Adam Taurus stood firm, his gaze locked onto the man before him. His fingers twitched near the hilt of Wilt, itching to draw it, yet he held back. The human—Captain Sherman—stood with his hand extended, waiting for a handshake that would never come.

Adam didn't move.

He didn't blink.

He just glared.

The man before him didn't seem fazed. In fact, if anything, Captain Sherman exuded a kind of quiet, seasoned confidence. Not arrogance, not condescension—just the unshakable presence of a man who had stood in the fires of war and walked out the other side, hardened but not broken.

"Not a handshake guy, huh?" Sherman finally said, withdrawing his hand and folding both arms behind his back in a textbook military stance.

Adam remained silent, his mind racing as he took in every detail. This Marine was no Atlas lackey. His uniform was foreign, unrecognizable except for the U.S. MARINES insignia. His weapons—an advanced-looking sidearm (Desert 45) on his thigh, a combat knife (Ka-Bar) strapped to his chest—looked practical, not ornamental. Not a single Dust-based piece of technology on him.

The most unsettling part?

He didn't carry himself like a conqueror.

There was no smugness, no air of superiority. This was not the behavior of a man who thought he was standing above someone lesser. He looked at Adam like an equal.

And Adam hated it.

His entire life had been spent fighting against human oppression, against their boot on the neck of his people. He had seen humans laugh as Faunus suffered, seen them exploit, enslave, and break his kind without a second thought. And now, here stood this human, acting like he respected him.

It made Adam's skin crawl.

"Well," Sherman continued, "I appreciate you coming all this way. But if you're here to start trouble, you're gonna have a bad time."

Adam clenched his fists. "You expect me to believe that you of all people are here to help the Faunus?" His voice was laced with venom. "A human? With an army?" His eyes flicked toward the battleships in the harbor, the armed soldiers patrolling the perimeter. "Looks more like an occupation."

Sherman sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "Man, I wish this was an occupation. Then maybe I'd get paid more." He chuckled to himself before meeting Adam's gaze again, all humor fading from his expression. "But in all seriousness, we're not here to take anything from the Faunus. We're here to make sure the damn Grimm, bandits, and any power-hungry assholes don't turn this place into another war zone."

Adam scoffed. "Spare me the speech. I've heard it all before. You say you're here to help, but you'll leave when it suits you. Or worse, you'll stay and start calling the shots." His voice rose, his anger barely restrained. "That's what humans do. They take. And they always take from us."

Sherman didn't react with anger. He simply stared at Adam for a long moment, as if reading him, weighing his words. Then, finally, he spoke.

"You ever heard of the Battle of Fallujah?"

Adam blinked. "What?"

"Or the Pacific Theater? Or the Korean War? Hell, how about Normandy?" Sherman took a slow step forward. "Humans don't just fight you. We fight each other—a lot. We've been wiping each other out for centuries. So don't act like your people have some monopoly on suffering, kid."

Adam bristled. "Kid?"

Sherman gave him a look. "What, you think just because you've been through hell, no one else has? You're not special, Taurus." His voice was calm, but his words struck like a hammer. "You think I don't know what it's like to see my own people slaughtered? You think I don't know what it's like to carry that rage? To want to burn the whole damn world down just to make sure it never happens again?"

Adam didn't answer.

Because for the first time in his life, a human had said something that made him hesitate.

Sherman's eyes remained locked on Adam's, unwavering. "The difference is, I didn't let that rage turn me into something worse than the people I hated."

Adam's breath hitched, just slightly.

Just enough for Sherman to notice.

The silence between them stretched.

Finally, Sherman sighed, his posture loosening slightly. "Look. You don't have to trust us. Hell, I don't expect you to. But if you came all this way just to prove we're the bad guys, you're gonna have a very disappointing trip."

Adam clenched his jaw, his mind racing, his emotions a storm of conflict.

Everything in him wanted to believe Sherman was lying.

That he was just another oppressor in disguise.

That humans never changed.

But deep down, in the part of himself he had tried so hard to silence, another thought whispered:

What if he's telling the truth?

A commotion near the docks snapped him out of his thoughts.

He turned just in time to see a group of White Fang members—his White Fang members—laughing and drinking with humans. No masks. No fear. No signs of subjugation. They weren't being forced into anything.

They were coexisting.

The sight sent a cold shiver down Adam's spine.

He turned back to Sherman, whose expression was unreadable. The Marine simply motioned toward the camp behind him. "Take a look around. Talk to your people. See for yourself." He met Adam's glare head-on. "And if, after that, you still want to fight us? Well..." Sherman rolled his shoulders. "I won't stop you. But don't expect to walk away unscathed."

Adam said nothing.

For the first time in his life, he didn't know what to say.

Sherman nodded once, then turned, walking away without another word.

Adam stood frozen, watching as the human Marine disappeared into the camp.

Everything he had believed—everything that had driven him for years—was being challenged.

For the first time, Adam Taurus was afraid.

Not of the humans.

Not of the soldiers.

But of the truth.

And he had no idea what to do about it.

The sun cast its golden glow over the Menagerie encampment, illuminating the lively exchanges between humans and Faunus. Adam Taurus walked through it all, his mind a storm of questions and contradictions. Everywhere he looked, the impossible was unfolding—Faunus standing side by side with humans, conversing, laughing, sharing meals as if centuries of oppression had never existed.

This has to be a trick. A setup. A long con.

And yet... there were no shackles. No coercion. No signs of fear.

As he approached the central pavilion, he saw them—Sienna Khan and Ghira Belladonna, standing near a large tent, speaking with a human dressed in the same U.S. MARINES camouflage pattern as Captain Sherman. But this man was different.

His uniform bore three silver stars on the collar, marking him as a Lieutenant General—a high-ranking officer. His presence alone meant he wasn't just another soldier. He was someone important. Someone with authority.

Adam's grip on Wilt tightened instinctively.

Sienna and Ghira turned as he approached, their expressions unreadable. The human general glanced at Adam with a casual yet assessing look, hands folded behind his back in a display of discipline and confidence. He was an older man, mid-to-late forties, with a strong build, a hardened face lined with experience, and piercing steel-gray eyes that carried the weight of a thousand battlefields.

Adam ignored him for now, turning his attention to Sienna.

"You called me here?"

Sienna nodded, but before she could speak, Ghira interjected. "We were discussing recent events with General Holloway here. We didn't expect you to arrive so soon, Adam."

"General Holloway," Adam muttered, eyeing the human once more.

"That's my name," the general responded, his tone measured. "And you must be Adam Taurus. I've heard a lot about you."

Adam didn't respond. He didn't care what humans thought about him.

But then Holloway smirked slightly, tilting his head. "I heard you met Captain Sherman."

That got Adam's attention.

"I did," he admitted cautiously. "You know him?"

Holloway let out a quiet chuckle. "Know him? Son, you have no idea who you just talked to."

Adam stiffened at the condescension in the general's voice, but before he could snap back, Sienna crossed her arms, watching Holloway closely. "And what exactly makes Sherman so special?"

Holloway's smirk deepened. "You ever hear of Battle of Jeonju? Second Korean War?"

Adam frowned. "What does that have to do with this?"

Sienna's ears twitched slightly, recognition flashing in her eyes. "I have heard of it from the Marines here," she murmured. "During the war between the North Koreans and the Allied forces."

Ghira narrowed his eyes. "What about it?"

Holloway exhaled, shaking his head. "Three Marines. That's all that stood against a goddamn army of three hundred North Korean ultranationalists in Jeonju. They held their position for hours, outgunned, outnumbered, but refused to go down."

Adam listened carefully but still didn't understand the significance. "And?"

Holloway's smirk disappeared. His eyes darkened, a ghost of something old flickering behind them. "Sherman was one of those three."

That caught Sienna's attention immediately. "Wait... he was one of them?"

Ghira's brow furrowed. "Three Marines? I remember reading about that battle... but I never found out who the Marines were."

Holloway gave a slow nod. "Sherman earned the nickname Iron Reaper that day. Marines don't give nicknames lightly, and when they do? It sticks."

Adam crossed his arms. "You're saying Sherman held off an army by himself?"

Holloway chuckled. "Not by himself. Two others were with him."

Sienna's ears twitched slightly. "Who?"

Holloway glanced at her, then at Ghira, before speaking the names that changed everything.

"Anthony Grant... and David Fernandes."

Silence.

Sienna's golden eyes widened, her ears flicking slightly in shock. Even Ghira, usually composed and measured, seemed genuinely caught off guard.

Adam, however, narrowed his eyes. "Who?"

Sienna turned to him, disbelief in her expression. "Anthony and David. The Anthony Grant and David Fernandes."

Adam still wasn't following.

Holloway smirked. "Let me put it this way, kid—if Sherman is a lion, those two? They're demons."

Sienna, for once, nodded in agreement. "That's an understatement."

Adam clenched his jaw. He had never met these two men, but he had heard the names whispered among his ranks before. The stories surrounding them weren't just about strength; they were about ruthlessness, precision, and terrifying efficiency in combat.

"Those two are here?" Adam asked slowly.

Holloway gave a small shrug. "Not here, no. They're stationed elsewhere at the moment. But trust me, if they were here?" His expression darkened slightly. "You'd know."

Adam glanced toward Sienna, whose normally composed demeanor had been shaken.

This was bad.

It wasn't just that humans had come to Menagerie.

It was who had come.

The Marine Corps' finest. The kind of people who didn't just fight wars.

They ended them.

And for the first time since stepping off that Bullhead...

Adam wondered if he had made a mistake coming here.

He stood amidst the gathered leaders, his heart pounding against his ribs like a war drum. The moment he heard the names Anthony Grant and David Fernandes, a familiar sensation crawled up his spine—fear.

Not the fear of battle, not the fear of death, but something far more insidious. Doubt.

He clenched his fists.

His own people had left him behind, abandoning the White Fang's militant branch to live alongside humans. He had come to Menagerie expecting to see Faunus in chains, broken under the weight of human rule.

But what did he find instead?

Faunus and humans—laughing together, working together, training together. And now, his own body was betraying him, his heart hammering in his chest like it wanted to escape his ribs. His breathing was sharp and erratic, like he had just been in a fight for his life.

What the hell is happening to me?

The images in his mind blurred, twisting, merging into something chaotic, something wrong.

A battlefield stretched before him—charred bodies, the scent of blood and burnt flesh filling his lungs.

His hands were coated in crimson.

He looked down.

A human lay at his feet, a young soldier gasping for breath, clutching a deep gash in his gut. His brown eyes were wide with terror, the light flickering in them as he choked on his own blood.

Adam should have felt pride—another oppressor gone, another enemy erased.

But instead...

Instead, the dying soldier's lips moved, forming one final, barely audible word.

"Why?"

The battlefield shattered into glass.

Adam stumbled back, gasping as his vision blurred.

He wasn't on the battlefield anymore. He was in Menagerie, standing before Sienna, Ghira, and General Holloway.

But his hands were still shaking.

"Adam?" Sienna's voice cut through the storm in his head.

He forced himself to straighten up, willing his expression into something neutral. He had spent years perfecting his mask of arrogance and control. But now?

Now, it was slipping.

Sienna gave him a sharp look, golden eyes narrowing. She knew something was wrong.

"Are you alright?"

Adam swallowed.

"I'm fine," he lied.

Holloway raised an eyebrow. "You don't look fine, son."

Adam grit his teeth at the son part. His hands curled into fists. "I didn't ask for your opinion, human."

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them.

Not because of the human general.

But because of the looks he got from Sienna and Ghira.

Not anger.

Not disappointment.

Pity.

That look cut deeper than any blade.

Adam turned away sharply, walking off without another word. He needed space. Air. He needed to be away from them—away from everything.

He stormed through the camp, his thoughts spiraling.

"What happens when we do?"

Sienna's question rang in his head, again and again, tormenting him.

What happens when we have a choice?

For years, Adam knew his path.

Humans were the enemy. Humans oppressed Faunus. Humans had no place in their future.

But now?

Now he had seen with his own eyes that humans could be something else.

They weren't enslaving Faunus.

They were protecting them.

They were treating them like equals.

How?

His breath grew heavier.

His world—the world he had built his life around—was collapsing.

The weight of it pressed down on him, suffocating him, breaking him.

He needed pain.

He needed something real.

Adam clenched his fists—hard. Hard enough that his nails dug into his palms, drawing blood. The sharp sting helped center him, if only for a moment.

He exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself.

Then, he heard footsteps behind him.

Adam whirled, reaching for Wilt—

—but it was Sienna.

She stood with her arms crossed, watching him with a piercing gaze. "You're not okay."

Adam scoffed. "Don't act like you care."

Sienna's expression hardened. "If I didn't care, I wouldn't be here right now."

Adam looked away. "You wouldn't understand."

"You're right," Sienna admitted. "I don't. Because the Adam Taurus I knew never second-guessed himself. The Adam Taurus I knew was sure of what he believed in."

Her eyes burned into him.

"But now? Now, you look lost."

Adam clenched his jaw. "I'm not lost. I know what's right."

Sienna took a step closer. "Do you?"

Adam's breathing hitched.

"Because right now," she continued, "you look like someone who doesn't know anything anymore."

Adam turned away, his voice barely a whisper.

"I just..." His hands trembled. "I just don't understand."

Sienna sighed.

"Then maybe," she said quietly, "you need to stop fighting it... and start listening."

Adam didn't respond.

He just stood there, staring at his shaking hands.

For the first time in his life...

He didn't know what to do.