A Path To Omniscience

Indigo sat motionless, her gaze fixed on the ground. The silence around her was heavy, a reflection of the turmoil twisting inside. Her deep-seated hatred for Atlas clawed at her, urging her to stay silent, to give Asher's parents nothing. Yet, every so often, her eyes caught glimpses of her friends. They were her people, the ones who had shared the struggles of growing up in the slums alongside her.

They were waiting for her. Every single one of them.

Her group wouldn't act without her lead. If she chose to let them sink, they'd sink without question. Even the Faunus, who had a handgun gripped tightly in his hands, was uncharacteristically still, his usual fiery demeanor tempered as he watched her intently.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Indigo spoke, her voice hesitant but steady.

"I... I want your word that if my friends go to prison, you'll send them somewhere safe." She lifted her eyes to meet Vance's. Her tone was weighed down with reluctant resignation. Vance studied her, the pause between them stretching as he exchanged a glance with his wife. A subtle nod from her seemed to seal the unspoken agreement.

Indigo's group visibly reacted to her words. Wide eyes and barely concealed shock flickered among them. One of them, opened their mouth to protest, but the Faunus beside them cut it short with a swift nudge to the ribs and a firm shake of his head. Even he looked conflicted, though he kept himself in check.

"Very well," Vance finally answered, his tone deliberate. "You have the Frostvale Family's promise. As long as what you tell us is accurate, your friends will be sent somewhere they can serve their sentences safely." His words lingered in the air, and Indigo took them in with a deep breath.

A faint smirk tugged at her lips, it was bittersweet. She wasn't naïve; she heard the precision in Vance's promise. Her friends would be safe. But as for her? That was another story entirely. It wasn't lost on her why one of her friends had tried to object.

Well, I suppose they need their pound of flesh, huh?

With that thought, Indigo straightened and spoke again.

"His name is Diam," Indigo began.

"He's not one of us—not part of the Night Talons. He's more of an information broker for the slums. The kind of guy who knows a little bit about everything and everyone. His main trade is setting up jobs and hits. Some days, he'll tell someone where to wait if they want to mug someone with deep pockets. For us... he told us to stop the first car we saw, take what we could, and do whatever we wanted with the passengers. All he cared about was getting his cut of the profits." Her words hung in the air as Vance and Nillia exchanged a look, their expressions sharpened by focus.

They weren't just listening; they were committing every word to memory.

When Indigo stopped speaking, Nillia tilted her head slightly and asked, "Is that all? He didn't say anything more specific?"

Indigo met her gaze and shook her head.

"No, I don't think-" She was interrupted by the voice of her second-in-command.

"There was actually something I noticed," he interjected. Indigo turned to him, her eyebrows lifting in surprise. She genuinely didn't know what he was talking about. 

"Gray..." she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper as she studied his face. He glanced at her briefly before looking at Vance and Nillia.

"Before we left, Diam told us a joke. We laughed it off at the time, but it ended with him saying, 'The best place to hide a body is the third ring of the crater.'" Gray paused, his tone darkening as he continued.

"If we'd robbed anyone else, I'd call it a coincidence. But knowing how much he understands about the slums—and how much we hate Atlas—it feels too deliberate to ignore." Indigo's expression shifted as she processed his words. The others in the group exchanged uneasy looks, the weight of the revelation dawning on them.

Now that Gray mentioned it, it seemed obvious. Diam hadn't just made an offhand remark—he had likely guessed exactly how Indigo would react in the heat of the moment.

She remembered vividly the thought she'd had at the time: killing the passenger and dumping the body somewhere in the slums. If the other Faunus hadn't stopped her, it might have played out exactly that way.

Vance and Nillia reached the same conclusion almost instantly.

"We'll have to investigate this further," Vance murmured, his voice low and measured.

Nillia gave a firm nod, her eyes narrowing.

"Agreed."

With that settled, Vance turned to the leader of the Glacier Guard's 1st Team.

"You can take them now. When they get to the jail, tell the captain on duty to keep them in processing for a while. He'll be doing the Frostvales a favor if he does." The team leader gave a sharp nod.

"Right away, Mr. Frostvale."

He followed his response with a curt whistle and a quick hand gesture, signaling his men to move. The guards wasted no time, efficiently beginning to round up Indigo's group one by one and escorting them to the trucks they had arrived in. Soon, they would be on their way to the nearest police station.

From a short distance away, Liv observed the scene unfolding.

"Looks like they're done talking," she remarked, her voice quiet but laced with curiosity as she noticed the Glacier Guards springing into action. Asher's parents had begun walking back toward their son and her.

"If you're that curious, I could just ask them what they talked about," Asher said, casting a sideways glance at Liv. A faint grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he spoke.

Liv quickly shook her head, her voice dropping to a whisper, though the slight urgency in her tone made it louder than intended.

"No, you can't do that! It's bad enough that I let you get dragged into this mess. The last thing I need is to look nosy on top of everything else."

Asher chuckled softly, the sound light and unbothered as he slowly shook his head.

"If you're worried my parents will blame you, don't be. They probably already know exactly what happened. I'm sure the driver gave them a full report over the phone." Liv tilted her head slightly, her confusion was evident. She opened her mouth to question him but stopped when Asher didn't elaborate.

Instead, he turned and started walking toward his parents, as she followed. 

"So, is everything settled?" Asher asked his tone light as he looked between his parents.

"At least for now," Vance replied with a soft sigh, the fact this might be a bigger headache in the future clear in his voice. 

"In that case, I suppose it's time for us to head home," Asher said, a calm smile spreading across his face. He turned to start walking toward the company car his parents had arrived in, but his stride was halted by his mother's firm voice.

"Oh, no you don't, Asher. We're not letting this one slide." Asher stopped and turned back to her, his expression feigning innocent confusion.

"What do you mean, Mother?"

"Don't play coy with me, Asher. You know better," Nillia chastised, crossing her arms

"The driver told us it was your idea to veer off the route we set for you." Liv cast a quick glance at Asher, trying to mask her surprise. He'd been right—the driver had already spilled the details. It made sense; the driver probably wanted to ensure they were rescued and avoid taking any blame that might cost him his job.

"Oh, that," Asher replied nonchalantly

"I was just trying to avoid a bit of traffic." It was clear from his casual demeanor that he knew what was coming next. That only seemed to sap Nillia's energy for scolding, and she sighed as if resigning herself.

"You're grounded for a week when we get home. No workshop, no visiting your friends. You'll focus on your studies. Understood?" Asher immediately dipped his head in compliance, his response respectful and without hesitation.

"Yes, Mother."

Nillia blinked at his complete lack of resistance. She let out a sigh, rubbing her temples before casting a weary look at Vance.

"Why did you make him like this?" Vance smirked faintly, clearly amused.

"Me? Let's not forget, every time I tried being stricter with him, you'd end up shortening his punishments." Nillia placed a hand on her cheek, her expression softening as a nostalgic smile crept onto her face.

"It's not my fault. He was so cute when he was smaller, and now he's both cute and handsome." Asher's parents began lightly bickering, debating who was more responsible for shaping their son's behavior. 

Trailing behind them, Liv leaned closer to Asher and whispered with a smirk, "You really know how to play your parents, don't you?"

Asher shrugged casually, glancing at her with an air of innocence.

"I have no clue what you mean."

=====================================•=====================================

Atlas, despite its infamous role in the Great War eighty years ago and its connection to the spark that ignited the conflict, boasted the most formidable military force in the world. Ironically, this made it the de facto global peacekeeper. For the past eighty years, the mere existence of Atlas's military had deterred major wars between the kingdoms, ensuring an era of unprecedented peace.

The kingdom's commitment to order and security was absolute. Atlas didn't just oversee its own military and policing forces; it extended its jurisdiction to private security firms and contractors. Any organization dealing with protection or enforcement, no matter how independent, operated under Atlas's watchful eye.

It was this meticulous control that drew their attention to anything unusual or noteworthy.

Such was the case at Northwind Harbor—arguably one of the most secure harbors not just in Atlas but perhaps the world. Its defenses were well known. Despite facing its share of issues over the years, the harbor had never succumbed to a Grimm assault, nor had a ship ever been sunk in its waters. For the workers stationed there, this record was a point of pride.

Even so, the harbor's unparalleled security didn't mean ships arriving and departing were without their own safeguards. Cargo vessels, whether hailing from Atlas or distant kingdoms, often hired private security. These teams worked in close coordination with the harbor's personnel, their operations directed by each ship's security officer to ensure smooth transitions and protection during loading and unloading.

Yet, amidst this well-oiled machine of cooperation, there was another presence—an element that stood out. Something that had quietly, yet inevitably, drawn Atlas's ever-watchful eye.

The rhythmic sound of boots striking the cold, damp ground echoed through the docks, occasionally splashing through patches of half-melted snow that the harbor's heating system had yet to fully clear. The boots belonged to a man with piercing black eyes and slicked-back hair tucked neatly under a cap.

Draped over his frame was a grayish-white, high-collared coat, its surface marked with the proud crest of Atlas prominently displayed on his chest. In his hands, he carried a scroll, its holographic display extending to the size of a tablet as he tapped through various documents with practiced efficiency.

The bustling workers and passing harbor security barely spared him a glance. Not out of ignorance, but deliberate avoidance. No one dared interfere with his work or draw his attention. The reason was stitched into his coat just beneath the Atlas crest: three stark letters, RCO.

This man was a Regulatory Compliance Operative, an agent of the Atlas Security Oversight Division (ASOD). His role was exactly as the title suggested: ensuring that all private and contracted security forces adhered strictly to Atlas's regulations. 

As he walked along the docks, his gaze periodically shifted upward toward the cargo ships docked in the bay. His eyes scanned the contracted security personnel stationed along the decks, meticulously assessing their posture, equipment, and patrol routes. Each time he spotted something of note, he glanced back down at his scroll, his lips moving as he muttered quietly to himself.

"Ironhaven Security," he noted, his tone neutral.

"Their weapons appear to be Reaver Mk. II's, within regulation according to the latest listings." On his scroll, a massive checklist glowed faintly in the dim light.

It was filled with detailed entries to cross-check: personnel rosters, equipment inventories, and weapon specifications, all matched against pre-approved manifests and deployment reports. Even the contracted patrol routes were under scrutiny, with no room for deviation beyond their agreed-upon operational parameters.

His job was exhaustive, requiring a precise eye and relentless focus. Every detail had to be logged, verified, and, if necessary, flagged for further action. 

"That's it for that ship," the RCO muttered to himself, swiping away the checklist on his scroll. A new one promptly appeared on the holographic display.

"The next one up is a Frostvale Enterprises cargo ship," he read aloud, glancing at the ship's image on his screen. His eyes shifted to the dock ahead until they landed on the familiar Frostvale crest—a black and white crow emblazoned on the ship's hull. Satisfied that the visual matched, he began walking toward it, scrolling through the checklist of items to review.

He was so absorbed in his work that he didn't notice the smooth, white blur streaking across the sky above him.

As he approached within a certain distance of the ship, a synthesized voice suddenly echoed from nowhere.

[Halt! You are an unidentified individual entering an area restricted to harbor employees and crew members of Frostvale C-06. Turn around now; if you do not comply, security will be alerted.]

The words came as a sleek SU-P drone zipped into view, stopping abruptly in front of him. Its sudden appearance was so precise and seamless that it seemed to appear out of thin air. The RCO instinctively stepped back, momentarily startled, before frowning as he assessed the machine hovering in front of him.

A drone? What's a drone doing here? Is it military deployed?

The questions raced through his mind, quickly overtaking his initial shock. After a moment, he spoke.

"What are you? Who do you belong to?" 

[Precise information about my existence is restricted to authorized personnel only. However, you may refer to me as GAIA, the AI overseeing the S.I.R.E.N. System currently operating this and other network-connected machines. I am functioning under the authority of Frostvale Enterprises.]

The RCO's frown deepened as he processed the response. While the concept of AI wasn't new—human-like AI had been implemented as assistants and receptionists in high-end establishments—those systems were largely superficial, designed for simple interactions and managing routine tasks.

But this? This was different. The drone's responses didn't sound pre-generated or scripted. The complexity and autonomy required to be able to generate responses while also controlling a sophisticated machine like a drone went far beyond the capabilities of standard AI.

"The S.I.R.E.N. System? I don't think I've ever heard of something like that before..." the RCO muttered, his tone tinged with both curiosity and suspicion. He opened his scroll, swiping through its interface until he reached the search bar. Quickly, he typed in the keywords: S.I.R.E.N. System, drone, GAIA.

The search engine flickered to life, cycling through countless inquiries. He waited, tapping his finger impatiently against the scroll's frame. After a full minute, the results finally loaded.

Or rather, they didn't.

The screen displayed a single, unhelpful message: No results found.

"What?" the RCO whispered in disbelief, his brows furrowing. This wasn't just an ordinary search—it was directly connected to the Atlas Military database. Through this system, he could access classified information about ongoing tech developments, even those unknown to the general public. Yet, there was absolutely no trace of the S.I.R.E.N. System, the drone, or anything related to GAIA.

How is that even possible? 

Could Frostvale Enterprises have developed it in-house? That seemed unlikely. Even if they had, there would still be a patent, a codename, or some kind of reference in the database. But this complete absence of data raised far more questions than answers.

As his gaze shifted back to the area guarded by the drone, he noticed something he hadn't before. There were more drones. Several of them were patrolling the airspace around the Frostvale ship, scanning cargo, monitoring anyone who got too close, and conducting methodical flybys of the perimeter. Their movements were precise and systematic, more advanced than any privately operated security drones he had encountered.

Where did they come from?

The unease began to settle in his chest. 

"I... I should report this to headquarters," he muttered to himself, turning away from the scene.

As he walked briskly back toward a secluded area, he tapped his scroll, compressing the display into a phone-like device. He initiated a call, bringing it to his ear.

"This is Regulatory Compliance Operative Harl, reporting from Unit 2," he said, his voice steady but with an edge of urgency.

"I need to get in contact with the Division Chief immediately. Yes, it's important."