I actually updated within a week. Look at that.

The Ghost in the Machine

Ignition (1-2)

Cerise Mk. I

"It's not going to work."

My mirror image bends like a willow in the wind, allowing the charging Beowolf just enough space to fly past, only for the blade in her hand to open it up snout to tail. It keens, high and long, but not loud enough to cover the stealthy pounce of its comrade; the dark-haired program is easily able to spin around and decapitate the monstrosity, continuing her rotation to gut a third Grimm that saw an opening but failed to capitalize.

This had been going on for – fourteen minutes, seven seconds – a long while. When Penny and I had finally finished the [Cerise Mk. I], I had been ecstatic, but Penny just frowned and suggested a trial run. Like a horror adaptation of Halo's Firefight, I had pulled up my memories of Luigi's Mansion and replaced all of the ghosts with Beowolves from Penny's logs. The incredible success of my freshly-designed mobile platform utterly failed to explain the steadily worsening frown on her usually smiling face.

"It looks like it's working to me," I say, and repress a flinch as a Beowolf's flung torso phases through me at a lazy three miles per hour. When it smacks against the wall and black blood starts oozing across the floor, I still squeak and climb up and onto the banister. "I mean," and I windmill my arms not to keep my balance, but for the sensation – after all, in the simulation, I can walk on walls, on water, and on the very wind, "The [Mk. I] looks like it's doing amazingly well!"

"That's the problem," Penny fails to explain, sounding unusually aggrieved. She follows the platform in lockstep, leaning slightly over, doubtlessly analyzing every quarter turn and wasted movement of my emotionless doppelganger. "It's too effective."

I cock my head. "And that is a problem… how…?"

She doesn't respond for a long moment, just continues to circle my platform with that same hyper-focused glint to her eyes. If I waved a hand in front of her face right now, I don't think she'd even notice, just sidestep me and continue watching. "We, ah…" she bites a lip, coming back to herself with a slow blink, "We made it too specialized, too heavy."

I turn back to the platform, just in time to watch it leap up to a chandelier and pull it down with one hand, only to hurl it down a narrow hallway like a baseball. Cracks spread across the floor where the platform landed. I wince. "Wow, that's kind of noticeable." Raising my voice, I ask, "Is there anything we can do?"

"We can scrap the design, start over."

My gaze snaps to her at the word 'scrap.' "That seems like kind of an overreaction, doesn't it?"

"Not really," she says. "There are only two reasons why a Huntress would weigh so much: either they have a Semblance that multiplies their weight, or they've started enhancing themselves with machinery. We won't be able to mimic the other effects of the first and we have to distance ourselves from robotics as much as we can, to sell the whole 'being Human' thing."

I open my mouth to counter her, but she's right and I'm not about to start an argument out of bull-headed obstinance. I've always considered stubbornness to be one of the greatest flaws a person could have and I'm not about to become a hypocrite just because my first attempt at creating a robotic body was a failure. I ask a question instead. "Why can't we ape a weight-changing Semblance?"

"Simple: all Sembances can be controlled. Not all can be turned off, though most can, but even the most stubborn Semblances can be suppressed or amplified. You won't be able to make it lighter at the drop of a Lien without crazy amounts of Dust, which we won't be able to fit into it anyway. The first time you tell your future team that you have to take the stairs instead of the elevator because of the weight limit, or you fall and break the floor, or you get onto your bed too quickly and break the frame, and they ask 'Why didn't you just turn it down?', you're going to have problems."

"And saying 'I'm part robot' puts them onto the path of a very awkward discovery. I understand." Considering there are only two AI in the world and neither are known to the public, the odds of someone jumping from 'cyborg' to 'skynet' are miniscule. Then again, 'till death do us part' is taken from a famous oath a Huntsman gave to his teammates in this world, not a marriage liturgy; I'm going to be fighting and living and dying alongside my future teammates until that third part actually happens, which means taking every possible precaution to make sure they don't realize I'm less Human than I appear. This is especially important for me, if the [Inference Engine] is right about my likely teammates.

"The [Mk. XIV] had the same problem," Penny confides, gaze still on the simulation of the [Mk. I]. "That's why we had to give you the [XIII] when you first woke up; getting the [XIV] up to the Doctor's ship and then back down to HQ again would've been next to impossible, considering it'd break the Bullhead's cargo capacity."

"It's that heavy?" I still remember that scene from one of the older Fantastic Four movies, where The Thing had to walk out of the elevator. If that happened to me… I would feel so humiliated, blown masquerade aside.

"Well… no. Most elevators in Atlas can handle twenty-two hundred pounds, and the Bullhead can handle three thousand, but a single-piece load can't weight more than a quarter of that." That's five hundred fifty for an elevator, or seven hundred fifty for the Bullhead. How much does the [Mk. XIV] weigh? "Maybe, if our being AI ever comes out, we can make our bodies' as heavy as we want – but, until then? I think we should design something a bit more, ah, circumspect."

I sigh. So much wasted effort… "How much of the [Mk. I] can we pass on to the [Mk. II], do you think?"

"The framework is fine." She taps her cheek in thought, wandering back over towards me. "Giving the body layers like a tree was a good idea. I don't think it'd work that well for me, considering, but I don't see why we can't pass that along to the [Mk. II]. It's the surface layer that's the most problematic, though. Proper armoring is kinda necessary but I'd guess that it comprises about three-quarters of the weight. Even taken by itself… it's just too heavy."

Assuming the [Mk I] weighs the bare minimum allowed on the Bullhead, seven hundred fifty pounds, then seventy-five percent of that will be five hundred sixty two and a half pounds. Considering all the circuitry, sensor nodes, and other goodies on the inside are what's actually important, that is way too much. I don't like the idea of cutting back on defense any more than outing myself as an AI, though.

"I used to be taller, y'know?" Penny continues. "The [Mk. XV] is four hundred thirty pounds, and you have no idea how many hugs I have to dodge, so the other person doesn't start wondering why they couldn't pick me up." She pauses. "I don't want to cut back on armoring either, though, so I made myself six inches shorter. That way, I can be almost as protected without needing quite so much metal. I'm a Blue, though; I don't need any circuitry outside my core and my cranium. I don't know if that'll work for you."

"…I see." I cup my cheek and start pacing back and forth, voice falling to a low murmur. "Problem: the platform is too heavy. The weight comes from the surface layer, the armoring, not counting the pseudo-skin. The armor gives me incredible defense but weakens my mobility. I need the armoring to survive combat." I pause. "Or, do I? What if I've been looking at all of this the wrong way?"

If two decades playing video games has taught me anything, then there are four ways to survive an enemy's attack. The first is to have an even more overwhelming attack, to defeat the other guy before he can so much as raise his sword. The second is to be quick enough to dodge, because their strength means nothing when none of their strikes connect. The third is to be the tankiest tank that ever tanked, to shrug off their blows no matter how heavy they are. And the fourth is to scorn melee and stay on the other side of the battlefield, dropping the enemy with ranged attacks before they can close the distance.

I'm not dumb, so I'm going to need to pick two for the redundancy. Being the younger AI, for all that I've lived more subjective years, I hadn't spared a second thought before deciding to follow in Penny's tried-and-true method of 'impenetrable defense, overwhelming offense.' It's as she said, though: I'm a different kind of AI, with different talents and needs.

Penny's entire being is interwoven throughout her core, a dense ball of futuristic machinery embedded in her body where a Human's heart would be. That's all she needs to survive, all she needs to exist. To perceive the world, she needs cameras, microphones, and sensor pads, and to make sense of those, she needs specialied machinery in her cranium. She doesn't need anything else, so she filled the rest of her space with fancy calculators and enough heavy metals to draw a lightning bolt. Considering armoring isn't very useful at range and through its very existence ensured she'll never be fast enough to qualify as a DEX build, she focused on pure, overwhelming offense, and never changed because it worked.

I'm different, though. I'm a collective mass of self-aware programs, more intelligent the more of me there are in a given system. I need a lot of space for circuitry, far more than Penny does, but I also have thousands of innate abilities that my sister just can't mimic, and the power to code new ones in response to any given situation. What I need isn't power or defense: it's adaptability.

Speed and range, then, I decide. With [Bullet Time], I can ratchet up my clock speed, but that won't be of much use in combat if my body is too slow to keep pace with my quickened mind. What I'll need is a lot of sensors, to maintain information advantage, a light body, a ranged weapon, and some way to increase my acceleration. Top speed isn't a concern – to go from zero to sixty, so to speak, is.

That's not to say I'll go entirely without defense or burst damage, of course, because that'd just be silly. I'll need some armoring for worst-case scenarios, a close-quarters holdout weapon in case keeping at range isn't working, and maybe a rod of Dust to trigger an explosion with if shit really hits the fan. All of that can be worked out later – what's most important is some way to out-accelerate any opponents, be they Huntsmen or Grimm, so my lack of armoring doesn't prove to be a fatal weakness.

"Penny," I ask, and cut the stress test of the [Mk. I] short with a thought, leaving just two schoolgirls in an abandoned manor, "Would forgoing most of the armor and increasing my quickness be a viable alternative? Is there a way to make myself noticeably faster?"

She teethes on her lip in thought. "…Maybe," she says, a long moment later. "We could probably work a more complex engine into your torso, if we forgo everything else in the area. Some tweaks to your gums, replace your faux-saliva bladder with a powerful acid, line your throat with an anti-corrosive film so it doesn't leak out, and you could fuel it by eating crystal Dust. It'll allow you to put more force behind the pistons in your arms and legs." She dances her fingers along the banister. "Oh! And, since Aura enhancement is multiplicative, you'll be able to eke out that much more acceleration."

Penny had always seemed kind of… dim, in the show. Not stupid – but definitely flighty and naïve. Looking at her now, I have to wonder how I ever thought an AI raised by scientists and military commanders could ever be clueless about engineering. I'm sure she doesn't speak so confidently and in depth to most people, even those she likes – but there's something about absolute solitude with the only other of your kind that really allows you to let down your masks.

"Speaking of, my teammate uses Dust to teleport, but that's because of a weird interaction with his Semblance. I'm sure, with some finagling, we might be able to figure out a trick with yours. …What is yours? …If, if you don't mind me asking."

"Deduction," I say, seeing no reason to hide it. The General knows, and the asshole Doctor knows, and now Penny, but no one else; and I think I'll keep it that way. "I input data – facts, memories, observations, whatever – and it outputs conclusions."

"That…" She blinks, eyes glazing over. "I… think you should focus on Dust, then. Maybe fill a staff with it and use it as a weapon; that's what my teammate does. If you're asking for ways to avoid getting hit, then even if you can't figure out how to quicken yourself or teleport – which, with your Semblance, is only a matter of time and experimentation – then you can still control the battlefield, give yourself some breathing room that way."

"What kinds of Dust, do you think?" An idea strikes me, and I cock my head, humming lowly. "If… I mean, if I'm going to be eating Dust to fuel the engine anyway, then maybe we could expand my stomach and use that as a Dust repository. I can eat all kinds of Dust, and won't have to worry about carrying it around – it'll be inside me for as long as I need it. I can cast Nature's Wrath directly from the stomach."

Penny hops onto the banister, sitting sidesaddle right next to me. "That… maybe… sounds possible? I haven't experimented much with Dust myself, so I couldn't say. My reflex is to say 'no' because everyone who's tried has gotten really, really sick, but that's because a mystical energy propellant doesn't play nice with Human bodily functions, and we don't really have that problem, do we? I say… go for it!"

"Good to hear." I smile, because progress is progress even if most of last night's work needs to be scrapped. Besides, I've always preferred wizards and clerics to fighters, anyway.

"I'm not familiar with any Wrath techniques myself, but I know that Winter thins the air around herself so she doesn't need to bother with wind resistance, and I heard a rumor somewhere that Miss Goodwitch telekinetically lifts herself when just running isn't enough, though of course that's a Semblance thing. Dust is triggered by Aura, and everyone's Aura is different, even when Semblances aren't taken into account; what works for someone else might not work for you, but by the same token you're bound to figure something out that does, you know?"

"Yeah, I think I do. There's Dust that can generate kinetic force, right?" I ping Atlas instead of waiting for an answer, and nod in acceptance. Gray Dust, or Pulse Dust, it's called – the cheapest, most worthless of all Dust types, lacking any element at all. "Maybe I can eat a lot of that, and trigger it for bursts of speed. Take advantage of the Third Law of Motion. Might take some tinkering, but I'm sure we can manage something."

"That- might work?" A moment's pause, and, "How will you explain it away?"

"Aah… I can pretend it's my Semblance; I'll be able to choose when to activate it, after all. And… I can extend that to other Dust types, as well. I can eat however many crystals as I want in public, and whenever someone asks I can say that my Semblance allows me to dissolve Dust into my Aura and store it that way."

Slowly, she starts nodding. "Yes, maybe. I never thought about blaming AI stuff on a Semblance, but mine is exactly what I've always claimed it was: polarity. No one has two Semblances, so the first time I lifted my swords in an electromagnetic field, I kinda typecast myself."

"Your Semblance is polarity?" I blink at her. From the show, I know that that's Pyrrha's trick – but I could just barely make out strings connecting Penny to her swords, and with the whole Pinocchio thing I thought it was either Dust or some form of technology.

"Well, yes." She shrugs absently. "I have amazing control, but no range. What I do is connect my swords to my frame with wire, then run current through it, then form a field to lift my blades. It took me a long time to figure that out, let me tell you."

Even when their Semblance is technically the same thing, it still expresses itself in massively different ways, then, I think. Penny needs direct contact to channel her Semblance, but it lets her wield her half-dozen blades like individual limbs; Pyrrha, by contrast, seemingly has no limit on range, but can only push and pull in a single direction. I remember it first being somewhat-poetically described as the 'manifestation of the soul,' but I suppose there really is something to that.

"Speaking of weapons…" Before I can continue my thought, Penny noticeably twitches, and gazes off into the middle ground. "Penny?"

"My alarm just went off," she explains, smiling sheepishly. "Ciel always wakes up at five o' clock, and it's four thirty. I need to get back to the dorm. Is it okay if we work on it tonight?"

"That's fine." I smile at her. We may have spent half our time swapping movies – I still feel faintly ashamed at myself for deciding to show her the Star Wars prequels before the original trilogy – but I still asked her to donate her night to me. I… don't know where I'd be, if she hadn't been so helpful. I'd probably have to use a copy of the [Mk. XIII] with the armoring torn out and haphazardly replaced with circuitry. I shudder at the thought.

"See you tonight, then!" she cheers, pauses, then jumps forward and tackles me against the banister. I reel back in surprise, and barely have enough time to accept the hug before she smiles into my neck and mutters something.

Then, she vanishes in that familiar haze of nonreality, and I'm left alone in a half-destroyed haunted house. Still, I can't help but smile.

Maybe I should give myself bright green eyes?

I'm given administrative access to Atlas Academy with that same cheerful, electronic ping I've grown so used to.

It comes with an attached binary file, which [1s & 0s 101] translates as a long string of passwords to more than a dozen private programs, my very own staff account under the name Professor Cerise, and a single note: "I'd like to talk to you."

For my twenty-four hour anniversary to being released from my own private Matrix, it's a hell of a present. Naturally, I immediately use it to filter the names Cinder Fall, Emerald Sustrai, and Mercury Black. I get a single response, and from the complete student admission list of Haven at that.

Why does Atlas have this kind of access? I was no attorney, but that has to be all kinds of illegal. Information security is one of a school's highest priorities, especially when 'Murdering Eldritch Abominations 101' is on every student's schedule, and they all have magic powers to boot. Haven should keep this kind of knowledge on an isolated, secure server- and my scan comes back, telling me that they do. Someone from Atlas must have physically went to Haven, found their database, copied all of the information down, then came back and uploaded it. And, considering the date, must have done this within the past week.

Wow. I'd say something, but I don't actually care and this is really, really good for me. I download all three dossiers on my maybe future teammates and then another on Initiation just to be thorough, all while giggling quietly to myself.

I then open them up and am immediately disappointed. Their information is sparse, no more than the essentials, and as respectful towards their future students' privacy as can be reasonably expected of a magic warrior academy. That such a thing actually annoys me makes me feel guilty for all of a second. It doesn't stop me from reading them, of course.

All three were first put on Haven's radar when they signed up for the Trial Exams, which is where wannabe Huntsmen who couldn't get an invite from an alumnus or didn't graduate from Sanctum go to secure themselves a place for the real entrance exams, Initiation. After they showcased just enough basic skills to stand out from the herd – aura enhancement, martial arts, and specialized weaponry, but no Semblances or Nature's Wrath – they were given an invite and had the bare minimum of a background check performed.

Cinder Fall was supposedly raised in one of the outer villages away from the Kingdoms, before she and a dozen other refugees made their way to Vale after the Grimm destroyed their home. She was fifteen at the time, too old for admittance to Signal, but had enough skill to qualify for a free pass into some local dojos run by retired Huntsmen and was told to try for Beacon in two years. However, she was too poor to afford housing by herself and chose to move to Mistral, where the cost of living is cheaper, instead of going into the foster system. She passed the Trial Exams with her keen sense of tactics and excellent marksmanship.

Emerald Sustrai is a bit more interesting. Wanted for an impressive number of misdemeanors by the time she hit thirteen, she was finally caught and spent the following two years in Mistral's juvenile hall. When she was finally released, she ditched her assigned foster family inside three hours and went right back to collecting wallets like other girls' do shoes. Six months later, she vanished until the Trial Exams, where she paid back all she stole since her release and told the examiners that she had been taken in by an older, retired Huntress who taught her not only combat and Aura, but also restraint and ethics. She passed the Exams by the skin of her teeth, combining natural stealth with an obscure style of combat that caught her opponents, or so the report says, 'in a moment of vulnerability.'

It's a lot tamer than Mercury Black's file, which opens with a link to a list of the many, many assorted crimes of his father, Marcus Black. Marcus had been a well-respected, up-and-coming Huntsman until the Faunus Rights' Revolution, where he responded to Humanity's loss with a horrifying terror campaign that saw him assigned thirteen consecutive life sentences in a maximum security prison. Naturally, he fled capture and eventually fell off the map, showing up only occasionally to assassinate public figures for money. Mercury himself was only first seen during the Exams, where he explained that his father had finally overdosed and he would like to become a Huntsman to purge Marcus' sins on the family name. He then proved his claim by being an unstoppable juggernaut with the capoeira-esque fighting style his father was so infamous for.

All in all, while interesting it's nothing I couldn't have figured out myself, and nothing that disproves the simulation. I'll have to look deeper for that, and I just don't have that kind of access, yet. Worst case scenario, they're all terrorists and I'll be able to prove it before they start killing people and breaking cities. Best case, they're all honest people wanting to make the most of their lackluster pasts, and if we even do get grouped together I'll still have a team I can count on and eventually call family. Either way… Haven is still my goal.

Now, I just need to convince General Ironwood of that.

"Absolutely not," the General says, gently setting his coffee mug down with a clink that nevertheless sounded like the clamor of a judge's gavel. "Atlas may have not been the most welcoming of homes, but it is yours and I will not see you abandoning it; not now, not ever."

Is it really abandonment if I was never loyal to Atlas in the first place?

Of course, saying that would be horribly impolitic. And, well, dumb.

"I would never abandon my homeland," I lie instead, my transmitted voice purposefully given a flat, robotic tenor. I rather sound like a younger, more feminine GLaDOS, actually, which was my intention. The image I projected onto his screen is also mechanically rendered, so I could pace back and forth in the simulation while portraying a visage of calm, collected thought, reclining on a high-backed chair. "When I graduate, I will happily return to Atlas and become a Specialist. This is not a permanent thing. I merely feel that staying in this nation will not be conducive towards proper growth."

"And what is your reasoning for such a bold declaration?"

A simulation within a simulation proclaimed the end of the world. With all my life choices invalidated and made unreal, I want the right to choose, however weak my logic. My entire being had been driven towards a purpose, which was revealed to be a lie – and I want a new one. And… I blame you for Polendina's atrocities, however unfairly.

I couldn't say that, of course. That would be even more impolitic, even dumber. And… I wouldn't, not after how kind he was the day the sun died, not after he'd financed the construction of a new body, of a new life, after he'd given me everything. Speaking entirely honestly, he didn't deserve any of this – but neither did I, and I need this, far more than he needs me at Atlas.

"Atlas is my home, but it also hurt me irreperably, however accidentally. I… do not feel comfortable here." I allow a hint of vulnerability to seep into my voice, into my avatar. "I apologize, General, but I am incapable of forgetting that Achilles Laboratories was financed by Atlas, that my creation and near-termination was financed by Atlas. I do not hold it against you or this country, and I will fight for you, one day, but… I can't be here. Not right now. I feel- trapped, caged. Even if it is just the product of a paranoid mind, I look through the cameras in Atlas Academy and around every corner, every pillar, I expect to see Polendina, or his coterie, or faceless military commanders who look at me and see only a weapon. I-"

The General raises a hand, and I stop, stilling in the privacy of the simulation. Did I overstep? I don't mean to play the guilt card, but I did play the responsibility card, and rather heavily at that – but does his responsibility to Atlas outweigh his responsibility as a good human being? I don't think it does. If I'm wrong, though, then I can kiss my dreams of going to Haven goodbye.

But if I'm right…

"I understand," he says, and I can feel my system uncoil in relieved joy. Then he continues and I tighten up again like so many serpents, as he says, "But my fellow commanders will not. I lead the Artifice Projects, and of Atlas' leadership, only I have internalized AI as being just as deserving of rights and the search for self-actualization as a Human being. They will see your desire to seek tutelage in Mistral as an attempt to slip your leash, to fail to make a return on their investment." He pauses. "I ask that you don't think poorly of them, for this – all they see of you and Penny are budget lists and combat capabilities. It is wrong, but it is also the way of things, I'm afraid."

I think for a long moment, a moment that stretches for several seconds in the privacy of my synthesized mind. "…How do I earn their acceptance, then, General?" I ask. "What can I do to make them think that my enrollment in Haven is not just something that they can live with, but something that they actually want? And- within the six weeks between now and Initiation?"

"A feat of strength," he says immediately, drumming his fingers on the desk in a manner eerily reminiscent of Penny. "Not just martial, but also cultural. What you need to do is make being an Atlesian going to a Mistralian school a good thing for this nation, and the only way you can accomplish that is by becoming a public sign of Atlesian superiority. When you enroll in Haven, you need to succeed, you need to stand head-and-shoulders above the Mistralians, all while wearing the symbol of Atlas – the Clockwork Spear – on your back. But, first: you need to convince my comrades that you are capable of doing just such a thing."

"And how, exactly, am I supposed to manage that?"

"The Mistral Regional Tournament." He draws his handgun and immediately begins to dismantle it, the action seeming almost subconscious, even meditative. His eyes sharpen. "If we claim your mother is Mistralian, then we can swing you an invite. It begins in three weeks and ends five days before Haven's Initiation. If you win – you, an AI, not even two years old and with only three weeks of Huntress training – I can guarantee that the rest of Atlas' leadership will not only allow your enrollment in Haven, but will bankroll whatever you need to succeed to the best of your ability."

My avatar's head lowers demurely, and my voice comes out smooth. "If I win," I say, tone deliberately bland, "With only three weeks of training. That would surely be very impressive. Almost unbelievable. In fact, I don't think I'm capable of believing it." A pause. "I'm not going to win. Skilled Huntsmen have trained all their lives to win it. Gynoid body or no, there is no conceivable way I will be capable of bringing home the gold from such a monolithic tournament after only three weeks."

"Not with that attitude, you won't," he says, every inch the military commander. "The Regional Tournament is split into three brackets: Sanctum students, Haven students, and Haven alumni. You will be fighting in the youngest bracket. I'm not asking you to defeat career Huntsmen, here. I'm not asking you to do anything at all. All I'm doing is offering you a choice: you can enroll in Atlas Academy, all expenses paid, or you can prove to this nation that you are worth more in Haven than here. Now. Are you going to do it, or am I going to scrub this conversation from the camera feed and see you in class next month?"

Dark hair covers my eyes. "You ensure that I'm fighting in Mistral when the Tournament starts. I'll ensure that Atlas wins it."

"Good." His voice is clear, but doesn't sound any more satisfied than my own. "When your platform is completed, report to Suite 1201 for instruction.

"Dismissed."

When Winter logs into the simulation, I'm just about done researching Doctor Polendina.

Up until around a decade ago, he was the leading expert in the field of cyberaethrology, which is, as he so happily informed me yesterday, the cross-field study of robotics and Aura. Well, not quite. That'd be roboaethrology. It gets folded quite often into cyberaethrology, which is more specifically the cross-field study of programming and Aura. I make this distinction, because up until a decade ago, Doctor Polendina prefaced each of his scholarly articles with a twelve-page rant about how everyone but him gets it mixed up, and how they really need to respect him and his work more, because he's the future and everyone else are posers yadda yadda egotism egotism. Doctor Polendina doesn't have a lot of friends.

What he does have, however, is what I call Leo DiCaprio disorder. By this, I mean that he was nominated a bunch of times for awards but never actually won any, despite being totally deserving. I may not like the guy, but I can't deny that the Doctor is good at what he does. Graduating with a 4.0 GPA at the top engineering school in Atlas, he had more published articles than some of his younger teachers, and he was expected by famous researchers all across the world to become The Next Big Thing. Then, of course, he tried to mix his mechanical skills with Aura and spent the next fifteen years becoming the laughingstock of the scientific community, accomplishing nothing and dragging not only his name but the name of his entire scientific field and all his colleagues through the mud.

When Atlas reached out to him with a spot in Achilles Laboratories, where all the classified and interesting work in science gets down, he must have been ecstatic. Near-unlimited funding, brilliant colleagues, all his basic needs taken care of, respect… it's really no wonder that he mellowed out through the next decade, to the point where he could happily give me the 'wrong' definition of cyberaethrology, a little in-joke he didn't expect me to get. I even understand why he would be so unthinkingly cruel, to me.

He doesn't think I'm a person.

General Ironwood does, Winter Schnee does, Penny does, but that's because I have Aura, the light of the soul, and because they were raised to believe that anyone who has an Aura is a person and anyone who doesn't is either not real or a Creature of Grimm. It makes sense, that they'd think that way. The trees and the beasts and the birds in the sky, and the people, all the people whether they be Human or Faunus, they all have Aura – the only things that don't are stone, wind or Grimm. Aura good, no Aura bad. It's a simple dichotomy that the entire world believes in.

Except for the scientists in the field of aethrology, of course. Doctor Polendina and his colleagues especially. And how couldn't they? They learned how to induce Aura in a simple machine, and of all the Blues only Penny gained full awareness. Then they learned how to induce Aura in a program, and every last one went batshit insane, until I came along. And, if all trees and animals have Aura – and if everyone still makes chairs and houses out of wood and eats steak on Friday nights – then certainly having Aura isn't a sign of actually fucking mattering. It's just an energy source that people use, and that the ignorant hail as some kind of religious miracle.

After a decade of trying and failing to elevate a program into a person, when he finally succeeded, I'm not surprised that he couldn't realize it, that he'd look at me and see just another strand of code. I still remember Penny saying that she's not a real girl, in the simulation. I've only known her a day and I've already seen shades of that belief in the way she talks, in the way she so flippantly speaks of being dismembered and decapitated. If it weren't for my twenty years in the simulation, if I were raised by Polendina, maybe I'd come to believe the same, too. The thought sickens me, but it's there and the only thing I can do about it is try to become as mentally balanced and humane a person as I can be. I was planning on doing that anyway, but I'll double down on it out of sheer, hateful spite if nothing else.

Fuck calling him Doctor. That's a sign of respect, and I have none for him. Understanding breeds empathy, but in this case it only spawns disgust. The thought of that man having system access to my mind horrifies and enrages me in equal measure. I'm going to do something about that, one day. I don't know what, but I swear to everything worth swearing to that I will.

Naturally, that's when Winter appears. I halve my fear and anger capacity immediately, and twist the simulation away from the hellscape my thoughts made it into and back into the Stark Industries copy a moment later. Several seconds in [Bullet Time] allow me to reach… not zen, but something approaching calm. Schnee doesn't deserve my malice. I still have her coat, layered on top of the [Mk. XIII] like a funeral shroud in a supply closet next to Atlas' mainframe. In a world where I only know four people – her, a cheery AI, the monster who made me, and the General who financed him, however unwittingly – I'll take whatever allies I can get.

"This from your memories?" she asks, not bothering to say 'hello.' Her tone isn't unkind, however, and she didn't use the phrase 'the simulation,' immediately winning her brownie points. That, and there's open curiosity in her ice-blue gaze. Taken with her new hairstyle – she let her beautiful white locks down, and they flow all the way down her back – and she makes a much warmer picture than she had on the airship.

I just nod. "Something like that." I… haven't had the courage to bring up any actual memories, merely locations from fiction and media. Maybe I can face my own apartment again, one day. Then again, maybe not. "It's called 'Stark Industries.' All the most cutting-edge technology was designed here." She doesn't have to know that it's not real, though. It's not like the simulation outside the cinema was any more real.

"Interesting. You'll have to show me more." Her gaze returns to me, and sharpens, becoming more harsh – or, maybe, just focused. "Later, though. We have work to do. I hear you will be fighting in the Mistralian Regional, three weeks hence."

Hence? Who even uses that word? "I will, yes," I answer, for all that her words weren't given the tell-tale inflection of a question. "I assume that you are my tutor, Miss Schnee. I thank you for your time. I wasn't expecting you until next Tuesday, Monday night at the earliest, however?"

She ignores me with trivial ease. "An hour past, General Ironwood gave me a mission. I don't like turning missions down, but I will if I feel my time is being misplaced. Are we clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," I say, and have to refrain from lifting an eyebrow in mock question. I have involuntary reactions in the simulation, and for all that I was loving that just this morning I think it's going to be a liability, here. Is there a way to turn that down…? [Heart Grow Fonder] pings back, and a quick scan of its files explains that it emulates a mobile platform's lack of unconscious movements. Perfect.

"Good." She pauses, then deigns to answer my earlier question. "As I said, the Mistralian Regional is in three weeks. That is not nearly enough time to show you the path all must take to become a proper Huntress, let alone advance far enough down it to overtake the many, many Sanctum students and nascent graduates you will be facing. Even if it was, you would still be nothing more than an annoyance to Pyrrha Nikos, who can face any two Haven freshman and win. Shorting that time to a mere two weeks, because of something as trite as your body not currently being in existence? That turns the 'impossible' into 'mythical.' No, if we begin at all we will begin now."

If my confidence wasn't already dead, that would have killed it. The bit at the end, though… "Pardon. If?"

"Yes. If." She smiles thinly. "As I said. I don't like turning missions down, but I will if I feel my time is being misplaced. This quest of yours is a fool's errand and I will have no part of it. If you cannot convince me that not only can you accomplish this impossible task, but that it is a task worth accomplishing, then I will leave and never trouble your mainframe again. Am I understood?"

What's she getting at here? I don't need to query the [Inference Engine] to figure that one out. She's testing me. If she truly believed I couldn't do this, then she wouldn't be here at all – she would've turned General Ironwood down and left, going back to doing Schnee things like stealing ice cream from small children or stalking misbehaving students through the hallways in her fashionable Faunus-hide boots, or whatever. She is prepared to teach me, if I can convince her that I'm worth it, but she's prepared to walk away too, if I'm not. That's what the third degree treatment is for – she's pushing me down, to see if I roll over or if I get up and promise to fight.

The question becomes: how do I respond? If I were another person, it would be with fire and fury, demanding she swallow her words because Cerise doesn't go quietly into the night, because I will not back down, no matter the threat. I'm not that kind of person, however. I'm the kind of person who prefers a smaller, more quiet approach. I ping the [Inference Engine], feed it everything I and Atlas Academy knows, and formulate a plan.

"There were no Grimm in the simulation," I say instead of answering. Bait response. "Did you know that?"

Her eyes narrow further. The disdain is audible. "Are you saying that you're driven by… fear?"

"No." Her answer was unexpected, accelerate plan. Start obliquely drawing parallels between my wants and her's. "I was driven by a desire – no, a need – for freedom. I will become a Huntress for that alone, Grimm or no Grimm, despite whatever horrid death awaits me."

"Then why? You're acting like a spoilt child!" Anger incited. Bingo. "Atlas has provided everything for you – why are you spitting on that?"

"Because there is no freedom in Atlas, for me." Deepen parallels between Atlas and SDC. "Because of who I am, what I am, Atlas will always see me as a tool to be used for its own gain."

"Mistral will be no different." Or, in her experience, Atlas will be no different.

"I never said it would be." Express understanding. "Even if Mistral chains me down tighter than Atlas ever could, at least they would be chains that I chose. That is enough." A bit dramatic, but Schnee strikes me as a dramatic person. Now, to make sure she doesn't think I tailored my answer to her personal history: "I don't expect you to understand."

She looks away, but relaxes, if only a smidgen. Success. "More than you know, Cerise," she murmurs, obviously not intending me to hear. It's my simulation, however, and so I hear everything. "More than you know."

Now, wait for her to come to her decision on her own. Pressing further while she's thinking of Jacques Schnee will only incite aggravation at best, and may even darken her opinion of me at worst.

"I'll teach you."

The moment she says that, I nod in carefully-affected understanding – smiling implies victory, which implies her defeat, which would only damage this relationship – and stop running Aura through my Semblance. Of course, the moment I stop channeling the [Engine], all my cool understanding comes crashing down.

What the Hell did I just do?

I run a diagnostic in numb wonder, and the response is staggering: a full third of my not-inconsiderable Aura reserves are just. Gone. The [Inference Engine] used it all up, analyzing everything I, and Atlas, knows about Winter Schnee, projecting it through the present, and simulating a possible future – the best possible future. For me, anyways. It told me exactly what to say, how to say it, and how to look while saying it, to draw forth the expected responses and lead to the desired outcome. It hiccuped, a few times – implying fear of the Grimm was a misstep – but it caught itself easily enough. The way it so effortlessly and quickly did so… It's incredible. It's awe-inspiring.

It's also scary as fuck. Like, really? I just went full Sherlock there. Not real Sherlock either, but the Robert Downey Jr. kind. Looking through my logs- my entire personality and character changed, between one simulated heartbeat and the next. Before, I was annoyed at her attitude and words, still mildly enraged at Polendina, and starting to genuinely worry that I'd be left in the lurch until the Tournament. After? It was like a lightswitch was flipped, and it all became so clear. I hadn't even noticed anything was different until afterwards.

Is that what possession feels like? A ghost gets all up in your grill, and the next thing you know you're scrawling Helter Skelter on the walls and covered in blood? Christ. If the [Engine] felt shanking Schnee was the proper next step to take, would I have done it? I don't know. God, I don't know.

Note to self: don't do that again.

"Can you cede control over the simulation to me?" Schnee continues.

I hesitate, but nod. I can leave a safeguard that'll log her out and put me back in control if she abuses it, though I don't see why she would, the moment I think Barnabas the Barmy three times in a row. That's assuming I can't wrest control back with AI hax in the first place.

"Good. I'll limit your capabilities to that of the [Mk. XV], for now. I'll run you through some basic exercises to ensure everything is working as planned, then we'll test you against a pack of Beowolves, a line of Atlesian Knights, and myself. That is… assuming the simulation is capable of mimicking such a thing."

"It can," I affirm. "You'll need to use Penny's combat logs, though – she left a copy of the [XV]'s for me to use. Her platform records the combat capabilities of everything she fights, so Atlas' scientists can chew over it later. The simulation's pretty good at taking that info and running with it, but, of course, it's not capable of true creativity, so none of her Huntsmen sparring partners." I pause, then decide to add, "And, the more independent programs you run, the slower the simulation can process all the data. Last night, we got to a point where there were so many Beowolves, Ursai, and in-progress [Mk. I]s running around that the simulation was actually thrice as slow as the real world. That was pretty crazy."

"Interesting," she muses again, and with a smirk she manifests an angry-looking Beowolf, snarling in hateful fury. She chuckles, low and throaty, and another six appear behind it. "Oh, I could get used to this."

I laugh weakly. "I thought you were running me through some basic exercises, first?"

"I changed my mind," she says absently. Then, she cocks her head in thought. "Do you feel pain, Cerise?"

"No, thank God!"

Schnee – Teacher – doesn't leave for hours.

A/N: Penny and Cerise devolve into nerd talk in this chapter, Cinder manages to aggravate Cerise from another continent and through text she didn't even write, Ironwood gives Cerise some much needed tough love, Cerise realizes she's about to become a professional wizard gladiator robolady and has to fight other professional wizard gladiator normalladies, Schnee initiates the Schnee thing, Cerise successfully uses her Semblance, becomes terrified of her Semblance ever being successful again, and now has to escape the hot water her successful usage of Semblance landed her in. Fun.

Next chapter: Morrighan probably, [Mk. II] probably, Ciel probably, Penny definitely and maybe some Dust explosions.

Do y'all have any ideas for AI body/weapon/aesthetics/new name/[Programs]/scenes/characters I can work in/whatever? Drop a review, if it interests me or makes sense I might work it in. Cheers.