So it is done

Jonathan glanced at the bowing agent as he left the room, and then made his way, tapping his cane gently, to the window, which offered a beautiful view of the streets of Atlas.

A light snowfall was slowly covering the streets in snow, by tomorrow, the streets would be covered knee-deep. But tonight, the wind had ceased tormenting the streets of Atlas, allowing the occasional passerby to move quietly between houses – if that was what they needed in these late hours. The street of Atlas was conspicuously silent, absent from all night-life. A stark difference to the time he had stayed in the city in the past.

Night was a time of rest and sleep – Atlas may have continued the bustle of life at night, but the number of casual passersby had dropped significantly, compared to even the evening.

Especially so now, with the curfew.

In the past, when Jonathan had first found himself in this world, he had found the streets more lively. Holding a bottle of whiskey in his hand and idly wandering the rooftops of Atlas, he could see the occasional person running about – vagrants, drunks, lovers, night workers and criminals, a variety of people from all walks of life.

But now the streets of Atlas were empty.

The only people striding along the pavement, slowly covered with snow, immediately melting and turning into mud easily staining white boots and uniforms, were the silent robots of Atlas' army and the rare officers dressed in white uniforms. All of them carrying shoulder straps on their shoulders, and the frown of a tired grin on their face, worn out by long patrols and eternal paranoia of soldiers.

A Civil war… The only war in which there are no 'civilians'.

In a civil war, there were no outsiders or innocent bystanders, or at least as far as people can tell, innocent bystanders. Every drunkard trying to warm himself by the fire could turn out to be a secret member of the resistance, preparing to take his shot at a passing soldier. Every mother and child going about her business could be carrying a bomb wrapped in rags, just well concealed under a layer of clothes, and every house could become, at any moment, a fortified position for enemies, snipers, and explosives.

And this was all my fault.

It all sounded so easy and simple in the abstract.

We have the evil Atlas suppressing the suffering workers of Mantle, and we have Mantle's champion of justice, Robyn Hill, who has united hundreds of thousands of people with her noble aspirations and personal charisma. Her incredible vision of a new, more beautiful world than anything people could have thought of before rallied her people on. After all, who wouldn't want a beautiful country of equal people, generous stewards, valiant kings and contented workers?

A country united together under the single banner of 'Liberty. Equality. Fraternity'.

And there was no doubt in Jonathan's mind that Robyn could do it… But perhaps he should have known that a movement, adopting the French's revolutionary army's motto, wouldn't end without bloodshed.

Jonathan believed that Robyn's vision, perhaps, not all of it, and definitely not immediately, and not in the way she had hoped, but it would work. Jonathan quite believed that by using the people's newfound spirits, Mantle's resources and factories, and Glenn's support, Robyn could accomplish a lot.

It was likely that she would indeed have been able to come close to realizing the ideal 'good state'. She would certainly make some mistakes, her ideals going astray, and be forced to deal with the consequences of her earlier decisions. Some of which, she could imagine, and some of which, would have been unexpected nose-jabs to her from reality. But she would surely have made life better.

A good support system for workers, fair laws, decent minimum wage, affordable medicine and education. None of this was some kind of miracle that couldn't be created in the world without the capabilities of a wizard, no, it was possible for even the layman, probable even.

Robyn was stubborn and believed in her strength and her convictions, if there was an obstacle in her way to something that could be called 'the good of Mantle'? She would bang her head into it until she drove it right through or broke her head completely.

Robyn was an excellent leader, with superb charisma, a superb vision of an incredible future and a clear ambition to fulfil her dreams at all costs. In other words, Robyn Hill could be described in one word…

A Fanatic.

Fanatics, followers of ideas, were the best and worst of men.

They could believe in the most enlightened, the most humanistic, the most human of ideas…

And choose the most inhuman ways to reach them with a smile on their face

Jonathan had no doubt that in the end, Robyn Hill would build a pretty good state. Maybe not as fine as she'd managed to imagine – but still a good one, far better than the old Mantle and Atlas.

After she'd slaughtered everyone who would oppose it, that is.

Robyn was a good person in her own right, she really just wanted to make life a little better for the people under her command, help the factory workers and put a lid on the tough Atlas administration.

But don't we know what a good person can do when they say to themselves 'this is the right action', right, Jonathan?

To reach her goal, Robyn would find every one of Atlas's rich, from the old officials and to the corrupt officers – and scorch them with hot iron.

A new graveyard will have to be opened, for all those who disagreed with her worldview.

A beautiful new world built on the bones of those who disagreed with this particular interpretation of 'beautiful'.

And we poured gasoline into that raging fire.

Many were betting on Robyn Hill in this confrontation – Atlas had shown the world its rotten cogs grinding aimlessly, destroying what was left of the 'great city in the sky' of long ago. It was already rotten long before Jonathan had entered this world.

The army's exorbitantly inflated budgets profited the mostly already obscenely rich tycoons, fostering corruption at the very top of government and the Council – which in return played into the hands of the tycoons by promoting laws that benefited them. And if someone down below didn't like the way people at the top played? Well, the army may have been exorbitantly inflated in its funding – but was more than capable of shutting up the votes that politicians didn't like.

In all sorts of ways.

Atlas had begun to rot and rust long ago. Year after year, the gleaming island of Iron was rusting. And with Ozpin distracted by his own regrets, by depressing reflections on the futility of his battles, there was no one that had the foresight to look where that rot would lead Atlas.

And so, when General Ironwood came to power, someone that might be able to set things around, the titan that is Atlas was already falling on its cut knees. Almost immediately, James Ironwood burst into action. He was able to cut off the army almost entirely from the control of the other Councillors, he stretched out his arms and tried to hold back the falling figure of the bronze colossus.

But he was only one man.

James was able to slow, perhaps even stop Atlas's fall – but not reverse it. Atlas was still rotting more and more, but by this time, James, already bogged down by his new responsibilities, could not hold the rot in bay. He knew what he had to do, but the situation was such that he no longer knew what he had to do first.

And so James continued to hold Atlas on his shoulders, hoping that he could endure this for another year, two, ten… And if the Brothers were merciful, Atlas would endure until James was dead – for several more decades at least.

But if God does exist – he is only good, not because we see his actions as good, but because we cannot perceive his actions with our own minds other than by calling them good.

The already fallen colossus of Atlas, held on the shoulders of General Ironwood, fell to the ground by the storm that came with Jonathan. The political aspirations of the players called politicians, spiralled out of control in the ensuing chaos. And due to one unfortunate accident that sent James to hospital for six months – it was all too late.

By the time Ironwood returned to his post, the fall was already underway.

James had tried to stem the rising tide of chaos – but where there had once been a fire was now an inferno – if not Robyn today, then someone else tomorrow. The tinder pile has already been piled on, someone would surely tear Atlas apart eventually, maybe under the banner of the old Mantle monarchy, or the destruction of the fauna as a species. The destruction of Atlas was inevitable.

So Jonathan made a decision.

Of all fanatics – Robyn's ideas are closest to mine. So I'm going to help her.

If you shorten all of Jonathan's thoughts and plans – his reasoning would sound exactly like that.

With pain in his heart, but believing in his choice, he chose Robyn to play the right role in Atlas.

And now we reap the rewards.

Robyn wasn't planning to start another Great War – she just wanted to build a state that cares for the workers' welfare. To go back to the original idea of Mantle and Atlas' creation, for the two states to work together hand in hand.

Let's see if that makes you feel any better when you look at the lists of those executed for this 'peace'.

Jonathan shook his head, averting his gaze from the empty streets, and made his way to his bed and, without undressing, collapsed asleep, once again falling to a dreamless sleep.

Whatever the future brings – it is done.

***

Jonathan felt tired as he opened his eyes, but much worse than that, he felt clammy with sweat and his body tired from the uncomfortable position he had slept in. Slowly, Jonathan rose, then glanced at the clock hanging on the wall, its hands unemotionally counting down the fourth hour of the morning.

It was still dark outside, and the curfew was still in effect. Outside the hotel, patrols of soldiers and robots still marched gently through the streets or peering intently from their roadblocks at every passerby.

However, even when he had woken up too early, Jonathan couldn't fall asleep anymore. No, he couldn't even lie still, with his clothes sticking to his body and his muscles aching, while his numb limbs began to prick from the slow return of blood flow to them. An unfortunate result of him falling asleep on them.

With nothing else to do, Jonathan rose from his seat before heading towards the small door leading to the bathroom of his suite.

The best room for the most important man in Glenn… maybe even in all Atlas. Or maybe even in all Remnant. What a position to be in, a porcelain throne for the King.

Jonathan shook his head, then pulled off his dirty clothes and, a moment later, teleported it to his hamper back home while picking up a change of clothes.

A short shower later, Jonathan wouldn't have minded a short trip to a Jacuzzi to relax a bit under the foam. But, if he wanted to snatch another hour or two of sleep before the summit, he couldn't, no matter how much he wanted to enjoy a bubble bath. It would be wrong for Jonathan to show up at such an important event tired, and sleepy, all confused about faces and words. That would be quite the diplomatic blunder.

However, when Jonathan returned to his bed a dozen minutes later, after replacing the sticky sweat-soaked covers and crawling under the soft warm blankets of the bed, sleep did not come to him. Jonathan wriggled for a while under the blankets, then, deciding that the room was warm enough as it was, threw them off, leaving him in bed only in his underwear.

Then he turned over the pillow, which was too hot, then put his legs under the folded blanket, took them off again, and rolled over on the other side.

But Morpheus did not deign to visit him, nor when Jonathan did the same sequence again, nor when he repeated the same routine a bit later.

Jonathan was left sleepless – and his eyes, reluctantly opened again, still alert and not at all sleepy. The action did inform him that the time, though it continued to inexorably pass, was still only standing at half past four in the morning.

Jonathan sighed and slowly rose from his bed, feeling a strange sensation, as if he wanted to sleep and could not sleep at the same time. The frustration of such a strange paradox caused him to roll over onto his back and began staring at the ceiling. Inevitably, his thought once more returned to the future, and his role in it.

"Sad bedtime thinking will kill me one of these days…" Jonathan sighed and closed his eyes once more, out of frustration or perhaps to find sleep once again, he could not tell.

Fragments of thoughts swarmed in his head, but in no way did they want to form into coherent thoughts. Whether it was the fault of the strange haze that haunted anyone upon awakening, for another couple of dozen minutes – or the fact that all his musings had already been repeatedly scrolled through his head. All the fragments of thoughts circling his head were already documented, all possibilities leading to different results, each of which had been thought through and documented.

There was uneasiness in Jonathan's heart – but along with the heaviness, there was confidence in him.

I know what I have to do. I will do it. I am Jonathan Goodman.

And that was perhaps the main reason for his fretting. Even when he had the strange certainty of how future events would unfold – how the summit would end, how he would interact with Ozpin, Ironwood, and Robyn, he kept trying to find a way to get a better ending. Even when knowing with certainty that he was doing the right things, even when he knew that the casualties that his actions would cause were inevitable – he was still trying to search for a better path.

There was doubt in his mind, reflection, and at the same time… Understanding.

An understanding of where it would all come to. How it would all end, what steps he would take and how he would pay for his decisions… And Jonathan was bothered by this – bothered by the fact that he already had this understanding.

What bothered him was that strange rational awareness that he was… ready to give up previous decisions, ready to take another step, aware of the consequences of his choices.

A strange sense of certainty – as if in his understanding, his intent on moving forward –

He had lost something that once seemed important to him.

Or found something he never wanted to find.

Jonathan yawned sharply, feeling his jaw nearly break from the stretching, before snapping his teeth, taking control of his body, rising from the bed with a sharp movement.

"I need coffee…" Jonathan yawned once again, "Lots and lots of coffee…"

Unfortunately, after the strain his body had undergone, Jonathan could barely afford to use… just about anything that could be used by a normal human.

Drinking alcohol ended in vomiting or poisoning at best, any wrong dosage of medication was potentially fatal, and even for coffee, Jonathan could only take with great caution. His damaged liver, kidneys, and part of his nervous system meant that drinking too much coffee could trigger many side effects. Once, he even experienced the onset of an epileptic seizure after drinking a cup, which he could only avert thanks to his quick reaction and his magic.

To find out what else the simple beverage was capable of doing to him, Jonathan was reluctant. Not to mention that he didn't really like the taste of it without so much sugar and milk to turn it into a dessert – so he only drank the beverage on rare and extremely important occasions.

And unfortunately, his current state was exactly one of those.

Making his way to the door, after dressing in his new change of clothes of course, Jonathan opened the door, then glanced at the silent agent standing by the door. An agent who seemed to have only noticed Jonathan's appearance from the corner of his eye, but paid no attention to him.

"I need a cup of coffee," Jonathan yawned slightly, the action only not mirrored by the agent due to his training, but it was close. "Black, strong, but… with my health in mind?"

The agent barely nodded at these words, before exchanging a glance with another agent at the end of the corridor.

Jonathan was aware of the protocols for the agents assigned to watch his room to barely move from the confines of their post. So the Agents were now silently conferring among themselves before one agent passed the information on further up the chain, to an agent who would process the order – while the other agents would not move from their position.

Unfortunately, Jonathan could not use the hotel's own internal communications for fear of eavesdroppers and passing any, even the smallest, information into the hands of a possible adversary, and he did not carry a scroll for fear of being monitored. Of course, he had plenty of emergency methods of communication, excluding teleportation magic of course. But that was for emergencies only, intended more as a warning of an attack or to demand immediate evacuation, so Jonathan was forced to turn to agents for even something as small as getting a cup of coffee.

The price of the crown.

After a moment, Jonathan walked back to his room, closing the door behind him before turning to the window. Even now, at the early morning of dawn, he had yet to see the morning passers-by, so he shifted his gaze to look at the window itself rather than what was behind it.

The morning sun that had barely begun to rise began lighting up the sky, the rays of light passing through the glass as if it really was just ordinary glass. It seems that the extra reinforcements of the already repeatedly reinforced double-glazed windows are not preventing the light from passing through them.

The hotel he was staying in was originally intended for use by Atlas or the other nations' top brass. So, the window of its most expensive room, and thus intended for the most important guests, had been reinforced extensively since its construction. But, after the first rumors appeared that Jonathan would be attending the summit in person – the hotel's interior and exterior were further fortified and reinforced.

The payment for the alterations that took place was provided by Glenn, so that the hotel owner hardly resented such a thing. And now the tall, multi-story building could turn into a fortified bunker at any moment, at the first order, even in the heart of a war zone.

Not that Jonathan needed such a thing, given his capabilities. But, being in the heart of a potential enemy's power, and knowing that Ozpin possessed potentially unknown abilities that everyone else could only describe as magic – Jonathan preferred not to take any chances.

The clock was still silently and measuredly counting down half past five in the morning, but Jonathan… didn't know what he was supposed to be doing at the moment.

Not, in the usual sense, with Jonathan tormenting himself with a moral problem whose resolution he could in no way approach. It's simply that Jonathan didn't really have a hobby he could waste time on, now that he really has nothing to do.

Conducting experiments in Atlas? Even just sitting in his own room was not only difficult, but highly unwise. Study any of Glenn's reports that he could have teleported back to his room? Maybe, but Jonathan didn't feel like doing it now – not so much because he was tired and sleepy, but because he was aware that he was hours before the biggest geopolitical summit of modern times and he didn't want to waste his energy now and burden his brain with things that could wait at least for a short while. Jonathan had already dealt with the most urgent of the necessary things before he left for the summit, which meant he could afford to take his mind off the reports, at least for a while.

But other than those things – what else could Jonathan do?

Sure, he didn't have much free time in Glenn, but in Glenn he had lots of things to do. He could visit a restaurant, go to the cinema, walk the streets, read a book, lock himself in his office or chat with Cinder, Neo, Nora…

However, Nora was unavailable, Neo was still asleep, and Cinder…

Cinder was probably awake by now – in fact, she had probably been fully immersed in the routine of her work day for hours now. Maybe she was reading some advanced textbooks, or practicing, or trying to imagine a plan for future reforms that she would introduce first thing if she were the director of RATS. It was funny that Jonathan was swamped from morning till night with work and papers, while Cinder, who was probably even more busy, seemed more like a proper adult than him.

Perhaps I should ask her to teach me how to be a responsible and busy adult?

Jonathan's idle musings were interrupted by a knock on the door, one that Jonathan instantly answered. "Come in."

After another second, the door leading to Jonathan's room opened and a man of about the same age as Jonathan appeared on the threshold with an unreadable frown on his face. He took a couple of steps to the table where Jonathan was sitting, bowed slightly to him, put down a mug full of a steaming black drink, before silently leaving Jonathan's room, closing the door behind him.

Jonathan, in turn, moved the mug a little closer to him and took a sip from it, instantly cringing at the unpleasant bitter taste.

I've never liked coffee – and yet I still drink it… Ha, I feel like a kid trying to imitate the adults, drinking the coffee they drank, and looking at the papers they looked at all the time. Ha, just a kid in the King of Glenn's body.

Jonathan sighed and took another sip.

Why can't coffee taste like cocoa and marshmallows! I paid a lot of money for them to develop a strawberry-banana-flavoured cocoa, and I'm choking on this crap… Feh, growing up sucks.

Jonathan shook his head and turned his gaze to the wall in front of him, as if trying to find out from it the secret answer to his questions. The wall remained silent, as it should, and, wrinkling slightly, Jonathan brought the mug, still about three-quarters full, to his lips, and took another sip.

But at least the coffee allows me to fully wake up… Let's just think of it as drinking a prescribed, unpalatable medicine instead.

Jonathan moved his gaze from the wall to the window, then back to the wall, ran his eyes over the silent clock, then to the TV screen standing quietly in the corner.

Huh, come to think of it, I hardly ever watch television in this world – especially the news. Haha, I'm more of a news creator than a news watcher.

Deciding that he couldn't find a more suitable occupation for himself anyway, and given that he wasn't hungry yet, especially after drinking coffee, Jonathan made his way from the table, carrying his mug. Sitting down on the sofa and finding the remote control with his hand turning on the TV, a moment later the black matted screen changed, turning into a picture before his eyes.

"…and that's all we have to say at this hour about the situation," The man in the stern suit and with an equally stern expression looked into the camera.

"Back to the news – the world is paused in great anticipation of the 'Great Atlas Summit'. Representatives of the other nations have arrived in Atlas territory in full force and the world is waiting in anticipation for their future actions, words, and decisions. The local time on Atlas is seven minutes past five, and the summit is scheduled to begin at ten o'clock – where a short ceremony will take place before the summit itself. Current leading political experts predict that today's summit will last for at least five or six hours, with no journalists or press present behind closed doors, after which it will likely continue tomorrow for the same length of time. I remind the viewers that until the official conclusion of the summit, our broadcasting service will refrain from commenting and will not provide any inside information about the course and outcome of the summit. But as far as this station is concerned – after the summit is over, the announcement of the results will be accompanied by a big press conference. You can rest assured that the Atlas News Service will be the first to bring you information about the developments. And now for the weather…"

Jonathan quickly stopped listening to the journalist's chatter, somewhat vexed that he was once again reminded of the debacle to come in the morning. Although he didn't turn off the television leaving it as white noise, instead he just spread out more on the sofa, looking up.

What did you expect? The fate of their state, their people, their lives are being decided here… and there's nothing they can do about it. The only reason why crowds of distraught civilians aren't running through the streets right now is because of curfews and a civil war that has stopped for a moment. Naturally, even in the early hours of the morning, hour to hour, minute to minute, they will discuss it – because they are powerless to do anything else but to discuss it.

This thought tainted Jonathan's thoughts a little as he took the last few sips of coffee, swallowing that as if it were burning alcohol or a bitter medicine down his throat, before turning around and heading for the table.

Or maybe… Or maybe that's the right thing to do? I can decide the current situation, influence the decision – they can't. Maybe let them discuss it then? If they can't – then let them do what they can – and don't do what they can't. I know what needs to be done – and they don't. And perhaps that's the right thing to do.

Great words, Jonathan. The Order of Hermes would be proud of you.

Jonathan paused for a moment, as he looked at the window once again, not at the view outside, now slowly getting brighter by the morning sun, but at his reflection in the glass in front of him.

And the old man?

The reflection smiled back at him.

And the old man always said that you will come to your own understanding of right and good.

Jonathan looked at his reflection in the window…

Before turning away.

I need to prepare for the summit. I know what is required of me and I know where things are going.

The reflection in the window just smiled back at him.

Of course, you do, Jonathan. After all, you are the magician, the master of the impossible, the master of people's destinies. Go, Jonathan. Go, for you still have so much to do.