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The CCT was easy to take control of, Watts thought to himself. Laughably so even. All he had to do was create a simple technological virus and Cinder had to install it into Vale’s CCT which, surprising to him, she had managed to pull off thanks to Beacon security being busy with some school dance that was occurring at the same time. He chuckled just thinking about it, Vale’s means of communicating with the other kingdoms was now in Salem’s control because of something as childish as a dance. To make things better, due to Ironwood’s scroll being Atlasian in origin and connected to the Vale CCT, Watts had access to not just his secrets but potentially the secrets of Ozpin’s inner circle as well!
Just another example of humanity’s intelligence going down the drain without him, he almost felt a sliver of pity for them. Almost.
At the request of Salem, Watts had spent hours going through Ironwood’s scroll to find information regarding the location of The Fall Maiden. To his chagrin, there hadn’t been anything Watts could find regarding where she was being kept hidden. The most he could find were simple exchanges between Ironwood and Ozpin about the status of The Fall Maiden but nothing about her location. This failure gnawed at him, how could he not decipher where their goal was? He was Arthur Watts for the Brother’s sake! He should know!
Take a deep breath Watts, he thought to himself. This outburst wasn’t gonna help. He wasn’t like that child Cinder, he could accept failure just this once. Besides, The Queen’s plans involved more than just The Fall Maiden.
They were gonna burn Beacon to the ground and Ironwood was gonna help them. Whether he knows it or not.
From the information in his scroll Watts could see how much Ironwood had really risen through the ranks of the Atlas Military. He had access to everything, even from prior to his enlisting. It made sense Watts reasoned. Common procedure for anyone becoming commander but there was…something that caught Watts’ attention. It was a lone file with two words accompanying it:
Project Shadow.
Why this seemingly irrelevant file caught Watts’ eyes he had no idea. Looking at the date this was from nearly half a century ago- long before most of the current players of the game he was participating in were born.
In fact, Watts couldn’t recall a mention of this “Project Shadow” from Salem.
That was perhaps what triggered his intellectual curiosity. If even the immortal Queen Of Grimm didn’t mention it, there was a high possibility that she wasn’t aware of its existence. If this was something that Ozpin had been keeping secret…
Clicking the file open, he was greeted with a document that read the following:
•Following the accident on March 27th 30 ATGW. which had resulted in the deaths of twelve scientists including lead researcher Gerald Robotnik, the Atlas Military has come to the hard decision of halting any future developments for Project Shadow. While Project Shadow won’t be shut down entirely, it would be on hold indefinitely until then the subject will be placed in cryostasis on Prison Island. Do not, under any circumstances, awaken Project Shadow until the Atlas Military has granted access to resume the project.
Watts stroked his mustache as he reread the document over and over, his curiosity on this “Project Shadow” having grown considerably. While it had unfortunately left out any context regarding what exactly the project detailed, the one name included was enough for him: Gerald Robotnik.
Obscure to most, a legend in the field of technological advancement and research in Aura for those who gave a damn about the history. His involvement in Project Shadow was enough for Watts to pursue it but there was only one problem: where was this Prison Island? He couldn’t find anything with that name anywhere else in the files or the map of Atlas.
This would be a challenge…if the engineers behind the CCTs didn’t base its Global Positioning System off the decades worth of maps of each region. All Watts had to do was search through the archives and compare the previous records to the current version and he knew exactly when he should start, the email had been dated 30 ATGW. All he had to do was search for records from around that period.
And after a mere few minutes, he found it: a map of Atlas from fifty years ago. Outside of a few minute differences in new settlements on outside islands, it was one to one to Atlas of today.
Except for one small island to the south of Argus, alone and far away from the main continent. If he didn’t know better Watts would have paid it no mind.
But a quick glance at a map dated two months after this one had the island mysteriously absent. As if it had vanished from the world.
Or more accurately, it was hidden.
The corners of his mustache curled upwards, he found it. Prison Island. Pushing up from his seat, Watts exited his station and into the corridor of the Queen’s Castle. The harsh red of the sky gleaming into the stained glass windows, Watt’s shadow spreading the room.
Whatever Project Shadow was- no, is- it was clearly something that the Atlasian Military feared. Afraid enough to lock it away for fifty years.
Watts had a new goal, he will make an impromptu meeting with the owner of the castle about a potential new pawn in their game.
All he could think about was her.
Being locked up in suspended animation with no means of communication had pretty much only left him with one option: reflecting on his memories. Memories that consisted of experiments being done to his body. Memories of being forced to fight Beowolves to test his abilities even when it was clear he was exhausted after hours of testing. Memories of the looks aimed at his appearance when the scientists thought he didn’t notice, treating him like some animal.
He had picked up on how humans treated the Faunus, it was hard not to when the scientists frequently made comments bemoaning on the rise in pro Faunus voices. Even though The Great War had ended nearly three decades prior and the Faunus Revolution had finally begun, the hatred in the humans’ tone hadn’t changed a single bit. If they could have such hate for them, it wasn’t surprising that they had treated him even lower than that. His appearance had nothing resembling a human or even Faunus, they always pointed out he resembled another species: The Grimm.
His rough, black fur paired with his scarlet eyes had made the comparisons frequent. His seemingly lack of an aura didn’t help matters. For a while they were more overt in their Grimm theory, discussions of a dissection had been thrown around to, in their own words, “To finally study the biology of Grimm.” They only stopped when contact with the blade had caused blood to seep out from his body, a trait that wasn’t present in Grimm.
Those memories weren’t ones he looked on fondly.
And then there were the memories of her.
She was the light in his life. In the cold, sterile white interiors of the lab, she was the only thing that stood out. She was the only one who didn’t look at him like an animal or a experiment, but as
a person. She was everything.
Then they took her.
They took her like she was nothing. As if she wasn’t the one bright spot in this forsaken world. As if she didn’t have any hope or dreams for a better world. They treated her as if she was a nuisance, like some damn animal.
His hands twitched as he came to a realization:
They treated her the same way they treated him.
And for the first time in fifty years, he opened his eyes.
Shadow whas awakened.