The White Fang Safehouse was dim, the only illumination coming from the flickering screens that lined the walls, casting eerie shadows across the room. Adam sat alone, his hands clasped together, his whitish-tan mask resting beside him on the table. The conversation with Sienna replayed in his mind like an unrelenting storm, each word striking like a hammer against his core beliefs.

What happens when we do?

Sienna's question had dug deep. The foundation upon which Adam had built his rage, his hatred, his purpose—it was cracking. He had always known the world in black and white. Faunus suffered. Humans thrived on their suffering. The White Fang had to fight back, no matter the cost.

But now, the certainty that fueled him was slipping through his fingers like sand. The idea that humans—humans of all people—had fought, bled, and even died for the Faunus? It was an impossible contradiction, a paradox that threatened to dismantle everything he had ever believed in.

His breath came in slow, controlled measures, but his heart pounded with an unfamiliar sensation.

Doubt.

Adam had never allowed himself to doubt. Doubt was weakness. Doubt was a crack in the armor, an opening for betrayal. And yet, no matter how many times he tried to smother it, the questions persisted.

Were we wrong?

He stood up abruptly, pacing the room like a caged beast. His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms. He had given everything to this cause. His youth. His soul. His future. All for the dream of a world where Faunus would no longer be beneath humans. He had fought, killed, and suffered for that dream.

And now... what if that dream was built on a lie?

He closed his eyes, memories flashing through his mind. He saw himself as a boy, cowering in the dirt while humans laughed at him. He saw the pain of his people, the way the world turned its back on them. He saw Sienna, standing tall, leading them into battle with righteous fury. And then... he imagine the faces of those humans in Menagerie, defending Faunus, protecting them—not as oppressors, but as comrades-in-arms.

His breathing became ragged.

No. They're deceivers. Manipulators. They only help when it serves them.

His thoughts lashed out, trying to anchor him back into the hatred that had always been his compass. But for the first time, that hatred felt... hollow.

A knock on the door broke the silence.

Adam's eyes snapped open, his body tensing as if preparing for battle. He grabbed his mask, slipping it back on before growling, "Enter."

A young Faunus soldier stepped in, wolf ears twitching with nervous energy. "Sir, there's been... an incident."

Adam narrowed his eyes under his mask. "What kind of incident?"

"There's been... unrest among some of the members," the soldier admitted carefully. "After the reports from Menagerie, some are questioning our current path."

Adam's jaw tightened. "They're questioning me."

The soldier hesitated before nodding. "Yes, sir."

Adam turned away, his fingers twitching toward the hilt of his blade, Wilt. The weight of leadership bore down on him like a crushing force. He had always assumed his cause was righteous, his path unquestionable. Now, his own people—the ones who had followed him into battle, who had killed in his name—were beginning to falter.

Just like he was.

"Keep an eye on them," Adam ordered after a long silence. "Report back if anything escalates."

"Yes, sir." The soldier exited the room, leaving Adam alone with his thoughts once more.

He turned to the screen, opening a map of Vale, his gaze darkening. His people were wavering, and if he let it continue, the White Fang would splinter. He had to decide.

Did he double down on his path, rally his soldiers back to the cause, and drown these newfound doubts in the only thing he had ever known—violence?

Or... did he listen?

For the first time in years, Adam Taurus didn't have an answer.

And that terrified him.

The murmurs had grown into whispers. The whispers became conversations. And now, those conversations were turning into something far more dangerous—doubt.

Adam stood in the shadows of the safehouse, arms crossed as he listened to a group of his men discuss the news from Menagerie in hushed voices. They thought he wasn't listening. They thought he didn't notice. But Adam noticed everything.

"I heard they were given food and medical supplies," one young Faunus, a cat-eared recruit named Rohan, whispered to his companion. "Not just that, but they were protected. Humans fought for them."

His friend, a stocky bull Faunus named Garret, scoffed. "Maybe. Or maybe it's just a trick to make us drop our guard."

Another voice, a female fox Faunus named Yara, crossed her arms. "A trick? For what, Garret? Why would they risk their own soldiers, their own blood, just to pretend to care? That makes no sense."

Garret's scowl deepened. "It makes perfect sense. If they win our trust, they control us. That's what humans do."

"Or maybe not all of them," Rohan countered. "Maybe these ones are different."

Silence.

Adam clenched his fists. His soldiers—his brothers and sisters—were beginning to waver. And in the White Fang, hesitation was a disease. It spread like rot, infecting the hearts of warriors until they were no longer willing to fight. He knew that if he let this continue, he would lose more than just their loyalty—he would lose their purpose.

The White Fang could not afford to hesitate.

With a slow breath, he stepped into the light. The moment his masked face became visible, the gathered Faunus stiffened in alarm.

"You think they're different?" His voice was calm, but laced with steel. "You think the humans that slaughtered our ancestors, that forced us into slums, that treat us like animals, are suddenly our friends?"

Rohan straightened his back. "Sir, I just think—"

"You think?" Adam took a step forward, looming over him. "And what, exactly, do you think happens when you arrive in Menagerie and find that these humans are just as flawed, just as dangerous, as the ones we fight now?"

Rohan hesitated but held firm. "If they're truly different, then wouldn't that mean we've been wrong about all humans?"

Adam's jaw tightened.

The others exchanged uneasy glances. Even Garret, who had been so adamant before, seemed shaken by Rohan's words.

Yara, emboldened by the moment, spoke up. "Maybe we need to see for ourselves, Adam. Maybe Menagerie has changed. Maybe the world has changed."

Adam knew he had to act fast. If he let this conversation continue, more would start to wonder. More would question the White Fang's path. And once that started...

No. He would not allow that.

His fingers twitched toward Wilt. He could end this conversation right now. A single example, a single life sacrificed for the cause, and the rest would fall in line.

But something stopped him.

A voice in his head. Sienna's voice.

"What happens when we do?"

Adam exhaled sharply, shoving the memory away. His eyes scanned his soldiers, searching for weakness, for fear.

But all he saw was uncertainty.

And for the first time, he realized that fear wasn't enough anymore. They weren't afraid of humans. They were afraid that maybe... just maybe... humans weren't their enemy after all.

He had two choices.

Crush their doubts. Keep them in line with fear, with discipline, with unwavering loyalty to the cause.

Or... let them go.

Finally, after a long silence, Adam spoke.

"You want to see Menagerie?" His voice was measured, deliberate. "Fine. Go."

The group stiffened, shocked.

Rohan blinked. "Wait... what?"

Adam tilted his head. "Go. See for yourselves. But know this..." He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "If you come back, you will never question me again. You will never hesitate again."

Silence.

The choice had been given.

One by one, Yara, Rohan, and a few others nodded. Not all, but enough. Enough to know that the White Fang was no longer the unstoppable force it had once been.

Adam turned away before they could see the way his hands clenched into fists.

Because deep down, he already knew.

They wouldn't be coming back.

Three days had passed since a significant number of the White Fang's Vale branch had departed for Menagerie. The hideout, once filled with the voices of loyal fighters, now felt eerily empty. The murmurs of dissent had turned into action, and Adam felt that shift like a knife in his gut.

At first, he had ignored it. Those who left were weak. Cowards. They had abandoned the cause, seduced by empty promises from so-called 'different' humans. It was a betrayal, pure and simple.

Yet, as the days dragged on, that anger twisted into something else—fear.

Adam sat alone in his quarters, the only light coming from the dim glow of the monitors that lined his walls. Maps of Vale and Menagerie flickered before him, reports piling up from the members who remained. They whispered of defectors who had arrived in Menagerie, being welcomed instead of chained, fed instead of starved, protected instead of hunted.

It didn't make sense. Humans didn't do that. Humans couldn't do that.

His fingers curled into fists as he glared at the screen. They're being lied to. Used. Just like I was.

The scars on his body, the memory of that branding iron searing into his flesh, haunted him. The rage he had nurtured since childhood was now battling something foreign. Doubt.

That night, sleep did not come peacefully. It never did, but this time was different.

Adam found himself standing in Menagerie, but it was not the place he had seen in reports. Instead, it was a twisted version of it—dark, oppressive, the smell of burning flesh thick in the air. The screams of Faunus echoed in the distance, the unmistakable crack of whips slicing through flesh ringing in his ears.

His breath came in ragged gasps as he walked through the streets, his boots sinking into a ground slick with something warm and thick. Then he saw them—Faunus, lined up like cattle, their wrists shackled, iron brands glowing hot as they were pressed into their skin.

And standing over them?

Humans.

Men in crisp uniforms, their faces obscured by darkness, laughing as they held their whips. A figure stood at the front, his features shrouded except for a cruel, knowing grin.

Adam tried to move, tried to stop it, but his body would not obey. The brand in the faceless man's hand burned brighter, its heat radiating even from a distance. Then, as if noticing him, the man turned and smiled.

"Welcome back, Adam."

The iron came down.

He screamed.

Adam awoke drenched in sweat, his heart slamming against his ribs. His breathing was erratic, his body tense, the ghost of searing pain still burning against his skin.

It was just a dream. Just a dream.

But the images did not fade. His mind latched onto them, twisting every report, every whisper, into confirmation of his worst fears.

They had left for Menagerie. And what if they had been wrong?

What if, even now, those Faunus were being enslaved, tortured, or worse—turned into the playthings of humans?

The thought sent a shudder through him.

I have to know.

He stood abruptly, pacing like a caged animal. If they were suffering, if those humans had lured them into some sick trap, he would not let it stand. He would not allow it. He had fought too long, too hard, to let his people fall back into the hands of their oppressors.

His mind spun in circles, paranoia digging into him like claws. Were the humans of Menagerie truly different? Or were they simply better at hiding their cruelty?

He couldn't trust them. He wouldn't.

But if his nightmares were true... if the humans had deceived them all...

Then he would burn Menagerie to the ground.

The rhythmic hum of the Bullhead's engines filled the cabin as Adam sat in silence, his fingers gripping the hilt of Wilt tightly. The past few days had been a blur of doubt, paranoia, and rage. His thoughts churned like a violent storm, each one screaming at him with different conclusions. Why had so many left? What were they seeing in Menagerie that made them abandon the cause? Were they being deceived? Or worse... had they become slaves?

He had to see it for himself.

The journey to Menagerie took two days, pushing through difficult skies and turbulence that did little to settle his already frayed nerves. The moment the Bullhead breached the final cloud layer and Menagerie came into view, Adam's breath hitched.

The first thing he saw were the ships.

Massive warships.

The kind of warships that put Atlas to shame. Lined up in the coastal waters surrounding Menagerie were vessels unlike anything Remnant had ever produced.

Arleigh Burke-class destroyers, amphibious assault ships, and—his blood ran cold—an Iowa-class battleship, an enormous leviathan bristling with weapons, towering over the ocean like an unmovable god.

Atlas had warships, but nothing like this.

His fingers clenched tighter.

As the Bullhead descended toward its landing zone, Adam scanned the docks and surrounding settlements, his eyes narrowing at the presence of humans. Not just any humans—soldiers. They moved with the discipline and purpose of an organized military. Some wore dark greens mixed with brown and black patterns (MARPAT), others a lighter, desert-tone camouflage (MultiCam), and more still in different variations of digital camo. Their movements were calculated, their weapons real and battle-worn.

He could already tell.

These were not Atlas soldiers.

The Bullhead landed softly, its doors hissing open with a rush of humid air. The first thing Adam noticed was the welcoming party waiting for him.

The White Fang.

The defectors from the Vale branch stood in formation, waiting. But something was... wrong.

None of them wore their Grimm masks.

Instead, they stood with their faces uncovered, expressions unreadable.

Adam took a slow step down from the Bullhead, his boots crunching against the dirt. His blue eye burned with barely restrained fury, but deep beneath that was something he dared not name.

Uncertainty.

Then, he saw them.

The humans.

They stood nearby, their gazes analytical but not hostile. A few glanced in his direction, whispering amongst themselves before refocusing on their duties. None reached for their weapons. None sneered at the Faunus around them. They simply existed alongside them, moving in tandem like they had always been there.

Adam's heart pounded. His mind screamed at him to react, to do something. This was wrong. This was unnatural.

He forced himself forward, his eyes locking onto one of the humans standing closest to the White Fang. The soldier in question wore the dark green camo with a hardened expression, his face lined with experience. His uniform bore two clear identifiers: "SHERMAN" on the right side of his chest and "U.S. MARINES" on the left.

Probably a captain.

Adam stalked toward him, his boots heavy against the soil, his mind screaming warnings. He was prepared for hostility, prepared for the slightest excuse to draw his blade.

But Captain Henry William Sherman simply watched him approach with a calm, assessing gaze.

When Adam stopped barely a few feet away, muscles tensed, Sherman exhaled through his nose and spoke.

"I was wondering when you'd show up."