Man is an extremely funny creature.

 Every time he has to look into his own past, analyze these or those actions, as well as the result to which each of them led, he is instantly hit by a soulless wave of regret, disappointment, anger and wild rage at his own impulsiveness, absent-mindedness, inattention or other factors that provoked the individual to act this way and no other. 

When his gaze turns to the impenetrable future, covered with a shroud of mystery and uncertainty, his brain is immediately seized by an all-consuming and sticky, like viscous tar, fear of what is to come.

 We are afraid of what we do not know and are incapable of knowing, because of which, not being able to see even our nearest future, we are constantly hovering in guesses, conjectures, assumptions and myriads of variants of possible outcomes. 

 And this very imprecision, such an incredible multitude of branches of development of events leads to a stupor, amazes with its scope, horrifies like a thick fog, through which it is impossible to see your own limbs, not that the path that will lead you to the desired place of dislocation. 

 We regret the past and dread the future. Only the present remains variable in its manifestations, because of our own impermanence. 

 But, precisely in refutation of this statement, Jacques Schnee, once the great chairman of the Schnee Prah Company, which was universally regarded as the largest corporation in Remnant, remained as constant and monolithic as a rock. 

 His emotional background was a marvelous example of the firm principles and rules he had laid down in himself during his undoubtedly difficult life's journey. 

 But now he was nourished by only one clear emotion, pushing everything else into the background....

Irritation.

It was impossible to explain the underlying reason why this feeling had not wanted to leave his being for days now. Even the mental exhaustion and physical fatigue that came with time could not dislodge this feeling from him.

But what could be the reason for such a vivid displeasure in such a large fish of Remnant, whose word could overturn the usual pattern and order of tens of thousands of reasonable people?

Could it be the fact that his only son and heir had not yet appeared before him with a crowd of professional lawyers, attorneys, journalists, and others?

Or was Mr. Schnee thrown off balance by the very fact that General Ironwood was imprisoning a person of his stature, accompanied by his ochlomons, who only knew how to obediently follow their leader like hungry mongrels?

At the edge of his mind he realized that his eldest daughter, Winter, was also one of the most important figures in this street horde, looking up at his old acquaintance's every word.

Jacques had to admit that the idea of letting a young girl who had shown her rebellious attitude toward the code of law in their house, and who was going to be used to gain influence over the armed forces of Atlas, under James's wing, was a bad idea, and one that was unreliable in the long run.

What did Jacques Schnee want to accomplish with this move?

All he wanted to do was to send such a fiery daughter to cool her head and harden herself in a structure that could provide her with the necessary and much desired experience, which she was gladly ready to try out, just to escape from her strict father.

Jacques did not understand Winter's zeal for him and the methods of his education. His own father had taught him that way, his grandfather had taught him that way, and so on.

The family into which Jacques, who had not yet taken the name Schnee, had been born honored discipline and strictness, both in the home and in the head.

And he tried his best to instill these same principles in his children.

But it seemed that he had overreached, or that it was the influence of Willow Schnee, the mother of his children.

The woman, though extremely kind for the position she was to adopt from her father and co-founder of the SDC, Nicholas Schnee, was at the same time extremely zealous in matters of her own children's upbringing and worldview.

Could it be that Jacques Schnee was wrong to allow her to exert such a clear influence on both Winter and Wheatley and Weiss?

Quite possibly. He dared not rule out such a possibility.

There were pros and cons to their game of carrot and stick. Among the negative aspects of which he would include the fact that he himself played the role of the stick, encouraging his daughters and son to constantly grow above themselves, overcoming difficulties, hardships, looking for new allies or helpers on the way to achieve their own ambitions and goals.

And Jacques Schnee was ready to become their enemy, monster, dictator, whatever for the sake of this growth, as long as they did not destroy all that he had built during his life, did not subject his legacy to oblivion and decay.

But neither Wynter, Weiss, nor Willow appreciated his approach, and moreover, they tried their best to do him harm, sometimes making minor but still insignificant attacks on the Magnum Opus he had built, the SDC, and its hegemony over Remnant.

Of course, Winter and Weiss, who tried to imitate her in everything she did, stood out against this background.

Not only had General Ironwood gotten his hands on a useful figure whom Jacques had once trained to be his successor, but the man had also been able to rise in the ranks by inadvertently taking advantage of Winter's presence in his ranks.

But as if that wasn't enough!

Weiss, returning from the fallen Bikon, dragged her friends with her, good-naturedly handing James another trump card up his sleeve as a cluster of naive but nonetheless truly uncommonly destructive children. 

A natural question arose - which side could the doubters choose at a sometimes difficult moment?

The mighty and steady, but unfortunately not eternal, chairman of the SDC, who had managed to trample on the heels of many important people on his way up, or the confident Ironwood, whose subordinate was Winter Schnee herself, though no longer the heiress, and under whose control the young huntresses of Vale were gathered and more and more of Atlas's military flocked every day, much to the dismay of the Kingdom Council?

The very possibility of choice and the ambiguity of the situation spoke volumes, as well as the fact that Jacques had chosen a wolf in sheep's clothing as his friend.

This was confirmed once again when, having gained enough authority, having gained direct control over the members of the Atlas Council, and having found Jacques to be nothing more than a hindrance to his personal power, Ironwood put the chairman of the SDC behind bars, without any prelude, trial, or discussion

Just a snap of the fingers and that was it!

And Jacques could not help but appreciate such a brazen, yet rational move.

After all, an alliance can only be concluded between equal participants, neither more nor less.

And when someone prevents you from moving forward, and you have all the cards in your hands - it is easier to throw this "ally" aside than to look for points of contact, compromise or search for mutual benefit.

After all, it often happens that such a search can be disadvantageous in terms of the ratio of effort to benefit.

However!

All of the above did not exclude basic respect for the opponent in this large-scale game, the field for which was Remnant itself.

Jacques shrugged unhappily. The conditions of confinement he'd been forced to endure were nothing compared to his recent life and routine

No, don't get the wrong idea, and he'd had to experience the poverty and harsh living conditions when his family was on the verge of bankruptcy due to the greedy idiots in charge of the family company.

If Jacques had not taken the helm of that sinking ship in time and steered it to a new course, they would have been nothing but coral reefs and poverty.

Still. Returning to the situation around him, Jacques suppressed a stream of swearing with a heavy sigh.

It was not appropriate for a man of the upper classes to let backwoods language flow through his mouth.

At home, in the office, in public, even if you were sure no one could overhear you.

Order comes from the head and extends to everything around ourselves.

So does confusion coupled with chaos.

He had once heard a very interesting saying from one of Mantle's poor shopkeepers, during a period of disorder and a march of the discontented, that Atlas got everything he wanted, leaving Mantle with a pittance.

"The devastation is not in the streets, the devastation is in the heads. "

And Mr. Schnee couldn't agree more.

Atlas had brought together the greatest minds and forces of the Kingdom, given them a new launching pad, allowed them to rise above the rest of the world, provided them with new space.

But it also gave those who remained in Mantle the opportunity to take up the vacated positions. When a boss goes for promotion, his subordinates also get an opportunity to compete for the empty seat.

And the bottom line?

Mantle began to devour itself, blaming it all on the fact that Atlas abandoned them, deprived them of work or, on the contrary, dumped them from all the hot spots under the sky.

Somebody managed to take advantage of what happened, and that's why he is satisfied with a nourishing and comfortable life, and all the others...

Well, if the trash is unable to move upward, why should they, those who have succeeded in their struggle, pull them time after time out of the swamp of poverty, despondency and decay?

A man can always be fed with fish, but if he is not willing to take the rod himself, what good is such an inefficient worker, craftsman, soldier, manager, or whatever position!

Poverty should drive people to the top, when it is the duty of Atlas to provide a place from which they can begin their journey of redemption, their ascent.

Didn't he build enough mining camps? And in which there were all the conditions for living, corporate discounts for medical examinations of a wide profile, adequate food, the opportunity to raise children, being sure that the Grimm would not come the next morning and level everything to the ground?

Didn't he take enough people into the lower ranks? The same fauns? Essentially Menagerie hillbillies, often without even a high school education, let alone a higher level.

How could they be entrusted with important duties when even the naked eye could see their poor qualifications and lack of personal growth?

What to eat, like animals... Just to sleep, eat, snatch a partner or partners and nothing more.

Atlas had always been known for his racist views on all of Remnant, but Jacques called it differently.

A sober look at the way things were.

Was it his fault that, often, it was the humans who were more valuable investments than the fauns.

And there wasn't even a buried dog in the fact that the fauns were poorly educated, although that couldn't be ruled out.

It's just physiology.

In order not to be depressed against the background of more physically developed fellow fauns, taking with animal traits and their agility, strength or special features, people had to learn to work with the greatest of the available tools of labor - the brain. 

 More than ninety percent of Atlas scientists are human, which is an indicator. 

 It is in the scientific field that racism is least pronounced. What is valued is your mind, your scientific work, and whether you have been able to bring it to life, creating something unprecedented, hitherto unknown, entered the history of Remnant, even if only as a brief mention on one of the dusty pages of a history textbook or scientific journal. 

 Jacques had given many people a chance to prove their usefulness to him, their talent, their abilities, and some of them had made it to the very top, even breaking into the narrow circle of SDC shareholders. 

 In the man's opinion, this moment was a perfect indicator of the trust that he, as chairman of the corporation, could give to his subordinates. 

 But something had drawn him back into a lengthy discussion.

In principle, he was understandable. Sitting in solitary confinement for several days, unable to dialog with anyone, not even with the soldiers, whose faces were hidden behind impenetrable shields, and whose duty it was to bring him food three times a day and take out the "night pot". 

Disgusting as it was, Jacques had no desire to belittle himself in front of Ironwood's petty executors. 

Over the past twenty years, the man had grown accustomed to the leisurely way of life, or rather to the comfort available to him as, perhaps, to the richest businessman in Remnant. 

Servants, clothes made only of genuine leather and quality materials, food served on the table directly from the hands of master chefs, luxury cars and a personal airplane with escort, alcohol, the cost of which could not afford even the members of the Atlas Council, certainly not on a daily basis. 

 Now... 

Hard bunks, the walls of the cell in the form of an energy field, and the same damn "night pot" in an inconspicuous corner. 

 No access to the network or information field of Atlas, no possibility to contact any of his subordinates or rare "friends" who were bound to him only by the letter of the contract, a stack of dirt or financial gain. 

 Running his palm through his once neat gray curls, Jacques recalled with a heavy sigh the absence of a shower or any other equivalent of water treatment. 

 If it were up to him, he'd give his current apartment zero stars out of five, and he'd instruct his personal speechwriter to post a scathing, damning review of the place, and the public relations department to organize a rally for prisoners' rights and the rules governing their conditions of confinement according to their status in society. 

 Could it be called a manifestation of public justice the imprisonment in cells of the same type, for example, a mass rapist maniac and an honest businessman, who, perhaps, could be wrong in one or another of his actions, but still managed to make a significant contribution to society, as well as to enrich the budget of the Kingdom with tax deductions. 

 But... what isn't, isn't. 

 The new train of thought was interrupted by the squeak of the steel door, which was the only entrance and exit to the prison block, where only Mr. Schnee's cell was reserved. 

 The man noted that either the funding of the Atlas army was not so extensive as to allow even the cheapest lubricant to be applied to the mechanisms, or the detail had been deliberately designed to save money on audible alarms for visitors, and to create a more... cooperative atmosphere. cooperative atmosphere. 

 The massive, broad-shouldered figure of General Atlas himself, in his perfectly pressed suit, pants, and boots, flashed into view. 

 Jacques snorted, feeling a pang of envy at the sight of such exquisite attire. He'd been forced to wear his jacket for more than three days now, which didn't give it the gloss and austere grandeur the designer had intended. 

 The guest's step was, as always, swaggering and polished, as if it were a measure of time slipping away. 

 Army training, what could be taken from it. Ironwood could march with flying colors, and he looked like a typical warrior to the bone. 

 But, as it turned out, in intrigues and this "mace" is able to destroy all his opponents, if only there was a convenient moment for such a swing. 

 Behind the general the shadow followed another depersonalized soldier in a closed helmet. 

 Yes, how could it be otherwise, a general without an escort! 

 Huh. Ha. Ha. Ha. 

 "James," Jacques rose from his seat, adjusting the edges of the collar of his rather wrinkled satin-colored shirt. 

 "Jacques," the general was not speechless, not even deigning to respond with a simple nod, as he had done in their previous meetings. 

 But their statuses had changed, too, so Mr. Schnee had to swallow the unveiled humiliation obediently. 

 There was a heavy, unbearable silence, which no one sought to break first, because in this context it would mean capitulation or, to be more precise, transferring the initiative into the hands of the interlocutor. 

 And, it should be noted, Ironwood's efforts to isolate the powerful businessman were not in vain, for it was he who first broke their mutual silence. 

 But the way he did it surprised even the old warrior. 

 "I see I've interrupted your afternoon nap." - Mr. Schnee grinned with the edge of his lips, pointing a forefinger at his eyes, and James grimaced as if he'd been slapped. 

 Only a blind man could have missed the deep black bags of sleep, the distinctive wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, the horizontal stripes on his forehead, and the thick, untrimmed beard. 

 There was no shadow of the former, shaved and polished like a billiard ball, and he was replaced by a scowling man, who pressed all the living within a radius of several meters with his presence and, most certainly, exhausted. 

"Still in a state to joke, Jacques?" - The general answered him rudely, but the man had not expected otherwise from the man standing opposite him. 

 "Perhaps if I had been given somewhat more 'comfortable' accommodations, my disposition would have been more..." - Jacques twisted his wrist in front of him, looking for an appropriate ending to his remark. Though they both knew for certain that Mr. Schnee was only deliberately stalling for time, getting even for the jab he'd just taken in his own direction-"cordial to our conversation, wouldn't you say?"

 And to complete the picture of an arrogant, self-assured businessman, puffed up with arrogance even in such a deplorable situation as a conversation with his own jailer, Jacques squinted his eyelids slightly, completing the image with a nasty smile. 

 Uh-oh. James was a sight to behold. 

 The cracked mask of absolute calm suited his face. 

 Yes, James, Remnant knows how paranoid you are, and I'm the only one who knows that you've learned to hide all your magma-like feelings under an unbreakable crust of ice. 

 And only I, as well as your very narrow circle of acquaintances, know very well the moments of "eruption", when all your worries, fears and worries break through this protective layer. 

 "In your position such a reproach looks extremely comical," the general replied, chewing his lip unhappily. 

 Anger, fatigue, absent-mindedness. 

 The collected and ready for any challenge officer was left in shards, revealing his true gut. 

 And it was the kind of James that made it much easier to have a dialog with. At least you could see how he reacted to certain moments. You could see how he responded to the words he spoke, or at least how he acted like an emotionless robot or mechanism. 

 But, as far as Jacques remembered, the General was a cyborg only halfway, not a hundred or even a hundred and twenty percent. 

 "Laughter prolongs life, didn't you know? Although, in your case, it does sound like an insult," Mr. Schnee shook his head dejectedly, noting the twitching of his lower eyelid. 

 The general did not reply. He closed his eyes obediently. He sighed and exhaled. Then once more, and then a third time. 

 Having finished the breathing exercises, obviously accompanied by deep thoughts, James whispered quietly:

 "I can't waste any more time here.... I'm needed elsewhere... "

 Jacques heard this muttering while being with the general in a completely soundproof prison cell block. 

 He also disliked the look in James's eyes, which had just opened to reveal his icy ones. 

 He seemed excessively dead, unemotional.... mechanical. 

 Hiding a slight cough of excitement, the businessman decided not to escalate his own situation any further. To avoid it. 

 " A deal can always be made, my old friend!" - He spread his hands out to different sides, giving a clear signal that now he was definitely ready for the terms of surrender. 

 The general took off his new pistol from his belt, or what was this new device of obviously unfriendly character for others, swung it from side to side, getting accustomed to the balance and the feeling of weight in his palms. 

 Again he shifted his gaze from the two ice floes to Jacques, who was frozen in place with a pale face. 

 What could he do in an energy-field-enclosed chamber? 

 "Not when the very need to negotiate is absent..." - The indifferent voice combined with the meaning it carried sent a wave of agonizing goosebumps down Jacques' spine. 

 The tips of his mustache quivered at the realization of what was about to happen right now. Sweat ran down his back in a profusion of sweat that made him shiver with revulsion, his legs barely holding the man in a standing position. 

 He suppressed the treacherous trembling in his knees by sheer force of will, but he couldn't contain the nervous shaking of his hands, nor the panicked tone in his voice. 

 "James, there's no need to rush..." - only fate had other plans for him, as well as the general, who unceremoniously interrupted another stream of verbiage from the businessman, not forgetting to point the muzzle of the gun in the center of the prisoner's chest. 

 "Goodbye, 'old friend,'" - if it weren't for the new mask of emotionlessness on James's face, Jacques would have sworn that the man had obviously decided to make a black joke. 

 Or else... 

 Only now a thought, shocking and equally frightening in its absurdity, crept into Mr. Schnee's mind. 

 James. No longer wore a mask. 

 In front of the businessman was a bastard ready to drown everyone around him in blood, for his own ends, for his own idea. A machine that had lost control and violated its own code, but still followed the protocols laid down, just on instinct, just to avoid going completely insane. 

 The beam was bright enough to make his eyes go painfully blind, and it shot straight at Jacques. 

 He couldn't dodge, couldn't escape, couldn't defend himself, couldn't negotiate. 

 Absolute powerlessness and helplessness. 

 Is this how Remnant's greatest entrepreneur will die? Without even a chance for his own salvation or even an attempt at resistance? 

 Like a bloody steer to be slaughtered in a slaughterhouse?! 

 How ironic... 

 Jacques kept staring at those cold blue eyes that seemed not to blink at all, that seemed to be watching his last moments intently, savoring or trying to capture those seconds, those emotions, those doubts. 

 Would he have behaved differently if he had known ahead of time that everything would come to this? 

If he had a better understanding of his children and their desires, would he have become a bitter enemy and a complete stranger to them? 

 Had he paid more attention to his family, would Willow not have left and betrayed him? 

 If he had been more thoughtful in his politics, wouldn't his company be universally recognized as guilty of all the sins of the world? 

 And if he'd treated James and his warnings about Atlas differently, if he hadn't dismissed them as just another stream of paranoia, would he have turned into the monster that Jacques now saw before him, and would he now be looking at him with the indifferent gaze of Jacques Schnee, the chairman of SDC, the one who had elevated this small mining company to the size of an international business giant?!

 The one who had changed Remnant's world beyond recognition. Someone who could truly change the history of the world with every decision he made. 

 Once again, Jacques was unable to take his reasoning to its logical conclusion, as his brain was hit by a mad wave of pain that sent him into an emergency shutdown, as he realized. 

 So this is what it feels like to die... 

 Very painful. 

 And extremely unfortunate.