Chapter 66

With a jolt, Weiss woke up.

"Huhwhazzat!"

She paused, trying to steady her thundering heart. The dream she was having had been... traumatic, to say the least. She had been getting stabbed, through the stomach by a very snide and very saucy evil villainess with a burning spear. The woman had seemed familiar, but she still wasn't sure from where. She stayed still for a moment, trying to imprint the dream on her eyes so she could properly figure it out. The issue was, however, that her ability to remember stuff was compromised.

The bottle of rum on her desk was completely empty. The glass next to it, however, was dry. She sighed quite heavily at herself. Of course she had drank from the bottle, instead of using the expensive crystal whisky glass. Her head hurt as she tried to picture the woman again. The rum had made her woozy. And not even the fun kind of woozy! The picture in her head was fading, and fading fast.

"No nonono come baa- and she's gone. Fuck."

She sighed, leaning back again. The big arm chair had her in a death-grip. It wasn't going to let go of her. With her feet up on the desk, she was barely mobile. Her arm found its way over her eyes, blocking out the sunlight that was coming in the room. Everything hurt.

"She was hot, too. Fuck me."

Her body groaned as she tried to sit up. Her knees had locked straight, requiring her to manually pull them off the desk and fold them back down. Her joints cried out in pain. She winced as her feet made contact with the ground again, both because her legs were numb, and because her rather pricey leather boots were covered in salt grime. They were ruined beyond repair. She would need a knew pair.

"Where's my...note...pad..."

She leaned forward, trying to find the pad. Her desk was a disaster. Papers were everywhere, the walnut was stained with chocolate and rum, and the potted cactus Blake had given her as a joke was knocked clean off the desk, sitting in a pile of ceramic and dirt on the floor. The notepad was nowhere to be seen. She sighed, grabbing the handle of her top drawer and pulling it open.

"What the hell...?"

All of the many pens and pencils in the drawer were coated in what looked like melted ice cream. Specifically chocolate-hazelnut ice cream. This was strange, given her allergy to hazelnuts. This might have explained her sore throat, though. She gave up on trying to explain that one to herself, grabbing one of the dry pens from her drawer. The closest paper to her was grabbed next, and her eyes grazed over it.

Deal of Aquisition: Mistral Digital

On the date of September 30th of the year 2017, the assets and requisite property of the media conglomerate Mistral Digital into the ownership of the Schnee Dust Company, under the express condition that the corporation remain open and in business, and be publicly traded on the open market.

By the date of March 1st of the year 2020, Mistral Digital will be taken off the market and have its assets liquidated, marking the end of the company.

The rest of the contract was just pointless drivel. At the bottom of the page, written in her usual script, as the overly exquisite W. Schnee. Even though both her and her siblings were all 'W. Schnee', only Weiss signed her name as she did. Winter was an adamant 'Sgt. Schnee', and Whitley always signed using his first name and a little squiggle. She flipped the page over, scribbling on the blank back side.

New shoes (call grigori)

New desk

New notepad

More rum

She thought she had more, but her mind went blank. She leaned back again, sticking the pen into the breast pocket of her blouse. The paper, stained in the corner by the rum puddle on the desk, was folded up and shoved into the inside pocket of the brown suede jacket that was hanging on the back of her chair. Whatever that document was for, it probably didn't matter now. It was just another one of the hundred or so deals that hit her desk every day. She sighed, slumping down again and pulling the desk phone over to herself. The little LCD display showed that she had fourteen missed calls, and then same amount of voicemails.

"Ah, fuck. Well-"

She grabbed the handset and brought it to her ear, tapping the little envelope-button on the face of the phone. The little robotic voice came back at her, as it always did with the weird pronunciations and intonation.

'You have...four-teen...new voice messages. To play your messages... press one.'

Weiss pressed the one key.

'First...new message...'

There was a beep, followed by a short pause.

"Guten morgen, Frau Weiss, ich-"

"Skip!"

She hit the little arrow button.

'Second...new message...'

Another beep.

"Hello, my name is Jo-"

'Jo' didn't get to finish, as she skipped him too. He sounded like one of her regional managers anyways, and those slimy snakes were her least favourite employees. Another beep.

"This is Dr. Arshon Ai from R&D, if you could please call me back at extension three-two-nine, I have the results of the mining report you wanted."

The line went dead for a moment. She grabbed her paper again from her coat pocket and scribbled Call Arshon 329 at the bottom. Doctor Ai was always right to the point in his calls, and she liked that about him. She wished everyone left phone messages like that. She clicked the 'next' button again.

"Weiss, dear, it's your mother. I know you're probably asleep at your desk again, but when you get this, please call the hous-"

She skipped even her mother. Her heavily, heavily drunk sounding mother. No one was immune to her ire today. The rum-induced headache was bad enough, she didn't want to have to deal with her parents today. Or ever, if she was honest. The next three messages were skipped out of spite, not even bothering to listen to the first five seconds of each one. She gave the next one the time of day.

"Miss Schnee, hello."

The voice was soft and warm. Very familiar.

"I'd like to schedule a meeting with you so we may talk. I will be in Anfang in a few days."

She recognized the voice as the only man who didn't introduce himself to her over the phone. It was Ren. She sighed, settling down and scribbling Call Ren in the next empty space on the sheet of paper.

"I am concerned about you. You don't normally depart with such haste and then condemn yourself to solitude. I worry about what happened. You're my friend. Please return my calls, Weiss."

She pulled the phone from her ear and lay back with a groan. Of course she was going to meet with him, even if she didn't want to. It was the right thing to do. Ren's cautious and calm attitude had always been helpful during stressful times. Especially during the acquisition of the Atlas Food and Drink Corporation into the SDC. That was a hundred and eighty-eight billion lien investment. She had panicked for weeks before the closing date, worried sick that the deal would fall through and the company would be bankrupted. On that day, Ren had been there to guide her through the process without setting fire to her office. Again. His business expertise was far greater than her own, and his calm and collected attitude was the perfect antidote to her aggressive and brash practices. On more than one occasion she had tried to get him to sign as a business partner.

She hung up the phone. The remaining six calls could be dealt with later. She wasn't super interested in dealing with anything stressful at this moment. Her head hurt far too much, her legs were burning, and she felt very sticky for some unknown reason.

She stood, pushing her chair out from the desk. The feet scraped against the floor, making her wince. Her legs felt like they had knives stuck in them. She looked down, making sure that she hadn't stuck actual knives in her legs. Alcohol made her do strange things. She looked around, quickly realizing that not everything seemed to be quite right. The huge office had an odour to it, smelling like a cross between slightly expired milk and aerosol paint. She turned around. The huge painting of the Northern Ecopian Mountain range had fallen to the floor, and had been spray-painted with what looked like sparkly yellow gel. Her mouth fell open, completely at a loss. Spinning back around, she could see that a lot more of her room was in tatters. The long and elegant modern couch had rips in it like it had been attacked, all of the office chairs had been stacked and coated in festive tinsel, and the large round rug that sat in the middle of the room seemed to be missing entirely.

"What the fuck happened in here?!"

She was frozen in place. The office had been destroyed. More accurately, she had destroyed her office. But what had she done? The last few days of memory seemed to be missing. She had nothing. Looking back down at her phone, she jammed her finger into the call button for her assistant.

"Sandy!"

There was a momentary pause.

"Y-yes, Miss Schnee?"

"What the hell happened to my office?!"

"...Perhaps I should come in and explain."

"And hurry!"

She huffed down at her desk, having to lean over and support herself. Everything was destroyed. After a few moments of loud sirens in her head, the door to her office clicked and swung gently open, and her PA gingerly stepped over the threshold. Weiss stared in her direction, a look of despair evident on her face.

"Miss Schnee, good morning. Are you feeling any better?"

Feel better? From what? As if she could be read like a book, Sandy answered the unasked question.

"The hangover? you've been...inebriated for the past few days."

Right, the hangover. She realized the sirens in her head were in fact one massive, crushing headache. She groaned.

"Oof, no. I'm not okay. Wh-what happened to me? What happened to my office?"

Sandy looked around in awe, seemingly not quite sure where to start. The young woman entered fully, carefully stepping towards the big desk. Her short, light brown hair tied neatly up into a perfect bun, and her smart, grey coloured pant suit fit her well. Not well enough that Weiss wanted to stare, however. Once she was close enough, she spoke again in a soft, quiet voice so as to not propagate her headache. It was a nice touch.

"Well... I... how do I put this lightly..."

"Don't bother. Give it to me straight."

"Okay... you showed up to work on Tuesday, and you seemed a little... drunk. You kept shouting about how you had quit drinking and were 'super proud' of yourself."

Weiss held up a hand.

"Wait, that doesn't make sense. I showed up drunk and then said I had quit drinking? Why can't I remember anything after that?"

"Because you started yelling 'Celebration shots!' and then taking full glasses of vodka down like water."

Weiss gagged on air.

"That's not a shot! Why did you let me do that!?"

"I tried to explain to you that a shot is between one and one and a half ounces, but you refused to listen. And by that I mean you threw a lamp at me."

"Sandy, I'm so sorry..."

"Don't worry ma'am, you missed by a whole time zone. But that's not all."

Weiss slumped back down into her chair, her arms hanging over the sides like wet noodles.

"Of course not. What else did I do?"

Sandy pointed in the direction of the adjoining wall.

"Well first, you decided to spray-paint a direct Valean translation of all of Rammstein's Du Hast on the wall here. I mean, there aren't many lyrics to that song, and somehow it makes absolutely no sense the way you've translated it."

"Oh, god."

And then..."

Sandy moved over to the wall, grabbing the huge painting down and spinning it around.

"...on the back of this boat picture-"

"It's not just a boat picture, it's an oil painting of the H.R.M.S Bastion, the pride of the Atlesian naval fleet. No other navy has an aircraft carrier as large or as capable as the Bastion, Sandy. King Arnolf christened that ship live on television, man. I was on stage at that ceremony! I practically launched it."

"...Right, the Bastion, so on the back of the painting of the Bastion, you have done a direct Atlesian translation of the Valean version of Nena's 99 Luftballons. Which at a glance, you did completely wrong. I didn't know it was possible to misspell 'jet fighters' that badly. In both languages."

Weiss sighed into herself.

"Poo. That was a nice painting."

Sandy paused, looking around nervously.

"...sure, I guess."

With what looked like zero effort at all, Sandy lifted the massive painting back up to the wall, hanging it back on its hook. Weiss was impressed. She knew that Sandy was ex-military, but now she wondered what sort of heat the woman in the slightly ill-fitting suit was packing under all that grey cotton and silk. She shivered.

"So what happened to the couch?"

Sandy smiled bleakly, as if she was trying to pad the truth.

"I don't think you want to know, ma'am. It's... complicated."

"I want to know, Sandy."

"A-alright. You remember that model plane you got for your birthday? With the little gasoline engine that sounds like a weed-whacker?"

Weiss nodded into her hands.

"Yes, the balsawood P-88 SuperContender. That little motor alone was like, three grand. Wait, what do you mean, 'remember'?"

With pursed lips, Sandy stood still, before bending down in front of the large desk. When she came back up, the model aircraft was in her arms. Both of the plane's huge wings were broken off, leaving only the fuselage and tail sections still attached. Weiss gaped at the broken machine.

"WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO MY PLANE?!"

Another pause from her PA.

"You bungee-chorded it to your desk, and were running it at full tilt to 'feel the wind' as you kept yelling. Naturally the wings snapped off and the thrust pulled the remains across the room and into the couch. You can clearly see what the propeller did to the fabric."

"My poor plane. Ugh, why am I so stupid?"

"That is not the stupidest you did all week, by a long shot. N-no offence, ma'am."

They had reached a point where about nothing was going to offend her. She waved it off.

"Don't panic, I'm not going to hurt you. What did I do?"

Sandy stepped away from the desk with an obvious air of nerves.

"Well... you only had a limited supply of alcohol in your office, which only lasted until the middle of Wednesday. A-after that, you decided that you weren't done drinking, and because we were out of consumable booze, you went with the next closest thing."

"I don't like where this is going, Sandy."

She sighed.

"You won't. After breaking into the medical cabinet at my desk, you found the rubbing alcohol."

Weiss choked.

"I what?!"

"You decided to do shots with pure rubbing alcohol."

"WHAT THE FU-"

"Don't worry, you only had one before I locked you in your office for your own safety. But I can safely say that's not the stupidest thing you did, ma'am."

"What is wrong with me?!"

Sandy pulled one of the tinsel-covered chairs off the pile in the corner and sat down in front of the large desk.

"I should also probably tell you that you ordered seventy-eight quarts of chocolate-hazelnut ice cream despite the fact I told you not to because of your allergies. Then you went over my head by bribing one of the maintenance guys to have it brought up on the window-washing platform, directly to the window."

Weiss chuckled.

"That's smart, though."

"Then you ate six tubs of it. You had a severe reaction to the nuts, ma'am. We had to administer your Epinephrine shot to stop you from suffocating. It was... horrifying."

"At some point in all this you should have called security to come chain me to my desk or something!"

"You threatened the Lieutenant. With a letter opener. That man scares me and you got him to heel like a dog. N-not like a 'dog' because he's a faunus, but more like as a saying, you know? Shit, let me start over-"

Weiss raised her hand.

"It's fine, whatever. He's a big guy, he can take it, right?"

"You did stab him in the leg. I think he sewed himself up with a broken pen and some copper wire, however."

"That's pretty fuckin' metal."

Sandy seemed to hide a laugh.

"Except he didn't have any rubbing alcohol, because I poured it out to stop you drinking it."

"...Smart choice. Man, I am a wreck. You should have just pushed me out of the window, Sandy. I wouldn't have even minded."

There was another pause. Weiss could feel Sandy thinking 'I would have done it in a heartbeat, too' inside her calculating and sardonic head. She seemed to have decided against it.

"E-except that would leave your next of with an absurd amount of property you just recently purchased, if you died, you know. DespitehowmuchIwouldenjoyit."

Aaaand there it was. Out loud. Weiss sighed. She knew she probably worked the woman too hard, and she knew most of her employees probably resented her, even if they were payed an obscene amount of money. That didn't seem to matter to her PA, however.

"What do you mean 'recently'?"

With another anguished sigh, Sandy pulled a notebook out of her suit jacket, flipping it open to a page somewhere in the middle. She straightened her back, a sly smile forming on her thin, painted lips.

"In the last three days of escapades, you managed to aquire... lets see here... four hundred and six million lien worth of cars, real estate, artwork, and of all things, kitchen equipment. I have it all written down. Receipts, too."

"Why do you seem excited by that?"

"I'm not, I promise."

Weiss wasn't convinced.

"Go on. What did I buy. So I know what to sell. Or keep, I dunno."

"I'll start at the bottom. You bought fifty-five InstaPots, thirteen EasyCook ovens, Forty full sets of titanium cutlery from Ash-Kitchens dot com, one hundred bottles of the cheapest wine on RemNet, one hundred bottles of the most expensive wine on RemNet, and one bottle of propane."

Weiss cringed.

"Holy shit."

"Oh, it gets better. You bought three Vahn Goe paintings, including Star-filled Night, Crows in Wheatfield, and Portrait of Self where he still had the ear. You also bought every single copy of Di Vanchi's engineering drawings from the Mistrailian National Reserve, which to your credit, you had framed under UV-resistant glass so they wouldn't fade, which is nice. You're also the proud owner of Gotelli's Venice in The Evening."

"Isn't that painting like thirty feet wide?"

"Yes ma'am, and you had it installed in your house where you blew out the painting of you and your family."

"Right. Forgot about that. Real estate?"

Sandy flipped through the book.

"Right, uh, you own two new summer homes, one in Alta in Mistral, and one in Kage in Vacuo. Down the street from Shade academy, actually. Both designed by the same architect, coincidentally."

"Was that architect Frank Lloyd Wright?"

The woman paused, reading through her notes.

"Yes, actually."

"Not a coincidence, I would have done that on purpose. Anyway, continue."

Sandy looked both amazed and concerned at the same time.

"Uh... so the most expensive thing on the docket was eighteen miles of beach coast in Menagerie, south of Kuo Kuana, where you told me you were going to go 'skimmy diping', repeatedly."

"That's where the Belladonnas live. God, what it wrong with me?"

"A good question, but not important. You then spent a staggering eight million lien on cars which you had shipped here, to the office."

Weiss sat up, a little excited. She still felt like she had no right to be, but she couldn't stop the impending glee."

"Starting off with something rather stupid, a VHI Commander diesel dually longbed, which doesn't even fit in the parking garage, which you said would be used for site inspections despite the fact that you usually get to excavation sites in a limo, why you'd need a big truck I have no idea."

That seemed like one of her more reasonable purchases, actually. Some of the site inspections she had coming up that were in remote locations where her limo couldn't access, so the big brutish diesel truck might actually prove useful in getting her into the mines. Plus the leather wrapped interior would be nice as well.

"Did I at least buy it with a manual?"

Sandy looked displeased.

"Unfortunately for me, yes. That clutch is heavier than it needs to be and parallel parking it was the most stressful thing I have done, especially considering I had to put it between..."

She flipped another page of her book.

"...A brand-new VHI Stormer Grumman and a vintage, original Sanus Stallion 290. That by itself was three hundred grand. You seem to have only purchased muscle cars as well. Nothing with any sort of class."

"Woah slow down there. I'm a fan of the muscle. A... friend of mine showed me that there is no replacement for displacement."

Sandy rolled her eyes so hard they must have come completely disconnected.

"Sure. So you also bought a rather stunning looking Cavallo 338 GT directly from the Cavallo Heritage museum. That particular car only had six hundred kilometres on it."

"Actually that's a pretty sweet car. I always wanted a 338. How much did I pay for it?"

Sandy's tiny sly smile became a full and malicious one.

"Six and a half million lien."

"What the FUCK!"

Weiss's heart was now fully in her mouth. What in the hell had possessed her to spend seven figures on a car? Sure, it was a nice car, with a magnificent body beautifully sonorous eight cylinder mounted behind the driver, but it wasn't worth that much. She slid out of her chair, crumpling into a heap under her desk. She curled up, pulling her knees up to her chin. She wanted to catch fire and explode. That would be a fitting end to her at this point, she figured. Sandy came around to her side of the desk, kneeling down and placing a hand on on her shoulder. It didn't comfort her as much as she assumed it would. She tried to curl up tighter.

"I'm a terrible piece of shit, aren't I?"

Sandy rubbed her shoulder a few times. Weiss shivered.

"Hey, don't worry. If it makes you feel any better, you staged a photo shoot with famous Menagerian swimsuit model Antiope Ciane..."

"How would that make me feel better?! I don't even remember it!"

Another pause. Each time Sandy stopped talking, she assumed, or rather hoped that the universe would just disappear and leave her to float endlessly in a void filled with her own thoughts.

"W-well the only pictures you took was of the carpet, the drapes, and then your own face. Which you then faxed to me."

Weiss uncoiled slightly.

"Oh. That's not so bad. I guess."

"Nine hundred and thirty seven times."

She sighed for a full minute, letting her lungs fully deflate and held it like that for as long as she could. She could feel her body burning from the lack of oxygen. It would be nice to just stop being alive at this exact moment. She covered her head with her arms. The light in the room still penetrated her eyelids. Her stomach felt like a lead weight, pulling her insides around.

"I'm a sad excuse for a human being. Why do I exist?"

Probably for the amusement of others.

"Oh, fuck off."

"Excuse me, ma'am?"

Weiss sighed.

"Not you, Sandy. I'm sorry."

No you aren't.

"I am. I'm sorry. I don't know what to do."

Sandy settled down, sitting on her bum and stroking her hair. Weiss sniffled, letting the strong woman comfort her for the moment.

"...There there?"

"I need help."

"Yes, I think you do. So I called the one person who I thought could help you the most."

Weiss sniffed.

"You did?"

"Yes, ma'am. He'll be here in... three minutes."

"He? Did you call Dean? I don't want to see Dean."

Sandy chuckled.

"No, I didn't call him. I thought about it, but I thought this other person might be more beneficial to you in making you stop hating yourself. I hope, anyways."

"Did you call my brother?"

"I did. He told me to call someone else because you were going to see him today anyways."

"Oh yeah. I forgot about that."

Weiss sniffled again. Her whole body hurt. It was like she had been baked in a furnace, immediately dropped in a bucket of cold water, then hit with an enormous hammer. She felt completely and utterly broken.

"Everything hurts."

"That's understandable."

"I treat everyone around me like shit. Ruby left me, I abuse you for profit, I make unreasonable demands of my staff at home. I don't want to do this anymore."

Sandy seemed to be getting a little bit into the rubbing of the short, fluffy white mop of hair. Weiss just let it happen.

"You don't abuse me, Miss Schnee. I think you're a reasonable person. I mean, the last two days notwithstanding, of course. You were mostly alcohol and anger. You told me you had a falling out with your parents at dinner on Tuesday night, or something."

"Yeah, I screamed at my father and told the Duke of Winterschlaf to fuck himself and called his son a snot-nosed brat."

Sandy seemed both shocked and impressed.

"You did... what? Isn't that... high treason?"

Weiss shrugged.

"Eh, whatever. His daughter was super hot, though. Ugh sorry, I forgot, I'm not allowed to think that. It's disgraceful. No offence, Sandy. You and your wife are allowed around my house whenever you like. Just don't be there if my father's home."

"It's fine, Miss Schnee. And I've met your father. He's not that bad. He's just a little... old fashioned, is all. I'm sure he still loves you."

"Would you still love your child if they stood against everything you worked to create?"

Sandy sighed, turning around and resting her back against the side of the desk.

"Of course I would. Hypothetically speaking, if I had a kid and I saw they were passionate about something, I would support that. Any parent would do the same. Mister Belladonna still loves his daughter, doesn't he? And wasn't she an actual terrorist or something?"

With a tiny smile, Weiss sighed.

"Blake wasn't a terrorist, but I get your point."

"There, see? Your father isn't a bad person. He still respects you."

"I highly doubt that."

Sandy gave her hair one final ruffle, before standing back up and dusting her lap off.

"Well, you can discuss that with him when he arrives."

Weiss's eyes shot open.

"You WHAT?!"

Her body jerked back up into a seated position, her eyes wild. There was no way Sandy had called her father, no way at all. She knew just how much she disliked- no, that wasn't strong enough- how much she loathed her father and his views on his children and most specifically her in particular. Besides, there was no way in hell her father would even make the effort to come all the way out to the offices for a meeting with his fourth favourite offspring.

"Whitley said to do this."

Sandy shrugged. She seemed almost gleeful. Weiss understood that she had been a bad boss for the last few days, but Sandy's retaliation was bordering on mutiny. She grimaced. Her brother was equally to blame here, of course. She pulled herself to her feet, leaning over her desk. She didn't want to ever see her father in her office.

Knock knock

"Oh, speak of the devil."

"NO!"

She could do no more than watch as her once-loyal PA strolled over to the office door and slowly pulled it open. Weiss's body felt like it had been frozen in place. There he stood, his moustache immobilized by what looked like eight pounds of specially imported wax. His sharp, well ironed suit was... wait, there was no suit. His usual white-on-white-on-white suit was gone, replaced by a more sedate, and wrinkled grey sweater and plain-looking semi-dressy pants. His usually slicked back grey hair had been left unkempt. He held in his hands an unassuming black binder, which he seemed to be holding closer to himself than a normal person might.

"I'll leave you two to... talk things out."

With that, Sandy left, pulling the door closed behind her. Weiss flinched as the latch clicked. The room fell silent again, the mid-morning light falling into the room at a harsh angle. It made her father's face look apologetic. And that alone made Weiss wary. Something was very much wrong with this situation. He opened his mouth to speak, making her whole body tense as if it was reacting to spoiled food.

"Weiss... my darling..."

She twitched. Nobody called her 'my darling', not even Klein. It sounded so bottled and insincere. And he was smiling. It looked like he had been possessed. He seemed overly cautious as he moved forward to the edge of the desk. He turned the binder over in his hands a few times, looking down at it longingly.

"Wh...why are you here?"

He sighed, drooping his shoulders like they were made of cement.

"I was informed that you needed my help-"

"Well, I don't need your help."

He paused, unsure. Weiss wasn't sure what was more disconcerting, the fact that he looked genuinely worried, or the fact that he seemed to have been awake for the past few days.

"I feared you might say that. I know you don't want to see me, but I realized that I needed to come. I... know how you are feeling."

Her face burned.

"Wha- fuck you, no you don't! You have no idea how I'm feeling!"

"Weiss, please. Let me explain."

"No! Get out of my office!"

He didn't. Instead, he sat down slowly at the chair Sandy had left in front of the desk. Gingerly, he placed the binder on the desk and opened it to the first page. He looked at it for a second, a tiny smile coming to his face, before slowly turning it around and sliding it across the desk to her.

"Have a look at this."

She looked down at the open page. She had assumed the binder had been full of documents of some variety, but this was not the case. Weiss gasped. It was a photo album. She stared. She had never seen any of these pictures in her life. She almost didn't believe that they were real. Almost.

"Wh...what is this?"

She shivered. Her father sighed into himself as she slipped into her chair on her side of the grand oak desk. The first picture in the book depicted a man, in his mid twenties, holding a small infant in his hands. The man had no facial hair, so it took Weiss a moment to recognize him as her father. And he looked so scared, but at the same time completely overjoyed by the child that he had been gently holding in his arms. He wasn't even wearing his signature suit in this picture either, favouring a wrinkled and tired looking t-shirt.

"That is you, Weiss. On the day you were born. Valentine's day, ninety-two. The greatest day of my life."

Weiss was at a loss. The next picture showed the infant, with tiny whisps of white hair, in a tiny bassinet, asleep. A seven-year-old version of her sister was there, and she was looking over the edge of the bassinet at the infant. She had the biggest smile she had ever seen her sister make on her face. She couldn't describe the feeling in her chest. But it hurt.

"I understand what you think of me, Weiss. That you hate me. I understand that your brother and sister hate me as well. And I know there isn't much I can do about that. I wasn't the greatest father, I know. But I did my best with the situation I was given. You do know I was only twenty-one when Winter was born, right?"

Yes, she knew Winter was not planned, an accident that had come from a passionate... encounter between her parents at a college party. They had only been friends at the time, but alcohol had had an enormous influence in that decision making process. Weiss cringed internally, not wanting to think about it.

"Well, her father didn't like me after that, as is understandable. Compared to her, I was a nobody. But I loved your mother very much at the time. After the wedding, and after realizing that perhaps we were supposed to be together, your grandfather warmed up to me quite a bit, promising me the company if I could prove myself as a good person and good husband."

She wanted to scream. Cover her ears. Scream at the top of her lungs. Start throwing furniture. It was just a preposterous notion that he could ever be capable of being a decent human being.

"... And apparently, I was good enough eventually. I managed to raise Winter by myself while your mother finished her nursing degree, and we became a... real family. Even if we were a little young."

By comparison, they weren't that young to have started having children. Yang's mother was only eighteen, and Summer had only been twenty. So it wasn't unheard of in her circle of friends.

"After that, we realized we wanted more. More children to share our love wit-"

"Oh, bullshit, you don't love us! You despise the very idea of us, father! We only exist to prove you could... 'get with' a Schnee, just like every guy who used to hit on me at school!"

"My darling, you know that's not true. I do love the three of you. Without question."

Weiss sniffed loudly. Her face felt like it was about thirty seconds from becoming Century Falls, or at least one eye like it. She didn't believe him. But she couldn't quell the doubt that stirred.

"Wh-what proof do you have? Huh? Th-there's no way..."

He simply gestured to the photo album again.

"Turn the page."

She complied. The next series of photographs looked like they had been taken with a particular theme in mind. The first one was of what looked like her second or third birthday. She was there in the picture, in a tiny, frilly purple skirt and child-sized bolero that she had apparently spilled apple juice on. Taking up the centre of the picture and child-her's attention was a bright pink tricycle, complete with a little weaved basket and tassels. Little Weiss had the widest and happiest smile she had ever seen. She gasped silently. She didn't remember this. But that was to be expected, as it was actually twenty-two years ago.

"..."

Her mouth hung open, unable to summon the courage to say anything. The picture next to it seemed to be very similar. She seemed a little older, but not very. She was sitting on her father's knee, the man still in his suit from a long day of work, so it appeared. In front of the two of them was a bicycle, painted the same shade of pink her tricycle had been, complete with little training wheels and a massive bell on the left handlebar. The next picture was a little blurry, as if whoever was holding the camera was trying to run with it, but nevertheless it captured a very determined-looking toddler-aged Weiss riding her bicycle with the stabilizers removed, being supported by her father's hands under her seat.

"I...I don't..."

At her own behest, she kept going. The next picture showed a tearful little Weiss with a big scrape on her knee, having torn through her pants after falling from her bike. Her father, once again, had her propped up on his knee, and he had a cotton pad in his hand that was stained red. The picture after was of her again on the bike, this time with a bandage wrapped around her knee, and this time she was well ahead of her father who was running along behind her. She turned the page again.

"Hah..."

There was her as a small child, with a tiny plastic guitar strapped around her torso, and her father, stood behind her, with a full size Dual-Sonic electric guitar strapped over his shoulder. They both had those tacky shutter-shades on, doing their best Mick Jagger faces at the camera. A tear hit the plastic page.

"But... but... you hated me playing guitar... this can't be real!"

"It is real."

"But... you made me take classical lessons! Wh-"

He interjected with a tiny defensive smile.

"That's because your mother likes classical guitar. And... after she... well, I'm sure you remember..."

"Remember what?! That she became a sloppy, unresponsive drunk because of you?!"

He winced. And for a reason she had no explanation for, she felt regret. She had meant to lash out. She had meant to insult. So why did she feel bad?

"Not because of me, Weiss. Do you remember when your grandfather passed away?"

She sniffed back the tears, nodding ever so slightly.

"Well... the last words he ever spoke were to her, and what he said made her that way. He said... he said 'you'..."

He trailed off momentarily, sighing down at his feet. With a shake of his head, he continued. He looked to be in pain.

"... he said 'you disappoint me'. Those were his last words, to his daughter. After that she sort of just... broke. I haven't been able to get her back, Weiss. Your mother is all but gone from me. And that made me act poorly. I became... bitter. Angry."

He shook his head again. Weiss didn't realize that she had stopped breathing. She took a gasp of air, her lungs shuddering.

"I took it out on my children, on my company, on my peers. But the latter means very little. I treated you and your siblings unfairly, and I know that. I know I was a terrible father, but you must understand that it was because I was... well, no that's not fair to say. I acted unfairly to the three of you because I thought I had lost the woman I loved."

He went quiet. Weiss's chest heaved. She ached. It hurt so much.

"I just..."

"...Why?"

He looked back up at her, his eyes a pinky-red from restrained tears. She could feel it in her whole body now. Shame. Horrible, terrible shame. But she had to know. She had to know why.

"Why did you shame us for being who we are?"

"I didn't. I always loved you for who you are, don't be ridiculous."

"But... you took Winter's inheritance away because... because she started dating Qrow Branwen..."

"You misunderstand. I didn't take away her inheritance because of that. I passed it over to you because I know you would better run the company. Winter agreed that she would not have been able to do what you did. She's a better soldier than she is a business woman. I knew you'd be able to rescue the company from a broken man. Sure, I get a little defensive when that... particular huntsman is mentioned, but that's to be expected. She's still my little girl in my head, and I don't want anyone to hurt her."

Her eye twitched. That made... sense, she figured. She didn't want to understand.

"And your brother... yes, it's true that I don't particularly like his girlfriend. That's more because he decided to associate with a girl who bullies him into doing what she wants. I know they're still together behind my back. Do you know how she treats him? Like a dog, Weiss. That woman is toxic."

She hadn't know. She collapsed into her chair. Whitley had been coming home more and more dejected recently, seeming to be emotionally drained. She didn't know they were still together, this much was news to her. He also had started using 'dear sister' to address her, which she was starting to realize was reserved for times of stress. The other night, for example, when he had arrived home and helped her sober up, he had been wearing his date-night swest, which had smelled less like his cologne and more like salt.

"That...still doesn't... but..."

"I know that what you're hearing must sound unbelievable, but it's true. I love you all very much, Weiss. It has just been very difficult for me to express it in the traditional sen-"

"But you used to shame me for being... being gay! You hated me! For what I was. For who I am, father! You said I couldn't cut my hair short, you said I couldn't get my nose pierced, you said I was a disgrace to my family name because of who I wanted to be in my life! And now you have the audacity to tell me you cared?"

He stood from his chair. Stood, and turned towards the large window of the office. The damaged and broken man said nothing as he looked out the window. He sighed, placing one hand against the glass to support himself.

"Do you know why I 'bring you suitors' as you call it?"

"Because you're a homophobic asshole who wants to have another man in command of this company?"

He scoffed. Scoffed!

"Goodness, no. What you've done with the company is nothing short of revolutionary, my darling. Why would I ever want you to give it away? You've taken a corrupt, law-breaking, failing company and turned it into the single most profitable entity on the planet. There's not another person, male or female that I'd entrust it to."

"Then why."

"Because I'm afraid you will turn out like me. Bitter and alone. I know you're gay, darling, and I know that you have chosen that sweet little soldier from your team at Beacon-"

"Ruby. Her name is Ruby."

"Yes. Ruby. I know you love her more than just as friends. But I also know that she is a very damaged and depressed individual. She's had a lot of hardships, and they are very likely to cause her to self destruct. And I know that would cause you to self destruct as well, and I don't want to see you get hurt."

He paused to look over at her. She tried her hardest to glare at him, but she found herself unable. She was just too hurt.

"The other night. At dinner. I had invited the Duke over because I had a... bad reaction to your drinking and damaging of the house. But I'll admit, Maxim wasn't the person I had actually invited for you... Anastasia on the other hand... I only introduced her to Whitley because her parents are as homophobic as you perceive me to be. But... that's not something I could ever convince you of. I'm sorry."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because I know what it's like to lose the woman you love. I found these pictures a while ago, and I thought it could help me connect with you. Because I knew you wouldn't believe me. You're my daughter, and I love you. I want to help you."

The pounding of her brain was immensely loud. It was just too unbelievable. But he had proof. Hard, immutable, unquestionable proof in the form of this photo album. It was too much. She wasn't ready for him to care. She wasn't ready for him to help.

It's not real! He's not real!

He couldn't be! But the doubt in her mind was too much. She stood, her vision a haze of red. She had to leave, and she had to leave now. Without another word, she stomped towards the door, not even looking at her father as she did. She raised a hand, a loose glyph spinning into existence on the office door. With a twist of her wrist, the glyph exploded, blowing the door open and pulling the latch clear out of the frame.

With a cry, she stole out of the room, breaking into a light run towards the elevator. As she did, she swore she heard him let out a sigh of relief, but she wasn't going to go back and find out. A few of her higher-up employees were having an impromptu meeting in the hallway, next to one of the real office plants. She pushed through them, not hard enough to knock anyone over, but enough to get them out of the way. If they called after her, she hadn't heard. As she barged into the open elevator door and hit the button for the lobby, she let the cry out. The door closed softly behind her with a quiet ring of the bell.

"Arrrgh!"

I told you!

She slammed her fist into the wall of the little elevator cell. The pain shot up her arm like an electric current, emanating from the injury she had given herself the other day. She screamed again.

There's no way any of that was real.

"But it was... I was there... right?"

Well...

There was that doubt again. Consuming her. She had to trust him. She just didn't want to trust him. He had been the ruthless patriarch of the Schnee name. But now she knew why, and it hurt to imagine that all of her resentment had been misplaced. She hadn't even trusted the man who had raised her by himself. She felt like a villain. Like a horrible human being.

But you are a horrible human being. You thought it was about the money.

"Fuck off."

It's always about the money.

The elevator stopped suddenly at the lobby. She didn't give the door time to open, hooking her fingers in the gap between the stainless panels. With a cry, she pulled the doors apart, bending steel and snapping bolts as the elevator doors were actually ripped from their tracks. The coalition of people in the lobby mulling around went silent, all looking in her direction. She stared back, and the majority of them dropped there eyes to the floor, like good underlings, she thought. She stormed forward, crossing the vast lobby in a few glyph-enhanced steps. The massive glass doors that led to the building's front garden shattered into a million crystalline shards as she crashed into and then through it.

There you go again.

Why are you like this?

She growled, breaking into a run. The little alcove where delivery drivers would pull up to and drop packages off to the front desk was currently blocked off, filled to capacity with the small fleet of vehicles she had purchased in her drunken stupor. Approaching the alcove, she could see the massive black truck that towered over the other, smaller sporty cars. Knowing her PA, the keys were in all of them, tucked up in the sun visor.

"I'll take this, thanks."

The huge truck matched her attitude, she figured. Eight-and-a-half feet wide at the mirrors, twenty two feet long front to back, and painted all black with every piece of chrome trim polished within an inch of its life. She powered up to it and pulled the heavy drivers door open, stepping up into the leather-lined cabin and slamming herself into the seat. She went to push the clutch down, but her pencil skirt tugged her legs together and didn't let her operate the truck's wide-set pedals.

"Fuckin..."

She hoisted her butt from the seat and pulled the hem of the tight-fighting pastel blue skirt up to her hips, giving her enough room to move properly. Her left leg finally free, she matted the clutch and stabbed her finger into the start button up on the console. The huge diesel motor turned a few times before lighting off. Some time in the last three days someone, likely Sandy, had moved the big truck to the front of the line of cars, meaning there was nothing in front of her. With an angry glare down the road, she slammed the meter-long transmission lever into second gear, revved the huge engine up to the redline, and dumped the clutch. All four of the truck's huge rear tires lit off, shunting the heavy-duty vehicle forward and into traffic, leaving four thick, smoking black streaks in its wake.

/.../

She had been flying down the freeway, each one of the truck's massive six cylinders flinging around at probably too high a speed, holding the truck against the electronic limiter. Slower cars were quick to get out of her way as the massive nine thousand pound truck soared down the road, its turbo whistling loudly into the cabin. She muscled her way to the off-ramp, cutting off someone in a boring Sanus hatchback. Not that they were going to argue with a vehicle that weighed three times as much.

She slammed on the brakes as the truck reached the top of the ramp, nearly sliding fully sideways on the slippery pavement. She didn't like that the city council chose to plow this end of the city last. She also apparently had bought this particular truck without winter tires. With another violent abuse of the skinny pedal, she pulled into the industrial district of town. The motor howled as a literal mountain of torque tried to move the continent under her wheels. She muscled the big vehicle around the slow traffic, weaving in and out of a few cars and delivery vans that her truck managed to make insignificant in size. This really was the vehicle that epitomized 'mine is bigger than yours'.

Turning onto a side street, she powered forward towards the cul de sac at the end of the street. Her left leg was fairly worn out from the sadistically heavy clutch pedal, but she ignored the sting, forcing the brand-new truck down the road, towards the huge and well-lit sign, reading Atlas AG Performance. She smiled. The last two and a half hours of driving had been miserable, this was the first thing that had made the trip worth it. Again, she slammed on the no pedal, sliding to a stop on the street, before turning into the parking lot. She pulled up to the big garage door in the front, passed the collection of half-finished racecars and supercars wearing protective blankets. She paused, sitting idle for a moment. She could hear the truck's electric fans whirring to try and cool down the taxed motor.

As she inched forward, the big garage door opened automatically. The building was well lit, the fluorescent lights beaming brightly and reflecting off the piano-black paintwork and polished chrome of the big truck. Once she was in, the door came down with a slam, barely missing the rear bumper. Everyone in the shop stopped working to look over as she turned the big motor off. One man in particular seemed more than happy to see the big truck. Or, one boy in particular. He skipped over, actually skipped, and pulled the heavy door open for her.

"Sister! Wait, sorry, you hate that. Weiss!"

Her expression broke from it's seemingly constant dreary attitude. She took his hand and let him guide her out of the large vehicle. The air in the shop was a balmy twenty-two degrees, unlike the cold winter air from where she had come. As discreetly as she could, she pulled the hem of her skirt back down her legs. If Whitley had noticed, he didn't say anything, choosing instead to beam down at her. Well, down was relative. He really only stood four inches taller, making him short for a guy but tall for a Schnee. Winter still towered over the both of them. Somehow she had gotten the height and the body, leaving Weiss and Whitley to split the brains, as they always used to joke. But today was no time for jokes.

"Hello, Whitley."

He paused, his smile fading.

"What's the matter? Something wrong?"

She sighed. Yes, many things were wrong. All the things were wrong. Her entire universe had just been torn down and proved to be completely and utterly a lie. But she didn't have time to get into that with him today. It was Friday, and that was when he had said she should come by his shop. Instead of fretting out loud, she simply fell against his shoulder, deflating and putting her arms around his back.

"Okay, something is definitely the matter. You embracing me is both weird and concerning. You never do this, so it must be big. And you didn't even do this after your friend..."

She squeezed harder, manually pushing the air out of Whitley's lungs.

"Just shut up and hug me. Shitley."

He seemed hesitant for a moment, before finally giving in and reciprocating. He gave his best effort at rubbing her back in an attempt to calm her. It did a little, she had to admit. Today had just been a shitshow. She wanted just an uninterrupted stream of alcohol, video games, and animal crackers right now, but she settled for a semi-awkward sibling hug instead. It would do for now. Her and alcohol were going through a rough patch. Whitley's coveralls smelled like a mix of paint and spray lube. It helped her relax. Her garage at home smelled the same way most of the time. She sniffed into the thick fabric, wiping her nose on his breast pocket as she finally let go and took a step back.

"I have not had a good week, Whit."

"Yeah, I sorta figured as much when you didn't come home for three days. I tried to call your office, but you ignored me every time. I went to the office on Wednesday, but apparently you were out or something. Your PA wasn't there, either."

She waved it off.

"Don't even ask what happened, I literally was too drunk to remember."

"You need to quit drinking."

"I know, Whitley. I just..."

She paused, unsure of herself. Her hand idly came up and brushed some of her messy bangs out of her face. The only advantage of the new short hair look she was going for was that she didn't use as much shampoo. She had also realized that she short and fluffy look did not match her face. She looked, in her opinion, like she was five again. Speaking of...

"Father came by the office today."

Whitley's face scrunched up, his eyebrows wrinkling and his lips pursing. He seemed to hesitate on his response, like he was planning his thoughts carefully.

"I see."

She rubbed her good eye on the sleeve of her blazer.

"Yeah. He showed me some... pictures."

Another pause.

"And what did you think?"

"I don't know, Whitley. I don't know what to think anymore. I feel like I'm wrong."

"What about?"

"No, just wrong. Like everything I am is wrong."

He nodded, fiddling with a loose string on his his cuff.

"I know what you mean."

"You do?"

"For much longer than you think."

Weiss sniffled.

"I need help, Whitley."

"That's what we're here for."

With another dramatic sigh, she turned slightly and leaned against the black paintwork of the big truck. They stood in silence for what felt like many eternities, but was probably no more than thirty seconds or so. She enjoyed it for a bit longer, until her brother, probably not comfortable with her miserableness, decided to break the silence.

"Nice truck."

She subconsciously smiled at the comment.

"Thanks. It's brand new."

"I can see that. You didn't even peel the plastic off the grill yet."

A chuckle.

"Yeah, I wanted to drive it. It's a nice commuter car, really."

"Commuter? Weiss, this thing could pull the moon out of orbit. This is not a commuter. Also, why did you buy it in black? None of your cars are black."

"I dunno, I was drunk at the time. Probably that."

He smiled, shrugging and crossing his arms.

"I'll have to say, then. Drunk you has impeccable taste because this thing looks fuckin' cool."

It must have. Whitley didn't normally swear at matters so trivial, so she trusted his judgment. Now that she had a moment to actually step back and look at it instead of focusing on not running over small apartment buildings, she could see that indeed, it was fuckin' cool looking.

"Speaking of. Come with me. I have something to show you."

He turned around and marched off, beckoning her to follow as he did. She complied, tentatively following him into the big garage. The floors squeaked as she walked on them. Or perhaps it was the leather of her boots. Whatever it was, it made all of his mechanics look over and watch her go. She had met the rag-tag crew of guys in the past, giving them a little wave as she followed her excited brother across the floor.

"Good to see you, Miss Weiss!"

She smiled back.

"Good to see you guys too, Peanut, Axle, and Hammer."

They went back to work quickly, all of them elbow-deep in the engine bay of some mid-engined race car, missing most of its bodywork. She skipped forward, catching up to her brother and whispering to him.

"Why is he called Hammer, again?"

Whitley laughed, coming to a stop and unlocking another large garage door that led into the adjoining set of bays.

"Because one day we were trying to get a new prototype car to accept a new hybrid drivetrain, but the new motor and trans wouldn't fit between the original aluminum motor mounts. So instead of doing the rational thing, like removing the brackets and re-machining them, he grabbed the biggest hammer he could find and just went to town on them."

"Geez."

"Yeah, and he's a machinist by trade. So we call him Hammer now."

"But did the motor fit?"

Whitley laughed again, hoisting the big door up so they could walk through.

"Oh, like a glove. We even went and raced the car on the international circuit for one season with those mounts still in the car. Never broke once. This was the big Klasse-R E-Hybrid car, though, and we had already perfected the drivetrain for street use, so of course it was bulletproof on the track."

She chuckled up at him, following him into the dimly lit side garage. The lights came on automatically as they entered, revealing a collection of blanket-covered cars with one large brick-like one in the centre of the room.

"You know, I was gonna buy one of those, but then I went with the 7 GT-Spec instead. More comfortable seats, I thought."

"Eh, you're not missing much between the two. The 7 is the more versatile car, anyways."

"Yeah, I don't need a two-hundred kilowatt electric motor powering my super car that's only good for an extra two or three miles per gallon."

Whitley laughed again, slapping his hand onto his chest.

"You know Weiss, it's nice to have a sibling who understands cars to even a small degree. It's refreshing to know I'm not the only lunatic."

"You're not a lunatic, Whit. You found a job doing what you love. Being a nerd about cars. If only I could do the same."

"Trust me, I'm a lunatic. And didn't you say you wanted to get into making cars at the SDC?"

"Pfft, yeah a long time ago. Competition is just too stiff for me to think about that. Besides, we're an energy conglomerate, not a car company. Who would by an SDC-branded car?"

Whitley spun around on the spot.

"Yeah, but you make tractors and other commercial equipment. Why wouldn't they buy a car? You're a household name, like the Johnson Wax company or PLG Soda."

"Whitley, I own both of those companies."

"Oh. Right. Well, you get my point."

She nodded with a smile.

"I understood."

After an awkward second, Whitey turned with a dramatic leap, and grabbed the fabric cover that was draped over the large square shape in the middle of the room.

"Anyway, without further ado..."

He yanked with all his might.

"...Behold! The VHI Blaze-Charger!"

The sheet fell to the floor. Suffice to say she was not expecting what she saw. The big two-door SUV gleamed back at her in the white light of the room. The magnificent burgundy paintwork had a mirror-like shine to it, and the huge, wide chrome grille was a mirror to her, reflecting her and her brother. Even the little trim around the windows was perfect. The truck had not a spec of rust or any sort of physical blemish. It sat on polished black off-road tires, each one sitting on rubber mats so as to not get scuffed and dirty from the shop floor. The white lettering on the tires was perfect, as if they had been re-painted not minutes before she arrived. It was eerie how perfect it was.

"Holy... shit..."

"Damn right. It was in pretty rough shape when we got it. This here's the product of three continuous days of work. We got the guys from the aerodynamics department to come in and do sandblasting and vacuum lines, so that saved us the trouble. Climb on in!"

She didn't want to. The truck was too perfect looking. It intimidated her with the big brush guard, heavy-duty winch hooks, and massive auxiliary lights. She moved very slowly around to the driver's side. Even the little triangular smoker's windows were set perfectly in their frames, a known problem with this particular year of truck. She shivered.

"...Something the matter?"

"No, no, I just..."

She reached out and grabbed the handle. With barely any effort at all, the door unlatched and swung silently open. Like it was new. It felt wrong. It was supposed to squeak and groan as it opened, not comply! Her eye twitched. With one foot on the sill, she hoisted herself up into the lifted vehicle, settling down onto the thick and squishy red cloth bench seat. She kicked off her boots and left them on the floor of the shop, shutting the driver's door with a heavy clunk. Whitley was quick to circle around and hop into the passenger seat, shutting his own door as well. The cabin was silent, well isolated from the hum of the shop. Weiss sniffled.

"This feels wrong."

"Wrong? What do you mean?"

"Like... it... I don't know how to describe it."

She reached down to the key on the console, polished just as well as any other piece on the car and turned. The big motor cranked once before lighting off, settling immediately down to idle, rumbling menacingly under the long, flat hood. She gave the accelerator pedal a few stabs, letting the big block motor spin effortlessly up, roaring as it tried to turn the reinforced frame into a pretzel. She shook her head.

"See, even that feels wrong. It was too... easy."

Whitley scoffed from his place on the other end of the wide seat.

"Of course it was. I didn't spend three days meticulously rebuilding this ancient engine piece by piece for it to not work. That huge four-fifty makes a healthy four-hundred horsepower, and it's got the capability to easily double that number-"

"But that's not the point."

"Then what is, Weiss? This truck was a lot of work to build in, need I remind you, only three days."

"And I understand that. Thank you, Whitley. Your efforts are greatly appreciated. The truck is perfect and exactly what I asked for. But I... ugh, why is it so hard. Look..."

She turned the key back, shutting the leviathan engine off. She sat back in the seat, slumping down. The floor, she noticed, still had the plastic covering on the carpet so dirt and grime from the mechanics' work boots didn't sully the soft fabric.

"That truck was the road trip, you know? It had... issues. It smelled like gasoline, sugar, and spilled PLG. It had a high idle problem and a weak starter. It had life in it. It had... love in it. It was... I don't know, it felt like it was real."

"Well... I understand, I think. But I can't simulate forty years worth of run-in in three days."

"No, it's... fine. I do like what you've done here. It's nice to see what a new version of this truck might look like brand new. But I feel wrong just being in here. It's like a simulation, you're right. And it makes me feel dirty."

He seem to have understood, going silent. The big comfortable truck was not at all like the original model, but in every way exactly the same. She both loved it and hated it at the same time, because it represented exactly what she wanted in life without actually getting it. It honestly felt like, in terms of food, like eating a pie made by a professional chef who had used her deceased grandmother's recipe. It was amazing, but wrong. Because it had no flaws at all, to her, it was flawed.

Something was clawing at her inside. A want. A need. This truck had only filled a small portion of her gaping and empty heart. But in filling that small portion, it had opened the black hole even wider. Now the want was worse.

"There's something else..."

"Hmm?"

"How good are you at finding cars for sale?"

"...uh, very. Why?"

There was one more. Not even a six million lien vintage supercar was right for this.

"There's something else I nee- want."

Another car. Another stupid car. Something Ruby had mentioned once. Once!

"Okay, sure."

"Do you remember what Ruby's first car was?"

"I didn't go to school with you guys."

"But you know."

"Yeah, yeah. A Hunter RRS sedan. You sent me pictures of it. Five years ago. But yes, I remember."

She sighed, sliding down the seat.

"Well... could you get me one? A six cylinder, specially?"

"You want a second hand Hunter family car from the eighties?"

"She mentioned seeing one once that apparently out handled and out accelerated supercars and sounded like a sports bike. Said she saw it while on vacation in Mistral, or something. I want that car."

Whitley paused, concerned. He pulled out his Scroll from his coveralls, and began flipping through his contacts or something, clearly looking for someone. Weiss looked away, out the side window of the big facsimile. Every time she opened her mouth she said something that hurt her more. Whitley reached over and tapped her on the shoulder to grab her attention again. He seemed to be fixated on one person in particular on his phone. His mouth twitched in a tiny smile than anyone else wouldn't have noticed.

"She didn't happen to mention what colour that car was, did she?"

Weiss sniffed.

"Dark green. Why?"

He smirked.

"I know the owner. And I know the car's for sale."

Her eyebrows went up.

"You know the owner of that exact car?"

"Yes I do. She used to race for your pal Sun's racing team. She was their star driver. We called her 'La Voleuse', which in Valean means 'The Thief'. She was a very patient driver. She'd get up right behind you, and not budge off your bumper for the whole race, never once risking an overtake. It would make drivers nervous and push too hard. When they screwed up, and that's when not if, she'd fly by and leave them in the dust. A real genius behind the wheel."

"You keep using past tense. What do you mean was?"

His face twitched, like he didn't want to remember.

"There was an... incident on the track a few years ago. She stopped racing, I lost my number one rival, and now the car's up for sale. I only ever saw it run once, but I can assure you it's the car your friend remembers. It made one of my prototypes look like a milk float, it was so fast. It's the real deal."

"So how do I get it?"

"Simple. You go see her, as you would any vehicle purchase. She's a psychiatrist now, or something like that, lives in Mistral. It's a fair drive out to where she lives, mind."

She squinted over at her brother. Surely he didn't mean what she thought.

"You want me to see a shrink? Whitley, I said I wanted help, I mean from you as a family member."

He sighed, dejectedly. He reached for the door handle, pushing his door silently open and stepping out. Weiss followed suit, meeting him around the front of the huge red brick. He looked down at her, and placed one hand on her shoulder.

"I want you to go buy the car, Weiss. Besides, I think the two of you have a few things in common. You might even learn something. But hey. What do I know, right? I'm just your mechanic brother."

She smiled back up at him. He really did want to help her. He handed her his scroll, giving over the name and number of this driver, who happened to be selling the exact car she wanted, coincidentally. It really was a small world, she thought.

"Thank you, Whitley. For everything."

Another smile. He slung one arm over her shoulders and tugged her against his side.

"Ain't no thing."

She gave him a contented smile, amused with his use of an old family joke they and their cousins shared. She humoured him, if only to make herself smile a little.

"Chicken wing."

He let go, turning away from her and making his way back over to the main garage room. Just before he reached the door again, he turned.

"Thanks for coming by, Weiss. It's nice to see you every so often. Enjoy your truck."

"Thank you. I will."

With that, he turned away and rounded the corner out of sight. She sighed, realizing now she had two huge VHI trucks to corral back to the house. Not that it would be an issue, she now owned a truck with the pulling power of most solar systems. She had a plan now. She would go see this racer-turned-psychiatrist, and try to figure out how to fix herself. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea. Maybe just getting out of the country would be a good enough fix. Maybe.

The side area of the garage went quiet again, and she could swear she heard her brother mumble something under his breath as he disappeared deeper into his shop.

"All according to plan."