Remnant - X

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Requested By : Gib

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Sienna Khan slipped through the bush and into the clear land that stretched along Mistral's sheer coastline here, where even the trees didn't dare grow for fear of the fall to the ocean below. She knelt there for a moment, ears flicking for any sounds out of the ordinary, anything dangerous, like Mistralian soldiers marching along the cliff, or an air-ship thrumming through the skies. When she heard nothing out of the ordinary, she nodded and slid forward, stomach pressing against the rocky, grassy ground as she crept forward, dragging herself along much like a tiger stalking through the brush, seeking her prey.

After a minute of crawling, she reached the edge of the cliff and peered over it, ears pressed flat to her scalp to protect against the wind.

A large, dark wooden Mistralian warship was moored down below, maybe a hundred feet or so from where she lay, and surrounded by smaller sloops.

The sloops were small and sleek, with shallow keels and only one sail furled against a thin mast at the front end of the ship. From here, she could make out the thick struts that stuck out above the railing of the ship near the end, where the sail would be tied when the ship was moving with just the wind's power. The bulky, blocky engine sticking out of the back of the ship would do the rest, but she knew they preferred to use the wind.

It was cheaper that way.

The warship itself was much larger, with a deck-full of workers going about their day and three tall, simple masts with towering white sails, furled around their solid structure. It had an older, almost archaic style boat-castle to the rear, overlooking the forward decking, and she knew that beneath it she'd find the engine room. Most importantly, though, no one was looking up, or even terribly on guard.

No, their attention was instead taken up by the wreck of another Mistralian ship that her agents had anonymously reported a week and a half prior.

Quietly, she turned and whistled, and then watched three of her hand-picked fighters emerge from the tree-line behind her. Each was dressed in dark blues and blacks, with hoods tucked around their ears and eyes glinting in the dark. And each carried one of that strange machine's new rifles on their backs, too.

As they joined her, she hissed, "Sloops first - the engines. Then the masts on the big ones."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Aye."

"That was the fuckin' brief, aye." The last, oldest, and least respectful of the group growled as they dragged their rifles around and scrabbled forward to rest with their shoulders over the edge and the rifles pointed down. A difficult position, she knew, but one they'd assured her they could manage. "Just hope these fuckin' rifles work like they're supposed to."

The old man was, as always, crass…

But he put words to a sentiment common among her fighters - suspicion.

Just who, or even really what, 'Shockwave' really was was a question on the lips of at least half of her officers. And a good number of those living on Menagerie, too, though they were grateful enough for a weapon as powerful as him not to put too loud a voice to it all. But Ghira seemed convinced, and that meant something. To her, and to Menagerie as a whole.

So she'd offer the machine a… Modicum of faith.

For now.

"Draw targets and fire when ready." She ordered, laying with her head peeking over the cliff to watch… Well, whatever would happen next. "From left to right. Old man, count the shots in."

"Target sighted."

"Eyes on target."

"I got mine." The old man grunted, "On one, two… Fire."

Three muted, dully electrified, whumps echoed from the cliffside beside her and, for a moment, that was all there was. The taste of iron in the air, the echoing whump of the shots, and the crashing of the ocean coming in against the cliff-side.

Then the first shot slammed home - into the engine block of one of the sloops and then the other two inside the same breath, leaving behind only small, dully-glowing holes for another heartbeat.

The sloops' blocky, dull-colored engines erupted violently and suddenly, Dust sparking to life from live wires or lucky shots that had seaweed directly through the metal housing. The fire burned bright and vibrant, crackling in a rainbow of colors as the Dust burned and the wood caught. Another trio of shots split the air and ripped apart the engines of the other sloops before the Faunus continued, turning on each of the ship's masts and punching coordinated shots into them. It took more, three rounds of concentrated shooting, but…

The rounds seared through the wood, setting them ablaze and weakening the wood until it cracked like thunder and fell, crushing the decks of the small ships.

Surrounded by the burning, drifting sloops, the warship was trapped against the cliff-face. Encircled and noosed by their own protective detail. And unable to do anything more than lower life-boats, ladders and rope to the soldiers leaping from the smaller, doomed craft.

"By the tides… At-At a hundred feet…" Sienna heard the old man murmur as he slid back and sat up, holding the rifle and inspecting it like a man holding a miracle. He turned to her and asked, quietly, "You said he just… Slapped this fucker together?"

"That he did." She murmured as an eclectic fleet of small wooden ships came into view further out to sea and south, pushed on by long oars and engines alike. "Just what he could manage with an old, stolen rifle and some scraps…"

So what, she wondered, would he be able to do with even more?

By the gods…

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"A hundred feet out?"

"Through the sea-winds, the dark, the bad posture, and a hundred feet, Ghira." Sienna answered him, sitting on his office's window-sill and watching the clouds drift by outside. "It punched right through the engine housing, lit the Dust up, hell, a few rounds were enough to burn their masts. Naval wood, Ghira."

"Stars and tides…" He murmured, turning and staring down at the papers scattered across the rough, dark wooden top of his desk. "Sienna, technology like that…"

"My sentiments exactly." She hummed, "It's powerful. I want to pit them against proper Atlesian armor before I make my final judgement, but…"

"But?"

"Even just what I saw is enough, Ghira." Sienna finally turned to look at him, "With weapons like those, our infantry is finally one to one with the Humans'. No more do we need to rely solely on clever tactics and inept enemy commanders. With a steady supply of these weapons, we can just out-fight them."

Ghira could only sigh…

Of course it would come down to war, and Sienna's eagerness to wage it. He had fought, and would again before all was done, he was certain, but never did he engage in it with such an eagerness, such a hunger, as Sienna did. He tried not to judge people, in any walk of life, but he couldn't escape the smallest bit of discomfort, of distaste, with how excited the prospect of more easy murder made the woman. And so many of her fighters, too.

But such was war, he supposed…

Hopeful in spite of everything, he offered, "Shockwave has more to offer than just weapons, Sienna."

"I know." She smiled and turned back to cloud-watching, "He's erecting us a perimeter defence, too. Peace of mind against the Grimm will be… Nice."

"Indeed it will." He smiled warmly - progress, slight as it was, but progress nonetheless.

"And free up our rangers to fight elsewhere, too." Sienna added quietly, putting a bloody end to his smile and hope without even the slightest bit of realisation for either. "Excellent guerrillas, our rangers. Even if they do need to learn Mistrali terrain a bit before they can truly shine."

"I… That's good." He grunted, buying time to compose himself properly with a sip of his tea. "Excellent, even. I'm organizing supply deliveries right now but once that's done, we can see about asking the rangers about-"

"Don't bother yourself." She cut him off, waving him off when he turned to her, brows furrowing in consternation. "I'll deal with it myself."

"Alright then…" He sighed, rifling through the papers on his desk until he found the folder he needed. Coughing to clear his throat, and get her attention, he said, "Shockwave, uh, wrote a list of things he'd appreciate you looking for. On your next outing. Or you could, uh, have your people do it, I… Suppose."

"Let me see." Sienna grunted, hopping off his window sill and coming over to take the folder. She leafed through it boredly before she sighed and asked, "He seriously wants us to steal more Dust generators? Does he know how hard those are to get without damaging them?"

"He does, but-"

"And droids?" She snapped, "Atlas' droids are next to impossible to get intact, so I hope he's fine with them coming back in bits and pieces. If we even find them, that is."

"I believe he left a note on that one."

"Yes, yes 'optional but not needed', like the generator and everything that isn't literally just 'metal'." She rolled her eyes and closed the little folder with a sigh, "Why does he need us to bring so much metal?"

"He repurposes it into his special kind of metal." How, Ghira wasn't entirely sure, beyond that raw materials went into his machines and his 'cyber-matter' came out. He shrugged and went on, "He still needs to repair himself, and he needs it to make those fancy rifles you like so much. And everything else, too."

"And I suppose Menagerie isn't exactly a mining powerhouse…"

"No, it's not." He confirmed, "And sooner or later, the scraps from that Atlesian fleet will be all used up. A whole ship's worth is already being prepared for the construction I told you about, up in the mountains."

"I'll see what I can do…"

"I'm sure Shockwave understands how difficult some of these items are, and our situation at large." He offered diplomatically, smiling warmly when the woman's brow rose. He sighed and added, quietly, "But I'll be sure to inform him of your concerns regardless."

"I appreciate that."

"Though, you could always do it yourself…"

"I'm busy." The woman shook her head, "I don't have time to deal with some metal freak up in the mountains doing Grimm knows what."

"He's doing construction, Sienna."

"So the story goes, Ghira, so the story goes." She sighed, pacing across the room with a backwards wave. "I wonder if there's anything up in the mountains I can kill… I'm hungry for something other than the yarn you're spinning."

"It's my story, I'm telling the story- Sienna, you can't just walk out, we aren't done yet." He called to the woman's retreating back. She only laughed and slammed the door behind her so, with a sigh, he fell back onto his seat and shook his head. "That woman's attitude will be the death of me one day…"

Or of herself, as fight-happy as she was sometimes...

"Well," he growled as he got back to work, "here's hoping she finds something big enough to share."

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Atlas Academy boasted one of the most advanced schools in technical science in the world, both in terms of military application and civilian, which sat nestled into the back of Atlas Academy. Ten entire floors of laboratories, engineering rooms, open-air hangars and even indoor combat arenas for weapons and armor testing. His own prosthetics had been designed in a laboratory in the sciences wing, drafted up by the best prosthetics scientist Atlas had and then sent down to fabrication in the bottom level of the wing that the science schools took up. The combat droids they were testing had been designed here, along with every single thing else Atlas used save for their wet navy.

And those had been designed in a science outpost on the coast run by the very same board as the science school proper.

But today, he wasn't visiting the ship-makers or the prosthetics engineers, as much as Doctor Polendina disliked the latter…

As the door slid forward and to the side along its gliding rails, Ironwood saw the wiry man spin in his chair and smile thinly, "General Ironwood."

"Doctor Watts." Something had always felt off about the wiry, dark-haired technologist, but his inquiries had all come back clean. So the newly minted General offered the man a greeting nod and slid to a comfortable, respectful at ease stance. "You had something to show me?"

"Oh, done with the pleasantries already?"

"I'm a busy man."

"As am I." Watts sniped as he rose and spread his arms out to either side, "You don't see me shirking social conventions. Do you?"

"Arthur…"

"Right, right, straight to business then. Such a boar…" The scientist sighed and tucked his hands into the pocket of his long, white coat. Then, with a deep frown and angry, furrowed brows he turned and grunted, "Come along then, James."

"General."

"I'm not military, I don't need to use your rank." The man turned to offer him a smile over his shoulder, "And we did away with normal social conventions, didn't we?"

Gods… He'd never wanted to shoot someone as bad as anytime he'd ever had the very real displeasure of being forced to work with this man. Unfortunately, Atlas stood atop the world for its technology. And that technology required scientists. Engineers of a dozen types, technicians, biologists, chemists, all given the respect, pay and tools to ensure they stayed in Atlas and leant the Kingdom their strengths.

An unfortunate byproduct of the entire system which kept his home safe - it bred arrogance in its lab-bound guardians.

Unfortunate… And unavoidable.

The man's laboratory was at least cleaner than his attitude. Long shelves, stacked from floor to ceiling, ran along one wall from end to end. The other was filled by mannequins of a sort - not the store-used variety but rather thick, stocky mannequins made of dull metal. Each was layered in different sets of armor, some of which he recognized - three of the mannequins wore pitted and scarred Atlesian combat armor. Between the two walls sat a long, white table covered in tools Ironwood didn't recognize, as well as the vague shape of weaponry of a variety of applications, ammunition, and power cells.

His desk was the messiest part of the room - sitting at the end of the work-table with its back to the door, it was covered in folders, paperwork and schematics Ironwood didn't pay any mind.

If they were important, the doctor would show them to him.

At the end of the row of armored suits was a set of armor left unscathed by whatever the man had put the others through. Its arms and legs were both entirely sheathed in armor, with large, blocky knee and elbow guards. Screws at the ends, above the joints, and the center of the limbs on the inside told him the system was closed around a limb rather than slid onto one.The torso was made up of similarly bolted-in-place front and back sections with smoothed surfaces broken up only by a short antenna that sprouted from the back behind one shoulder and several divots where, presumably, ammunition could be harnessed for combat use. It had a sturdy waist as well, with large squares placed on the waistline that opened at the top for more storage, a large cod-piece and a circular plate that protected the lower stomach. The rest of the stomach and sides were covered by thin scale-like pieces of armor, presumably to offer protection with less limitation to movement.

It was bulky, but…

Sturdy looking.

"What am I looking at, Watts?"

"Prototype powered armor." The man answered from his side, raising a hand that Ironwood realized, suddenly, held a stubby little handgun. Before he could speak, it barked a near-silent shot.

Which glanced off the armor with a strange sort of… Electrical charge.

"Was that…"

"The back is bulky, as you no doubt noticed. Large enough for a small survival pack, at least." Watts explained quietly, pressing a button on his little control pad that slid the mannequin forward and turned it so Ironwood could better see the back end. "However, they space is filled by a power processing unit, dumb articifical intelligence for regualation… And a hard-light generator core."

"Hard-light…?"

"A special, synthetic Dust compound which, among other uses, can be projected onto surfaces as a sort of… Layer of hardened defence." He explained simply, holding up the weapon in his hand with a meaningful, rueful smile. "As you saw, it outright deflects small-caliber munitions. It performs similarly against common, run-of-the-mill sorts of melee weapons as well. And, in tests, it has been shown to redirect our energy weapons."

That had been the purpose of the project handed down to the science wing on his first day in office - find a way to circumvent whatever energy weapon had destroyed his fleet.

"Impressive work." He had to admit when someone did well, regardless of the prideful grin they might have given him for the effort. "But… It's rather bulky."

"The power unit is rather large, which is a problem I am working on." Watts defended sharply, gesturing with a hand to the power cells, Dust crystals and other detritus on his work-table. "It has to run internal systems to regulate the Dust application as well, to prevent waste. There's also an internal temperature regulation system, to protect against residual heat from energy weapons, which is what you-"

"Watts." He sighed and cut the man off, turning to glower down on him, "It's a problem, but I understand you're working on it. Can it perform as I require?"

"I… Need to test it." The man grumbled, "What energy projectors I can get, it has out-lasted. But that bastard, Polendina, won't share his proto-types. Which I know are better than what the warehouse keeps."

"I'll requisition you some of his test-beds." He sighed - normally, the bulk and six figure cost of the armor would have seen him shelve it out of hand. But they sorely needed better protection, and soon, too, if the reports out of Mistral were accurate. "I'm also authorizing your budget request. Get the engineers working on this power unit for you. I need a more slimmed down, lighter design."

"I will get right on that, General."

"See that you do." He nodded, turning back to the suit. "And get it a helmet, if you would."

Only a fool would go out without a helmet.

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