lost and gone forever.

Or was it?

Mantle was not in an information blockade, yet anyway, but people's interest in the rest of the world was negligible. No one was interested in a world they would only see from the television screen or hear from the stories of the rare foreign visitor.

In Mantle, people worked every day, from dawn to dusk, and then from dusk to dawn, all to scrape by a living. They had no time to hear the news about yet another Vytal Festival or another engagement of scandalously famous stars. They had more important things to worry about.

Still, it was while she was still part of 'Mantle Liberation Group' when Robyn Hill saw something incredible for the first time. Something that reignites the burning hope with her.

The Kingdom of Glenn.

Even as far away as Mantle, where people care little about the outside world, rumors, and news of Glenn had reached her. A distant place that the Vale Kingdom had used as its sewage, its dumping ground for their unwanted. Sending everyone there indiscriminately, ambitious commanders, corrupt politicians, poor settlers and freedom-loving students, it was only a matter of time before it disappeared, for one reason or another.

And yet, what happened, was not something that is within the realm of possibility.

King Jonathan Goodman, or Osmond Vale the Third, the annihilator of a Super-horde.

Victory grasped from the jaws of defeat.

The destruction of the Super-horde was the act of just one hunter, one man, the catalyst for the rebirth of the monarchy. The creation of a new and better state from the remnants of what had been a cesspool for yet another 'kingdom'.

Robyn Hill was shocked, and fascinated.

If one man could do such a thing. If even one man had the power to challenge humanity's greatest scourge, the Grimm? If one man could erect the monarchy again? If one man could defy the whole world…

Why couldn't they, the hundreds, thousands, millions people of Mantle, do the same?

Robyn was in love with this world. The beautiful world where just one person could stand against the entire Glenn State, against the Schnee Corporation, against the endless horde of Grimm. For Robyn, it became like a symbol, a final goal.

Not everyone saw it the way she did.

The Schnee grew stronger and stronger, their onslaught increasing day by day. Those people who were still alive, who had hoped for themselves, for their own little shop, for their family, were being destroyed, indifferently and mercilessly day by day.

Each factory, huge supermarkets, another death for the people of Mantle, all with that damned snowflake proudly displayed next to each new sign.

Many surrendered to the mercy of the Schnee. They went to their factories and mines, every day slowly grinding at their hope, all to live another day. But there were others, those who believed her vision, those who saw the truth of this world.

'The Mantle Liberation Group' lost its leader that day, but Hill took up the burden.

That was two years ago.

With each passing day, the Schnee's insolence became more and more apparent. Their pressure on the Mantle administration grew more and more brutal and obvious.

That is all until… Until it all went downhill.

A law restricting the Schnee corporation's mining rights in Mantle, a show trial against the harassment of Faunus in the Schnee dust mines, each one a blow against the Schnee's image of invincibility.

People could now see the weakness of the Schnee. People saw that even the white leviathan was not invulnerable. They are starting to realize that, for the first time, that they were not just one man against an invincible monster.

No, while they are weak alone, together they could stand up to such a huge but so vulnerable monstrosity.

Robyn took that chance, and started reaching out to the people of Mantle, and many answered her call.

And after that, the unimaginable happened, the breaking apart of the Schnee Corporation.

Technically speaking, the Schnee Dust Corporation was still one company, but in reality it was no longer entirely in the hands of Jacques. He's still the chief executive of the corporation, but he now has a host of deputies, in the most important areas of the dust trade.

A logistician to ensure the supply of Dust for the army. A Councilman, ensuring the functioning of Atlas and Mantle in areas of prime importance, be it heating or transport. And finally an overseer, to ensure the supplies of strategic importance to foreign countries.

At first, Mantle rejoiced, and even Hill rejoiced along with everyone else.

Has Atlas really heard their pleas? Wasn't everyone in Atlas spitting at Mantle from the heights of their luxurious palaces? Did anyone actually remember the poor people of Mantle?

Well, someone had remembered them, someone high and mighty, someone rich and powerful, and yet had not lost their sense of empathy. And with this person that Hill was still communicating with, getting not only information, but connections, supplies, weapons, food, and medical supplies.

Robyn first thought that their benefactor was an army general. Perhaps as an act of empathy, or more likely, as a source of a power grab, to build their own personal army in Mantle. Or perhaps even one could see the powder keg that is Mantle, and wanted to vent the excess pressure.

That idea died an ignoble death the moment the first boots of Atlas' troops entered Mantle.

Mantle had never liked Atlas, but most chose to express their hate only by raising their hands in mute rage, threatening the cold maw of Atlas. But some chose to act. Hill was not the first to organize such a group, nor was she the last, there were many of them, and Atlas would try their best to stomp them out.

When the Schnee began reeling, and Mantle could feel their hopes raised, that was when Atlas's army invaded Mantle.

When the Schnee finally staggered back to their feet, many thought that the fight would end there, that they had won. The realization that they were dead wrong only came with the first arrests.

The Mantle police, working along Atlas' army, began to arrest those who they deem to be threatening the 'peace', which is basically anyone that doesn't prostrate themselves fast enough.

That was the moment that Hill understood the truth.

Their enemy had never been the Schnee.

It wasn't the Schnee who shackled Mantle, they were simply the boot crushing the people of Mantle. They were only a parasite, deriving profit from Mantle's misery.

No, the one who had shackled Mantle was Atlas itself.

Mantle's struggle would not end with the death of Schnee, Mantle's struggle would only end with the death of Atlas!

And when Atlas' troops and the Mantle police, acting at the behest of their colonial administration, began arresting 'terrorists', many finally realized the same truth.

Robyn Hill, who had once worked in a factory and led a completely unremarkable lifestyle, only occasionally getting together with her associates, realized now what she had to do.

She quit her job, left her flat and moved to the slums. Many followed her.

Other groups like her sprang up one by one, while Atlas tried their best to cut them down. Arrests, sometimes shootings, sometimes simply disappearing in the middle of the night without a trace.

In the slums of Mantle, people always disappeared for one reason or another, either by going into the wrong alleyway, or meeting the wrong people, many people disappeared day after day. But since the arrival of Atlas's army, it has become something more. Now? Hundreds of people disappeared without a trace every week.

What was the reason? Was Atlas looking for people like Hill? A scare tactic? Or was it just Atlas' hounds, running amok with impunity, looking for a fun time?

Was it any surprise that her ranks began to grow day by day? As the people watched Atlas' steel boot descending on them from on high, of families disappearing day by day, many started following Hill, leaving their old lives behind to follow her.

'The Atlas Liberation Group' was first known as the 'Hill Group', then as 'the main group' as more and more organizations sprout up in Mantle, and eventually as the 'Mantle Liberation Front Headquarters'.

Hill had once been one of only five Mantlemen who had joined together to support each other, and now there were hundreds, even thousands, all under Hill's command. Now, her name kept resounding in Mantle. And as more followed her, an even greater number started supporting her in the shadows. Ordinary people, miners, laborers, even Hunters and soldiers.

There were even people in Atlas' army that supported her ideals.

They didn't disobey orders from their commanders, but they still swore allegiance to Mantle. Many would call them cowards, but Hill only saw them as wretched men, not monsters, people simply trying to find a way for them to live. Even if that way was by joining the people that made their life unlivable in the first place.

The population of Atlas was barely a million at best, and even in paradise, people still needed their toilets cleaned, and their streets policed, so how about their military? There was no way the soft, rich people of Atlas would deign working hard in the military. Most of Atlas' would never enter military service, and when they did, they became officers before they'd even had a few years of service. And so, while all the higher-ups were people from Atlas, pretty much all the normal soldiers were from Mantle.

And so, Atlas' army was Atlas' army only on paper. The leading positions in the army might be filled by people from Atlas, but the foot soldiers were recruited from Mantle. All recruited from those who couldn't find a place in Mantle, who wanted to earn a living, who simply hoped for a chance to move to Atlas. All such people went into the army.

Eventually, some forgot the filth they'd grown out of, who was responsible for it, and began zealously serving Atlas. Each and one of them, hoping that the next rich man would spot him and throw him a bone by taking him on as his personal guard.

But, some remembered that before they were a soldier of Atlas, that they were a child of Mantle, and many empathized with Hill's fight, supporting her secretly.

And yet, Hill's popularity was not just about her personality and the long-standing feud between Mantle and Atlas. Someone at the top of Atlas saw her struggle as a worthy cause, and helped her by providing her new organization resources - and information.

One of the most important contacts he gave was that of Dr Polendina, who, if not for his work, Hill would have remained crippled, having lost her right leg during an assault on one of the military bases.

Hill sucked in the last remnants of the bitter smoke, then tossed the butt to the ground joining the others, crushing it with her foot, her artificial foot.

Under the cover of her trousers and boots, it was almost impossible to tell her metal body apart from the real thing.

Relaxed enough, she then popped a couple of menthol candies into her mouth and started walking to her rendezvous with the Doctor.

The Doctor didn't like anyone smelling of cigarettes in his workshop.

Hill then opened the door to the Doctor's workshop, immediately finding herself inside a corridor, at this point serving as an operating theater at the same time. There were several doctors, in the medical sense, in the Liberation Front, but their skills would clearly not be enough for her objective.

So, disregarding the workshop and operating room, Hill moved on to the guest room, where a tea pot and a couple of biscuits, which the doctor had prepared for guests, including unexpected ones, had already cooled.

As she sat down on the comfortable couch to wait for the Doctor, she couldn't help but chuckle at how far she had come. Indeed, her success had to be attributed to the help she had received from two very distinct sources.

Someone from the top of Atlas and someone… someone from another state entirely.

Then there was the crux of the question. Who exactly was helping Hill from abroad?

Supplies of arms, dust, lien, and with it, miraculous medicines capable of reviving even the dead. There was no name on the supplies, but when Hill checked, only one place in the world knew how to produce such a medicine.

Glenn Kingdom.

Hill smiled a little at the thought that her Idol was supporting her.

Even though she was perhaps putting King Jonathan on a pedestal, getting his support and affirmation of her efforts was still incomparably gratifying.

Robyn Hill had transformed herself from just another petty leader, to the person she was now, thanks to the people's support.

The future Queen of Mantle.

There was a sudden sound outside the door to the Doctor's workshop, followed by the metallic stomping of several paws, warning her that Dr. Polendina herself was about to appear from behind the door. And sure enough, a few seconds later her assumption had passed into truth, as Dr. Polendina appeared from behind the door in his self-propelled chair.

"I did what I could," He announced, as he smiled sadly at Robyn across the table, "I managed to keep their vision intact and minimize the damage and scarring. But… I couldn't undo them completely, he'll probably have to live with a scarred face for the rest of their life."

"That… is unfortunate," Hill exhaled, involuntarily scratching the scar she got from the shrapnel that had so miraculously missed her eye, and then sighed. "Poor boy."

Polendina made his way to Hill, then winced slightly at the smell of cigarettes, but still asked the question he wanted to ask. "How had he sustained such injuries?"

"It was an accident," Hill shook her head,- "He was caught by a police patrol trying to steal something from the warehouses and was arrested. The convoy transporting him then got caught in a firefight, with him as an accidental victim."

"So…" Polendina sighed, "Atlas really doesn't give a damn about Mantle at all… Not all of Atlas, of course!" Dr. Polendina immediately tried to correct himself, to which Hill could only smile faintly.

Dr. Polendina was an indispensable aid to their movement, but he was no fighter at all.

Even discounting his physical condition, he lacked the toughness to fully follow fit in Mantle's culture. He was too kind and soft-spoken where firmness was required.

Seeing that the situation had become too awkward, he coughed into his fist in an effort to change the subject, "So, what's the boy's name?"

"Adam," Robyn smiled, "Adam Taurus."

***

Arthur Watts was not at all accustomed to having guests in his home. Even in the days when he was a renowned scientist and an important figure in Atlas, Watts was never one to entertain guests.

The last time he had had people over for a visit was… Well, probably when he was recruited by the Atlas Army, he remembered that he was being congratulated by his new colleagues? He remembered just how proud he felt of his achievements and happy that finally, finally, someone had recognized his genius and paid him the respect he deserved.

But fate then played a cruel joke on him in the end, and his genius creation was overtaken by Polendina's toys.

Then, what followed was a life in the shadows of the good Doctor, as the evil pale shadow of the oh so good doctor who helps the poor.

And so, in the end, he found himself in the hands of Councillor Quartz, forced right now, despite his reluctance, to receive visitors.

Grumbling, Arthur forced himself to greet his guest, working the several deadbolts and locks on his front door. The slums of Mantle were extremely dangerous, especially given how valuable and secret the contents of this base were.

Opening the door, he could finally see his guest. He was a short and almost bald man, save for some gray on his temples and the back of his head. With his bushy eyebrows, slightly sagging cheeks, and rectangular face, it made him look like a bulldog. If not for his piercing, heavy stare, while nonetheless continuing to keep the expression of a polite smile on his face, Arthur would mistake him for a harmless man.

That was the furthest from the truth, of course.

"Good afternoon, Arthur," The man extended his hand to Arthur, causing him to take a step to the side, allowing the man to pass, while responding to the handshake. "Good afternoon, Mr. Quartz."

"How many times have I asked you? You may address me by my name," The man took a step inside and closed the door behind himself before engaging the locks once again. It was almost as if he treated Arthur's house as his own property. Which is not far from the truth, but it still galled his pride.

"Why are you here today?" Arthur did not respond to the same placid greeting as Quarts always gave, instead asking a question that had worried him. "I suppose the slums of Mantle are a bit far from your usual routes. If information had to be conveyed, it could be conveyed without your involvement."

"What if I said I just had a moment to myself? And just thought of visiting?" Quartz didn't change his expression, as he slid the final bolt in place. "If I say I just wanted to visit your workshop?"

"Then I'd say that that's a blatant lie," Arthur pulled away from Quartz, or Kaiser as others in his line of business know him as, allowing him to pass inside before turning around.

"But it's the truth," Quartz's voice echoed with a tinge of offense behind Arthur's back. A lie, as all the things passed through his lips. "I would like to know what I am wasting my resources on and to see for myself the results of your research.

Arthur kept his expression calm, but inwardly he winced. Was it true? Did Quartz really only come to see his investment? Who knows!?

Arthur was no innocent who can't see the meaning in people's expression. While in the army he had been on both sides of the law, both helping the police and selling his prototypes on the side, and so Arthur had quite good abilities in terms of reading people and recognizing lies.

But all these abilities are useless right now!

Kaiser Quartz was a member of a long-standing dynasty, stretching back to a time when the very word 'Hunter' meant a man with a bow shooting wild beasts, rather than a superhuman with technologically over-complicated weapons. He had the money, the ambition, and the skill, and he had performed his role perfectly, causing no censure to come his way either in the Council or among the common people.

Not that there was any information out there that the common people could find. He exists in some information black hole, only people of great power even have an inkling of the reach he has.

Among the people he was unknown. He wasn't in the news, only in some forgotten news column about him fulfilling his function in his position, and even the people around him could barely find anything outstanding about him. He got his money where he could get it and backed down where he had to back down, always keeping his politeness reasonable and never letting a polite smile off his face.

Even in the underworld, one could at best find, on very close scrutiny, a couple of schemes where he could launder money, barely a footnote to the standard politician.

To pretty much everyone, he appears an absolutely perfectly ordinary man, not outstanding at all, but at the same time not so mediocre that his mediocrity would draw attention to himself. The most ordinary man that many would have expected to be in his place.

A man who was impossible to read.

Kaiser's gaze, always heavy, never changed, and his smile never slipped from his face. He never gave away his emotions.

And that was scary.

For in truth, Kaiser Quartz was far more dangerous than any man of Atlas. The General and his army? Jacques Schnee and his money? No, the Kaiser and his political machinations!

Arthur, caught in his web, was far from the only victim caught in the clutches of the old spider, skilled and therefore invisible. The fate of all that fell into Kaiser's hands, sooner or later, Arthur did not know, and preferred not to think about.

In any case, as he walked along the corridor, Arthur approached a pair of rotten floorboards, and then moved them easily, clearing a passage in the floor, before leaping downwards, finding himself in a low cellar, and moving on. Kaiser, displaying an agility that was hard to expect from his sixth decade old body, followed after Arthur easily, sliding the boards behind him, then ducking down to follow Arthur.

Of course, such a sophisticated method of disguise and protection wasn't necessary even in the many secret projects Arthur had been involved in during his lifetime. But what he was doing now could only guarantee his death penalty if anyone found out about it. Even a third of the details would be enough to put Arthur and Kaiser both up against the wall.

So in this case, no amount of precautions is unnecessary.

After walking a few dozen meters and after several corners, Arthur eventually found himself in front of a dead end, a wall made of several stones. Whereupon, he walked close and shifted one of them with pressure, revealing a small gap that he fitted his hand, adorned with rings, into. After a few more seconds, he pulled his hand out, and moved another stone out of the way, exposing a second hatch hidden beneath it.

Kaiser, deciding not to let the master of the house and workshop do all the work, passed by Arthur and lifted the large hatch cover with effort, exposing its insides. A small metal ladder, marked every few meters by small protrusions in certain places, extended downwards.

Had Arthur attempted to open the hatch without authentication in the form of his rings, all these places would have been sealed tight, while an emergency alarm system blasting the underground workshop, destroying all the documents and samples.

In Arthur's view this was excessive, in Quartz's view it wasn't enough, seeing as the 'samples' in this matter were Grimm.

As they went down the ladder that went several dozen meters deep, Quartz really wasn't stingy with the amount of precautions, and Arthur was left to wonder when and why Quartz created such a system. Exactly how he negotiated its creation and how he dealt with the leakage of information, Arthur didn't really want to know.

After a while, they eventually reached the bottom onto a corridor, and Arthur winced at the bad smell.

Of course, he kept the bodies exclusively in the coolers, but after a while even that stopped saving him from the smell wafting outwards. After all, he wasn't a Hunter, and he didn't exactly know how to make the bodies smell less, something he didn't need to learn as the Knights used for disposal, personally programmed by Watts, cannot smell. Something that he regrets a little, as he has now an important visitor that he cannot displease.

But, when Arthur looked behind him, Quartz's expression didn't change a bit, merely surveying his surroundings placidly before nodding. "I hear you're making progress, I'd like to see it."

At these words, Arthur only exhaled, "Alright, it's the third room on the left."

Quartz just nodded at that, walking ahead, leaving Arthur behind, who couldn't help but sigh.

Arthur had always known that a day would come when he would no longer be in Polendina's shadow, and when Kaiser held out his hand to him, it seemed that that moment had arrived.

It was only later that he realized the full irony of the situation.

Now that he works for Quartz, he was forced to work with Polendina. Oh, what an irony…

Polendina must have wondered why Quartz Kaiser had reached out to him, but he always preferred to see the good in people and never thought two steps ahead. Polendina thought that Quartz had extended his hand simply out of pity, or perhaps in admiration for his genius. Otherwise, why would he have given him so much money, even knowing that Pietro had spent most of it on his useless personal project, his mechanical daughter?

Pietro never even suspected that Kaiser was genuinely interested in this particular project.

Making his way to the room, stepping inside ahead of Arthur and gazing first at the table with the human body lying on it, then at the robotic body beside it.

Both bodies were riddled with a multitude of wires and connected to dozens of drips and tubes running from the human body to the mechanical one.

Kaiser, disregarding his surroundings, which would have confused any other human, easily sidestepped the human body, not dignifying it with a second glance before approaching the mechanical body.

Aura transfer. The transference of the soul. The transference of consciousness.

A topic that had once solely a subject of discussion among science fiction writers and idealistic romantics, was now practically in the hands of humanity.

Kaiser was not interested in new weapons projects or new and better prosthetics on which he could raise his fortune, but in something entirely different.

The P.E.N.N.Y. project, a project to transfer the soul, to create real life in a metal body.

For Polendina it was something of a personal project, he wished to create an artificial daughter, desperation born of his loneliness and infertility, while Kaiser saw the project's potential as something much greater.

Who could refuse a body devoid of all disease? Devoid of the fear of aging and death? Who would refuse a body that is stronger, tougher, and is more perfect than flesh?

An invincible army, devoid of fear of death not only from age, but even from chance? If your body can be reassembled and run again, as if you had never died, who could be so heartless as to deprive mankind of such a miracle?

Kaiser was a man of many skills and capabilities.

When the political world of Atlas went to pieces six years ago, it was he who began to meddle in politics, gaining one advantage after another. When General Ironwood became inconvenient to him, it was he who set up his horrific incident that cost the general half his body by taking control of Arthur. When Jacques Schnee finally went out of control and General Ironwood set about subduing him, it was Kaiser who neatly picked up the scattered scraps of the SDC Mega-corporation. And it was Kaiser who introduced his loyal, but completely inept, goon to replace Jacques' deputy.

Kaiser did all this for his own benefit, but in the end he was different from Jacques Schnee.

Whereas Jacques saw profit as his own goal, Kaiser saw the accumulation of his own power only as preparation, only as a way of achieving his goal.

In the end, however, if someone were to ask Kaiser Quartz what his goal was, he would only answer with one thing.

To serve the people.

Ultimately, however, Kaiser did not think of the people as a state, or merely as a separate stratum of people, be they poor or rich, humans or faunus, laborers or politicians, but as one and the same.

For him, if a part had to suffer for the survival of the whole, he was prepared to do so. For example, those poor people from the slums of Mantle, with one currently in other table, dead.

In the end, Kaiser did not kidnap these people out of his natural cruelty, but with full consciousness and remorse that he had to sacrifice these poor souls for the rest of the world.

After all, their deaths would not be meaningless.

No, each missing life brought them closer to the moment when the technology of soul transfer, of creating a perfect human being from a non-perfect human being, would be available to the world.

Few people understood his aspirations, of course, but Kaiser had long ago learned to put up with, or even use them for his own benefit.

For example, those unfortunate people who gave their lives, the disappearance of so many people was hard to hide even in the slums of Mantle, so he just needed to move some pieces to do it. When General Ironwood had trimmed Jacques Schnee's claws enough for the people of Mantle to be slightly appeased, it was only a matter of allowing a couple of news reports about just how bad the current situation in Mantle was and how much the anti-state cells in Mantle had multiplied, for the good General to almost immediately deploy troops to destroy them.

Even after all these years, General Ironwood was still not a politician, and clearly had no desire to become one. Simple orders, and decisive action, that was what the General did.

He would have been an excellent puppet, were it not for his willfulness and stubborn

obstinacy. He did not know how to obey orders, even when receiving them from the Council, he only knew how to interpret them independently to his own understanding.

And the General's understanding was not always the same as that of the Council.

He was an extremely influential man, too influential to be so easily dismissed from his position, and judging by the information he received, was in an extremely close relationship with Headmaster Ozpin. Which was not at all surprising, for directors of Hunter Academies to be in a close relationship, but perhaps…

But that was why he was so convenient for Kaiser.

Without delay, he'd brought in an army, easily crushing solitary resistance groups, and now Mantle had a clear suspect for the hundreds of disappearances that are far more likely than a long-dead scientist trying to conduct inhuman experiments on humans to transmute their souls.

General Ironwood acted as a general is supposed to, clearly and without question, but it was still not clear to him that every action generates opposition of equal force. And with Kaiser's peculiar help, all he had to do was find the point of that opposition.

Which he had found in the Hill Group.

In the end, he found it quite funny, but the decision to start supporting the Hill group was made by Kaiser thanks to none other than Jacques Schnee.

When the information about the assassination attempt on Jonathan came out, he almost wept at Jacques' stupidity, for all of Kaiser's skill and cleverness he never imagined that he could face such stunning stupidity.

What followed was obvious to anyone not named Jacques Schnee.

General Ironwood, while having no political knowledge at all, was still not a stupid man, easily putting two and two together and stepped up the pressure on Jacques Schnee.

There were other factors which helped his decision, too major to be overlooked.

Just a day after the assassination attempt was announced, Jacques Schnee seemed to be off the hook. But instead of committing another unbelievable folly like going to the central square in Atlas with a sign saying 'It wasn't me!' - and after his previous display of idiocy Kaiser was mentally ready for even that, Jacques Schnee had suddenly thrown himself headlong into the criminal world.

And not for the purpose of finding a new assassin, but for the purpose of gathering information about Raven Branwen.

In itself, such behavior was quite within the realm of normalcy, Raven Branwen was a very well-known person in Remnant. And given the rumor that had begun to spread extremely quickly that it was Branwen's bandits that had been robbing Schnee's trains, or how quickly and unexpectedly Raven began to gain influence, it was no wonder that Jacques was interested. And after information about her numerous deals with Menagerie leaked, there was really nothing surprising about it.

What was surprising was the timing when it happened.

The very day after the information about the assassination attempt was announced, exactly at the moment when General Ironwood decided to strike.

Jacques Schnee, like a madman, used every means available to him to get to Raven. He increased security, special operations, even tried to get to Raven's daughter and brother somewhere in Vale, as far as Kaiser himself knew, unsuccessfully. All with little or no regard for the fact that General Ironwood and Headmaster Ozpin were both beginning to dismantle his Empire brick by brick, obsessed with his manhunt.

This went on for a year and a half. Finally, a year and a half ago, when virtually the entire SDC had already been taken over, Jacques Schnee himself was effectively relegated to the status of manager. It was only then that he was finally able to break away from the mania that had consumed him and look at what was going on.

Kaiser had even managed to seize a considerable sum and a good portion of Jacques' former factories. But now, having learned from the bitter experience of overestimating an idiot, Quarts decided to change his approach. Now, no longer relying on his ability to predict the behavior of anyone whose level of intelligence was perhaps lacking, instead he took a closer look at what Jacques Schnee would do now.

And what he saw shocked him.

Jacques Schnee was preparing a military coup!

Kaiser had cancelled his meetings that day and began drinking, not his favorite tea or even wine, but instead the strongest absinthe he could find in Atlas.

Kaiser had always suspected that Jacques Schnee had achieved his current position solely through opportunism and a number of factors out of his control, like his good looks in his younger years or his ability to communicate with ladies. Or really, his luck in wooing a Huntress as inexperienced in love affairs as Willow Schnee, who was raised by Nicholas Schnee in a greenhouse.

But never before that moment had he suspected that Jacques Schnee had achieved such heights not because of, but in spite of, his intelligence! Or more like his lack of one!

Jacques Schnee, plotting a coup in Atlas! A military coup, even! A military coup against the strongest military in Remnant!

Jacques Schnee did not lose his influence or his bank account overnight, but even in his prime years he would hardly have been able to raise an army with which even Kaiser himself, let alone Jacques, could seize power.

Now, bound hand and foot and under the watchful control of Ironwood and the Council, all he could do was gather a few thousand robots, hardly enough to even storm the Hunter Academy, not to mention the army garrison! Never mind that incapacitating General Ironwood, or even any halfway living subordinates below him, quickly enough for the main army to fail to react.

Jacques Schnee has even used his influence to find allies! Using his own name to lead a coup!

Luckily, for Kaiser' fate in Humanity's ability not to jump off of a cliff, hardly anyone has seriously formed an alliance with him. By this time, even the craziest and most risk-ready daredevils had time to realize that Jacques Schnee's name was synonymous with 'failure' or 'stupidity'.

At the same time, while it was unlikely that Jacques would even succeed in taking over the Academy, it wouldn't last longer than three days for his entire rebellion to be snuffed out.

Still, the mere fact that Jacques planned such a farce was a symptom of a serious illness.

If Jacques Schnee is capable of such foolishness, who's to say that there won't be an even bigger fool? If there's one, there are likely another or three more.

The Marigolds, for instance, Kaiser had heard that they were raising two sons. What if one of them was just as idiotic as Jacques, or worse? What will the General do in response to Jacques Schnee's actions? What will happen to Atlas then?

The whole situation showed him only one thing, Atlas was sick. A general who knows nothing about politics becomes the most powerful figure of Atlas. An idiot opportunist gets his hands on nine-tenths of all Dust mining in Remnant. Mantle is preparing for a civil war against Atlas, and Atlas only spits on all signs and warnings.

And so when Atlas's army entered Mantle, Kaiser finally realized what he needed to do.

He found among all the remaining groups, the one who he had vetted to not be idiots, the most influential, and reached out to them.

Atlas needed a revolution.

The state Atlas is in now was ridiculous and frightening all at once. No, the present had to be erased, and something new had to emerge on the white sheet of the icy desert of Solitas, something more suitable for both society and the people.

That was the mission Kaiser had entrusted himself.

"Kaiser," Arthur's voice, watching the silenced Kaiser staring at the metallic body, caused him to wince out of his musings.

"Yes, Arthur," He turned around, keeping a polite smile on his face, hiding any feelings he might have. "Have you been successful in the transfer?"

"Not yet", Arthur murmured into his mustache, "But I can say unequivocally that it is a robot with an aura and therefore a human soul."

"Hmm, Pietro has never fully launched Penny either," Quartz shook his head. Yet for all his capabilities and money, some things, like top-secret military equipment, even he couldn't get, caused his important projects to move a little slower than he would have liked.

"How could we confirm that the robot possesses Aura?"

"After activation, I had tried hitting or shooting the machine, it should be damaging enough to leave dents in the casing, but it doesn't. I tried it with a large-caliber weapon, but given that it's a common civilian's aura, it broke after two bullets."

"I'd like to test it myself," Kaiser nodded at Arthur's words.

The only thing that interested Kaiser in the whole situation was that the now organized Mantle Liberation Front was getting help from someone other than Kaiser.

All the signs pointed to King Jonathan, their frequency, the contents of the supplies that contained the miracle drug Trismegistus, and the lack of information about their sender. Given that King Osmond had taken a much more active role in politics and diplomacy in recent years, it all fitted into the picture.

But what if it didn't? Kaiser had learned the folly of assuming things.

Who could, imitating King Osmond, be sending much-needed ammunition to the revolutionary Mantle movement?

And more importantly, why?