//------------------------------//
// Right Where I Want Them (New) 
// Story: SAPR 
// by Scipio Smith 
//------------------------------//


Right Where I Want Them


Cinder stood atop one of the high buildings beneath Mountain Glenn, upon one of the pinnacles of the subterranean under-city, and looked out across this dark, eternally enshrouded world. 
There was little light here. The men who built this place had attempted to illuminate the ceiling, had even attempted to apply a touch of artistry to their endeavour, but it was a faint effort, insignificant in the face of the darkness with which that light contended. Even the street lights that had been erected to light the way beneath her lofty place had failed long ago. 
Darkness ruled here, darkness and death, and in the darkness, it made a natural home for grimm and faunus both alike. 
Or so she would have thought, at least. The White Fang had rather spoiled the effect by stringing some lights around the edges of their camp, the areas that they most frequently patrolled, the places that they looted for their supplies. Crude dust lamps and portable camp lights beat against the darkness. 
The faunus – most faunus – could see in the dark, and yet, they feared it nonetheless. 
They feared to be here in this dead place. 
For herself, Cinder felt no fear. She felt only… anticipation. 
They had come. Sunset and all the rest. They thought they had been discreet, landing upon the outskirts of the city, but the eyes of the White Fang were not blind, and their airship had been observed. Nevertheless, Cinder had let them land. No, there was no 'nevertheless' about it. Cinder had let them land because she wanted them to land, she wanted them to come here into the darkness, she wanted them to play the parts that she had written for them. 
She wanted Sunset to prove to her, once and for all, that Cinder had not misjudged her nature: selfish and callous. 
Considering the circumstances of her flight from Beacon, considering that she had had but very little time to devise a new plan after the collapse of the old one, all things considered, Cinder felt that she had every right to feel pleased with herself. In just a day, she had composed a new drama, prepared the stage, cast her actors and her clowns. 
Some of those clowns were a little unhappy about their parts, but Cinder cared not. The structure of this alliance was not flat, but mountainous, with her standing alone at the summit, in the stratosphere. She saw all things and decided all things, and they should think themselves honoured to be allowed to act in accordance with the dictates of her lofty vantage. 
Destiny was driving them on, inexorable and immutable, bearing them swiftly forth to immortality, to glory beyond imagining, to power beyond challenge. 
The hour was near. The curtain was set to rise. All things were in preparation. She had her enemies right where she wanted them. 
Cinder looked out across the city. She had already plotted out the route her enemies should take. The route that she wished them to take. 
The route she would make sure they took. 
She wondered for a moment how they were feeling up there, with the stars overhead; were they confident? Did they think that they stood a chance at besting her? Were they nervous? Did they fear to go into the dead city? Did they shiver in apprehension? Did Rainbow Dash want another crack at her, did proud Pyrrha Nikos eagerly anticipate smiting Cinder to lay her low amongst the bodies, or did they tremble at the thought of their situation?
It mattered not. Be they ever so bold-hearted, be they ever so wary and so nervous, the outcome would not change. 
All things would proceed precisely as she willed.
It was fitting that it should begin here. She had not, admittedly, chosen the location not for any reason of poetry but because it happened to offer access into Vale, but the more she thought about it, the more glad she became that fortune had brought her hence. 
This place was a monument to the arrogance of men, to their pride, to their vanity, to their delusional belief that they could withstand the powers of death and darkness, hold off the grimm indefinitely, that the world would bend to their ‘progress.’ And the world in all its terror had reminded men that it was not so. 
How fitting, then, that this should be the place where Ozpin’s vanity would start to crumble; where the Mistralian pride of Pyrrha Nikos, the Atlesian bravado of Rainbow Dash, all of it would turn to dust and ashes here in the dark, as the hubris of Vale had done before. 
And as for Sunset… this would be the great tragedy of her life. 
Until, or unless, she accepted the truth: that there was no place for the likes of her in the ranks of the defenders of humanity. 
Cinder glanced upwards; she could not see the stars, of course, but she was aware of them, hanging far above, looking upon the world even as Cinder dwelt below, both of them gazing upon the surface of the world from different places. 
She had been born under the sign of Python, the great serpent, and thus, according to those who read auguries into such things, she was destined to be cunning, false, and treacherous. Cinder, for all that she was sustained by her belief in the inevitability of her own destiny more than by food or water, was not certain whether she believed that. Whether she wished to believe that. Was she who she was, and as she was, because the stars decreed it so? Or had she been made thus by Phoebe Kommenos, and would have been thus Cinder Fall had the fairest stars twinkled down upon her orphaning?
Pyrrha Nikos, of course, had been born under the sign of the Three Horses, the steeds that had pulled the chariot of her namesake long ago; that meant that she was valiant-hearted and noble in her spirit. Not content with such, upon her birthday, a comet had streaked across the sky, portending greatness for the Evenstar of Mistral. 
Or would she have been Pyrrha Nikos anyway, showered with all the gifts the world could bless her with, had she been born ‘neath Python as Cinder had?
Cinder believed in destiny. It was her comfort and her consolation on cold dark nights, it excused her failures, it promised brighter days to come, it promised greatness and glory and power and all the treasures of this world. It promised that one day she would have no more need to hide in darkness, one day she would stand on the pinnacle under the light of the sun and all would bow before her. 
She believed, and yet… and yet… and yet, why was it her destiny to suffer as she had, to endure all that she had? Why did destiny torment her so before it would grant her reward?
Destiny was her comfort, but there were times also when it felt like a curse.
It mattered not. If the fault was in her stars or in herself, nevertheless, here she stood, high above the rest, waiting. 
And yet, she wondered about Sunset’s star. What star had made her, what celestial body had gifted her with such power?
How had she come by the magic that she wielded as if by right?
There would be time to learn that, and all the other answers she desired. Sunset would see, once this battle was done, once she was forced to choose, then she would understand that there was no place for her in the armies of the self-righteous, no place amongst Ozpin’s pristine white chess pieces. She belonged in the ranks of the unworthy, the outcast and the unclean, amongst those who must help themselves because the world gave them no succour. 
She belonged at Cinder’s side. 
“Cinder?”
Cinder looked over her shoulder. Emerald stood behind her, cringing apologetically at the interruption, as well she should. 
She tries to serve you well.
Cinder frowned at that. That nagging little voice in her head, those feelings that she could not place, they had died down since her flight from Beacon, but vestiges of them yet fluttered in her mind and soul. 
She knew not where they came from, but they prodded at her nonetheless.
“Straighten your back, Emerald, and do not fear me,” she said softly. “I will not harm you.”
“Of course you won’t!” Emerald said, though her voice trembled regardless. “I just… I know that you don’t like being disturbed when you’re thinking.”
“It is of little consequence; I had reached the end of my thoughts in any case,” Cinder informed her. “What do you want?”
“Adam wants you,” Emerald told her.
“I see,” Cinder said softly. “Thank you for telling me.” She stared towards the staircase leading down to the street level of the underground. 
Emerald hesitated for a moment. “Cinder?”
Cinder stopped, almost level with Emerald herself. “Yes?”
Emerald glanced away. “This new plan… the White Fang… they’re all going to die, aren’t they?”
Cinder’s expression was without expression. “Yes,” she answered, plainly and without evasion. “Very likely most of them will.”
“Then why?”
Cinder smirked. “Why what?” she asked, a touch of amusement flavouring her voice.
“Why throw them all away?” Emerald asked.
“Why do you care?” Cinder asked archly. “Are you beginning to sympathise with these faunus?”
“They are our allies,” Emerald pointed out quietly. “And they could… couldn’t they be useful?”
“For what?” Cinder asked her.
“They’re an army,” Emerald said.
“No, they are an armed rabble who think themselves an army,” Cinder replied. “They would fall to pieces if deployed in battle against real soldiers. Yes, it is true, I had originally intended to unleash them upon Vale, but without the distractions that would have been provided by the virus and its attendant havoc upon General Ironwood’s toys, I am afraid there is no way that this host can be trusted to accomplish anything if hurled against the walls of Vale. All that they would do is die, and therefore,” – her smile widened – “better that they should do it in service to some meaningful purpose, no?”
“I… I suppose so,” Emerald conceded. “But still…”
“The bloodshed shocks you?” Cinder asked.
“No!” Emerald said immediately. “Well, I suppose…”
“No great undertaking has ever been achieved without bloodshed in the history of Remnant,” Cinder told her. “And this will be no exception. The path ahead will be difficult, and we must make sacrifices to achieve our ambitions… but that is how we know the reward will be worth our toil. Now come. Let us not keep Adam waiting any longer.”
Emerald trailed behind Cinder, dogging at her heels, as Cinder descended down into the street and returned to the White Fang camp. She did not miss the way they looked at her, the hostility in their eyes. Most of these faunus had as little love for her as Gilda had; even Adam, the most outwardly cooperative of them, served her only out of desperation, not love or loyalty. 
She cared not. She did not need their love or their loyalty; she only needed their obedience, for just a little while longer. So let them stare, let them glare, let them wonder why they bent their necks and backs to a human, let them question why Adam obeyed her instructions as he did, let them wonder everything and anything and wait for the day they would be free of her influence. 
The day of liberty was coming soon, after all. 
She found Adam near the train, with a map of the under-city resting upon a folding table, illuminated by a small lamp, the dull yellow glow of which spread out across the paper. The map was hand-drawn and crude in places; it had been drawn by the White Fang themselves as they scouted the area when they moved in; as might be expected, they didn’t have access to the old plans and blueprints held in the archives of Vale. 
She trusted this map more; it was based on live experience and accurate to the moment. Sunset and the rest would be relying on charts twenty years out of date, without reference to the destruction of buildings, the opening up of sinkholes and the like. She hoped they weren’t too inconvenienced by it. If they were inconvenienced too much, then that might inconvenience her, and that was something she did not want. 
Indeed, she might go so far as to say that she could not afford it. 
This new plan of hers would be brilliant… but it would also be tight. If anything went slightly wrong, then it would all fall apart and be for nothing. 
She would not let that happen. 
Adam was alone. Cinder was glad of that. She didn’t want to have to argue with Gilda or have to compete with the bird faunus for influence over Adam. 
She preferred to have him all to herself. It made it so much easier to get what she wanted.
As she approached, she could not help but rub her victory in a little, saying, “No Gilda?”
Adam grunted. “I thought we’d be more productive without her.”
“Or did you simply grow tired of her carping?” Cinder asked.
“She is my second,” Adam reminded her. “She is due her candour.”
“She is the worst kind of second,” Cinder said. “She abuses her freedoms, complains in the safety of speculation, and claims foresight in disasters that never happen.”
“That have not happened yet,” Adam replied. “The journey is not yet done.”
Cinder leaned forwards, placing her hands upon the table. “Do you doubt me, Adam? Do you fear that I am leading you astray?” She stared into the eye-slits of his mask as though she could see through it to the eyes beneath. “All that I have promised you will come to pass: victory, the destruction of your enemies-“
“Then why does Blake sleep soundly up above?” Adam demanded. “Why do the whores who stole her from me sleep sound when I could descend upon them right now?”
Call Sunset a whore again, and I will rip out your tongue. Cinder took pause a moment, if only so that she could speak without undue anger. “The time is not yet come.”
“When?”
“Not yet,” Cinder insisted. “We must play this out a little longer. What is it that you want, Adam? Is your revenge more important to you than your cause?”
Adam bared his teeth at her. “I want her to suffer.”
“And she will,” Cinder promised. “Believe me. Trust me. Now, have your people removed all of the booby traps from New Street Station?”
“Most of them,” Adam replied tersely.
Cinder raised a single curious eyebrow. “'Most of them'?”
“We did not make careful notes of where we placed every trap,” Adam snapped. “And I lost three men from accidentally setting off our own devices; I would not risk any more combing through that place looking for bombs that we have forgotten. Our enemies will have to take their chances.” He paused. “Besides, if they do stumble across a few traps, it will make the station seem like less of a trap, don’t you think?”
Cinder grunted. He had a point, as much as she was loath to admit the fact. Upon arriving at Mountain Glenn, the White Fang had boobytrapped most of the subway stations that provided entrance to the underground from above, to prevent them from being used to attack them and to avoid having to spare men to guard them. But Cinder had decided that the best station for SAPR and RSPT to enter through would be New Street, the largest and grandest of Mountain Glenn’s stations, and so, she had ordered the White Fang to dismantle their traps there to make things easier… and more tempting.
But things could be too tempting. Sunset and Pyrrha were not stupid; they would know when a thing was too easy. It might, indeed, be good if they had to do a little work to get down here. 
“Once they have descended,” Cinder said, ignoring Adam’s last comment, “they will have to move through this mall adjoining the station. I will have them emerge from this east entrance and proceed down this road,” – she traced the road, long and straight, with her finger – “towards the rail yard.”
“You think they know we’re here?” Adam asked.
“I think they’re not to be underestimated,” Cinder replied. She had already underestimated them once, to her cost. “They know that there are only a few locations in this city large enough to camp an army encumbered by dust and gear of war. Speaking of dust, have you detonated all of the escape exits along the tunnel?” Some of the exits had been sealed by the Valish themselves after the fall of Mountain Glenn, to prevent grimm from popping up too close to Vale itself undetected, but others – the ones closer to Mountain Glenn itself – had remained. Cinder was determined to close such easy outs.
“I don’t know why you had us waste so much dust,” Adam grumbled.
“Was it done?” Cinder demanded.
“Yes,” Adam admitted.
“Good,” Cinder replied.
“Are you going to explain why?”
“No,” Cinder said. “I don’t think I will.”
Adam exhaled loudly out of his nostrils. “This may be your plan, but these are my men, my resources-”
“Resources which you obtained with my help,” Cinder reminded him, cutting him off. “You would not have dared to dream of this without me. Do not forget that.” She stared at him, her gaze like smouldering embers burning into him until he looked away, like a spurned dog fearful of its master’s wrath. Cinder smiled. “In order to delay the progress of our enemies until the train is ready to depart, my team will ambush them as they head down this road.”
“'Ambush'?” Adam repeated. “There are probably nine of them and only four of you, and she is no fighter.” He gestured to Emerald with a nod of his head.
“I can fight!” Emerald squawked in outrage.
Adam smirked. “Can you?” he asked, his tone one of sceptical amusement. “Not well enough.”
“I-”
“Quiet,” Cinder said, holding up one hand to stay Emerald’s tongue. “Perhaps Emerald is not the greatest of warriors,” she conceded, ignoring the sound of Emerald sucking in her breath behind her, “but she has other talents that will aid in our success, and in any case, Mercury, Lightning, and myself are all more than capable of picking up the slack.”
She believed every word that she had spoken, and yet… and yet, there was a part of her that wished for more men, not out of fear but because she wished to fight Pyrrha alone, one on one; that would be difficult to do with only Mercury and Lightning to distract the others and keep them from piling in on Pyrrha’s side. 
Pyrrha might be honourable enough to engage her in single combat, but those around her were from a different tradition and could not be trusted to observe the Mistralian way. 
And yet, what could she do about it? Even if her pride would unbend sufficiently to ask Adam for troops, any forces he could supply would be, on the evidence, hopelessly inadequate. 
“We should weaken their numbers now,” Adam insisted.
“I have said no!” Cinder snarled, and for a moment, a spark of flame blazed in the corner of her eye as she slammed her palm down upon the table. “We are not here to indulge your thirst for bloodshed!”
“Whose thirst are we here to indulge?” Adam asked.
“Sarcasm does not become you, Adam Taurus,” Cinder said coldly. “Put her aside. Put all your anger towards her aside. Focus on the prize, the real prize. I am about to make you immortal; when this plan is complete, you will be the faunus who breached the defences of Vale. The name of Adam Taurus will never be forgotten. Is that not what you wish? To be lionised above all the other heroes of the freedom struggle? Is that not worth a little restraint?”
Adam was silent. His hands clenched into fists. His body trembled. Cinder could see his desires warring within him, his zeal for acclaim warring with his desire for retribution.
She had come to him, above all others, because he was like her. She had seen that from the moment that she’d seen him. Yes, there were others that she could have approached – mercenaries, rogue huntsmen – and she had gone to the White Fang, yes, because they had large forces, but… but when she had looked at Adam’s face, for all that he tried to hide himself being a mask, she had known: here was someone she could understand. Someone who had known the cruelty of the world, who knew what it was to be powerless. 
Someone who wanted power and glory and all the things that he had been denied.
Someone who wanted to take revenge on those who had wronged him. 
Cinder would be lying if she claimed she did not understand that too, but he would have to learn restraint – and patience – as she had. There would be time for settling scores later. 
Well, perhaps. 
“'Lionised'?” Adam repeated.
“You will be their hero,” Cinder said.
Adam snorted. “I am already that.”
“Of course you are,” Cinder added quickly. “The Sword of the Faunus, but how much higher will you be raised in the general esteem when your sword descends upon Vale? You will have done what not even Ares Claudandus dared to do and put one of the four kingdoms to the torch! No faunus will have ever risen higher. No one will have risen so high since ancient times when first the topless towers of Mistral burned, nor will rise again, most likely. You will have earned your place in history: to the faunus, a hero to be celebrated while the race of faunus lasts; to men, a monster to terrify the children for untold generations yet to come.”
He smiled. He tried to conceal his glee at the prospect, but he smiled nonetheless. “Very well,” he growled. “Let them have their lives for just a little longer. How do you intend to ensure that they go where they will and nowhere else?”
Cinder smiled. “The grimm will herd them; I do not think they will be eager to engage in unnecessary fighting; they will avoid the grimm concentrations, and seek out areas where the grimm are not.”
“And the grimm will not descend upon them?”
“No more than they have descended upon you and your forces,” Cinder replied. She smiled. “The grimm do not move save by my command. They are as quiescent as an army awaiting the bugle call.”
“I see,” Adam muttered. “Very well then.” He began to turn away, but stopped. “Unless there’s anything else?”
“No,” Cinder replied. “Nothing else that we need to discuss.”
“Good,” Adam said, and walked away.
Cinder watched him go. “Emerald?” she murmured.
“Yes, Cinder?”
“Follow him, discreetly,” Cinder told her. “Let me know if he does anything… unwise.”
“You don’t trust him?”
“He is at war within himself,” Cinder informed her. “I am not yet certain the battle is concluded.”
“I see,” Emerald murmured. “I won’t let you down!”
“If I thought you would, I wouldn’t have set you to do it,” Cinder replied blithely. “Off you go.”
With Emerald sent upon her way, Cinder… Cinder had nothing to do but wait. She could not sleep. She was driven beyond the need for sleep, gnawed at by a hunger that would not let her rest. When she closed her eyes, no dreams would come; there was nothing but a blackness, a void in which she was lost with her thoughts, in which her desires warred with her fears. 
She could not sleep. For her ambitions, she had murdered sleep. The wings of destiny had carried her beyond the need for rest. 
She had all the dreams that she required here in the waking world. 
Nevertheless, she did not wish that fact to become too widely known, lest she be looked at with even more suspicion than she already was – if some of the White Fang knew why she required no sleep, their hostility might become outright mutiny – and so, she retired to her billet, an abandoned bar not far from the railway yard which might have been intended to serve the workers when their shifts ended. It was a little way away from the White Fang camp, but not too far, and it was private. It had solid walls through which none could see that Cinder would sleep no more. 
“All things are prepared?” the voice of Salem emerged out of the darkness a moment before the light of the Seer began to illuminate the empty bar. The grimm sphere clicked as it glided through the air towards her. 
Cinder descended to one knee. “Everything, Mistress. The White Fang have proved to be capable servants. In a short time, they have prepared everything as I wished.”
“Not quite as you wished,” Salem corrected. “Do not forget that this plan was conceived in haste after the collapse of your first.”
Cinder gritted her teeth. “Yes, Mistress, but this new plan will succeed. It may even be more successful than the first.”
“Do not grow overconfident so soon after a crushing failure,” Salem admonished her, her voice sharpening and acquiring a bite like a beowolf. “Leave crowing over your success until after the battle.”
“Yes,” Cinder muttered. “Of course.”
“Cinder,” Salem said softly. “I do not say these things to hurt you. I have every confidence in your abilities and your devious new scheme. So much confidence do I have that this will be the last time that we speak for a while, until Arthur reaches you with a new Seer.”
“'A new Seer'?” Cinder repeated. “What is going to happen to-?”
“You tell me that Ozpin has taken a new group of young protégés into his service,” Salem said. “I want to see for myself what they’re made of. Ozpin always makes such… interesting choices. Some so strong, others so very weak. I want to observe this latest class and perhaps see for myself which will break in spirit… and which shall have to be consumed in body.”



The fire dust crystal glowed a dull and angry-looking red, casting its light around the little campfire cooker, as the brine in the pan on top of the cooker began to boil, cooking the hot dogs within. 
Winona, the dog that Gilda was looking after for Applejack, raised her head and sniffed the air; her tongue hung out of her mouth a little bit as she panted eagerly.
“Yeah, yeah, they’re almost done,” Gilda murmured, reaching out with one hand to pat the dog upon the head as she watched the brine boil and the sausages cook before her eyes. With a fork that was mostly free form rust – everywhere that would touch the food, at least – she prodded the little hot dogs – they came out of a can, which meant they were small and probably barely qualified as hot dogs, but they were the right kind of sausage, and the best that you were going to find in Mountain Glenn – around in the pan as the brownish liquid bubbled up and began to spit up at her, the hot droplets dissipating harmlessly off her aura. 
It was at that point that Gilda knew the hot dogs were done, so she skewered them, one by one, out of the pan and onto a plastic plate, before turning off the cooker and pouring out the brine onto the ground away from Winona or her feet. 
“We don’t have any buns,” Gilda said apologetically, as much to herself as to Winona, as she picked up a warm hot dog between her fingers. “But I guess that won’t bother you so much, will it, huh?”
Winona barked and started to devour the hot dog out of Gilda’s hand, wolfing down the sausage in quick, eager bites, before licking Gilda’s fingers for any tasty trace that remained. 
“That’s the spirit,” Gilda said. “Fill your boots, girl.”
“Why do you have that dog?”
Gilda looked up and around. Strongheart stood nearby, arms folded, watching her with curiosity in her eyes. 
Gilda straightened up. “Somebody has to,” she said. “Unless you want to kill her.”
“No,” Strongheart said immediately. “But…”
“But what?”
“It’s an Atlas dog.”
Gilda snorted. “It’s a dog. I don’t think it knows anything about Atlas.”
“You know what I mean,” Strongheart insisted. “It belongs to an Atlas huntress.”
“It’s still just a dog, and it needs taking care of,” Gilda replied. “Hungry?” She held out the plate with its remaining hot dogs.
Strongheart sat down and gingerly reached out to pluck a hot dog from off the plate. “Some people say,” she began, but then started eating.
Gilda let her chew for a moment. “'Some people say-'?” she prodded.
Strongheart swallowed. “You know what they say.”
“That I’m too soft on the Atlesians?” Gilda suggested.
Strongheart nodded. “That you should let them get what’s coming to them.”
“Those people can kiss my ass,” Gilda spat. “That’s not who we are.”
Strongheart didn’t reply. 
Gilda looked at her. “What do you think?” she demanded as she skewered a sausage on the end of her fork and bit down on it. 
Strongheart took a moment to say, “I think Cinder should have killed them both, like they killed my father. But… since she didn’t kill them… I don’t think we should hurt them.”
Gilda swallowed, nodding slowly. “Because it’s the right thing, what we do; we fight who we have to, and we hurt who we have to, but we don’t enjoy it.” Except for the ones that do.
“And you’d say that even if they weren’t friends of your friend?”
“Rainbow Dash isn’t my friend no more, and they certainly aren’t,” Gilda insisted, even though she would have preferred it the other way around. “But one of them isn’t even a huntress; she’s got no business being mixed up in all this.”
Strongheart frowned. “What do you think will happen to them?”
Gilda sighed. “I’ve got no idea,” she admitted. She didn’t know, and it worried her, honestly. The obvious answer was that whatever her ladyship wanted to happen to them would happen, which might be letting them go or more likely would mean killing them both. And when she made that decision, Gilda wouldn’t be able to protect them any longer, because Gilda…
Gilda would probably be dead herself. 
Unless… maybe I could get them out sooner. But get them out where? It’s a long way to Vale; maybe Dashie could pick them up? But then, she’d know where we were. 
Except we’ll be on the move before she has a chance to do anything about it, the pace that Cinder’s setting now. 
“You’re thinking about letting them go, aren’t you?” Strongheart asked.
“You’re too smart for your own good, kid,” Gilda replied. “Or my own good, at least.”
“Why?” Strongheart demanded. “Why would you even think about something like that?”
“Because if I do nothing when I know they’ll die, if I let that happen, then it’s no different than if I killed them myself,” Gilda declared.
“Is that it?” Strongheart asked. “Is that the only reason?”
Gilda frowned. “What other reason would there be?”
“You don’t want to be on the train,” Strongheart said.
Gilda chuckled. “If I’m not on the train, it will be because Adam cuts me in half for what I did, might do, whatever. The point is, this isn’t about me finding an excuse to run away. Trust me, if I wanted to leave, I could have done it a while ago.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because as much as I think that this is a terrible idea, I owe it to the rest of you to be there when it all goes down.”
“And see that you’re wrong,” Strongheart said.
Gilda was silent for a little while. She chewed. She swallowed. The softness of the hot dog did not alleviate the slightly sour taste in her mouth. “I’m not wrong,” she said quietly. She closed her eyes for a moment. “Strongheart,” she said, “what do you think is going to happen? When we burst out from underground and into Vale, then what?”
Strongheart’s brow furrowed in thought. “Then… then we win,” she said, as though it were some kind of game, and they’d just met the victory conditions. “We take them by surprise; we-”
“And how long is that going to last?” Gilda demanded. She put her plate aside – down on the ground, where Winona could devour the remaining sausages – and got to her feet. “You’re right, when we break through, we’ll have surprise on our side, and because we’ve caught our enemies by surprise, we’ll get the chance to flood through the streets without anyone getting in our way except maybe a couple of cops in the wrong place at the wrong time. But how long do you think that is going to last, huh? Minutes, is my guess. Minutes before the Atlesian airships coming swooping down on us, guns strafing us in the streets. You’ve never been under air attack, have you?”
Strongheart shook her head. “You?”
“Once,” Gilda said. “I doubt I’ll ever forget it.”
“Were you afraid?”
“I was helpless,” Gilda told her. “And so was Blake, and Perry, and Cotton, and everyone else, whether they had a gun or not. They were up in the sky, hitting us from far out of our range, and there was nothing we could do except hide and pray!”
“Couldn’t you-?”
“Fly up at them? Yeah, I tried that, and I nearly got my wings shot off,” Gilda snapped. “That’s what we’ll be up against when the surprise wears off, all their airships hitting us, while we can’t do a thing about it.”
“The Paladins-”
“They’ll get taken out first,” Gilda said. “They’ll hit those with rockets, then they’ll open up their cannons on the rest of us on foot. Those of us who aren’t shot down, or blown up will have to take cover inside the nearest building we can get into, and at that point, our momentum will be gone, the attack will be stalled out, and we’ll be done. We might not be dead, but we’ll be done. The Paladins can’t hide, so they’ll be picked off if they haven’t been blown up already. And then…” She sighed. “And then it’s a question of whether or not the Atlesians are willing to blow up parts of Vale bombing us out or whether they’ll send in their androids ahead of their infantry and their specialists to go house to house, hunting us down like rats. And that’s without mentioning the grimm coming up behind us, because they’ll be hunting us too! That… that’s the only future that I see for us when we get on that train. And I wish it weren’t so, believe me, I wish it weren’t so, but… but I can’t lie about it. I won’t. Not to please Adam or to make you feel better.”
Strongheart’s face was pale. Her voice, when it came, trembled a little. “You… you’re wrong!” she cried. “You’re wrong, and we’re going to win, and everything that we’ve suffered will be worthwhile!”
Gilda hung her head. “I wish that I could believe that, I really-” She stopped abruptly, turning to look at what she’d seen out of the corner of her eye. 
Adam was stalking through the camp towards the building where Applejack and Fluttershy were being held. 



Adam could not escape their faces. 
He had tried. He had tried to take Cinder’s words to heart. He had tried to focus upon the glory to come, upon the triumph that would be his, the acclaim that would be his due as the leader and the liberator of the faunus. He had tried to focus on the day when he would be lionised, when he would break the chains and burn the towers of the oppressors. 
He had tried. He felt as though he had two souls within his body, warring for control, the one that sought to be a good leader for the White Fang, that sought to focus on the battle and all that would flow from it. And the other… the other that could not escape their faces. 
They were laughing at him. Blake, Rainbow Dash, Sunset Shimmer, all three of them. He could see their faces as he sparred with the androids: smirking, giggling, mocking. They thought him weak. They thought him a coward. They thought that he did not dare to face them. 
“Which will I choose?” Blake pondered, her tone teasing, her posture coy, one hand raised to her lips and the other hand upon her hip. “Beacon or Atlas? Sunset or Rainbow Dash?”
Adam scowled. “You are mine! You will always be mine!”
Rainbow Dash snorted. “Yeah, right. Come on, dude, we took her away from you.”
Sunset reached out and put one arm around Blake’s waist. “Blake belongs to us now.”
“Not while I live!”
“Then what are you going to do about it?” Sunset asked.
“Considering that we’ve kicked your ass every time we’ve met,” Rainbow added.
“I won’t let you have her.”
“You didn’t even have the guts to face me on the train,” Rainbow taunted. “You ran like a scared little-”
Adam roared wordlessly, bringing his sword down upon Rainbow’s face, slicing her in half – and slicing in half as well the android which had been behind his fantasy. 
He stood in the makeshift training ring, alone, his enemies defeated around him… except they weren’t, were they? His enemies were up there, in the city, laughing at him. 
They had come here to laugh at him. They had dared to come to Mountain Glenn because they feared him not. 
He could not bear it. He could not bear to imagine their laughter, their mockery, their disdain. He could not endure it. He would not. He would not ignore their presence; he could not sleep knowing they were so close. 
Knowing that she was so close. 
He had to act, even though Cinder forbade it. 
He would start… he would start with the Atlesian dog, the one who thought herself his superior. He would show her how much stronger he had become. 
And he knew just how to draw her out. 
He sheathed his sword and began to stride across the camp towards the prisoners’ location.