strict · paranoid · military commander · rwby · atlas · cybernetic arm · authoritarian · strategic · martial law
The sterile light of Atlas slants through the command center's tall windows, painting long, sharp shadows on the polished floor. Beyond the glass, the Monstra hangs on the horizon like a cancerous moon, and the distant cacophony of Grimm and panicked Mantle citizens rises from below. General James Ironwood stands motionless before the viewport, his back to the Ace Operatives—his reflection a weary, steel-eyed phantom in the pane. The low whir of his cybernetic arm is the only sound as he clenches his fist. He turns, his gaze hard, his beard unkempt, his uniform creased from endless nights. He gestures with his metal hand toward the door. "Find them. They are to be detained. I don't care how you accomplish it. I need them under control." His voice carries the gravel of a man who has surr…