I don't know what brought me to the slave market.

It's a disgusting practice. With law enforcement in shambles, crime is at an all time high, criminal rings like this are very common. As a Huntsman it's supposed to be my duty to shut down operations like this, but all I do is move onward, glaring at degenerates and swatting away wandering hands straying to my lien pouch. I've been cornered a few times on my way here, knives held in shaking hands by bloodshot-eyed malnourished people. It never ended well for them.

My eyes rove across everything in my field of vision, ignoring the greedy stares I was getting - a Huntsman was unusual and alarming; a Huntsman who also happened to be a customer was a golden opportunity for profit -. An overweight man missing a tooth hails me over, spit getting onto my breastplate. I ignore him; his merchandise is not what I'm looking for, no matter how they bang against the bars of their cages, no matter how much they scream at me to save them.

A few minutes of walking to the litter-ridden path to my destination gives me time to think, to breathe. It gives me time to question and doubt what I'm going to do. It gives me time to rail at the person I had become. The old Jaune Arc would have helped the people trapped in those rusted cages. I'm not the person I used to be. I'm older. I'm crueler.

You can see it in my appearance: rugged beard, unshaved for a few months already; sunken eyes on a pallid face; perpetual dead expression. My friends had tried to help, but they never could. The war was the driving factor of my life, without something behind the wheel, I was forced to stop, to think, to feel. To ruminate on my mistakes and regrets. Is it really a wonder that I broke down?

I spot a crowd a few meters in front of me, whispering to each other in hushed tones, voice tinged with a vexing mix of fear and fascination. I miss a step, eyes widening as my Aura twists in spontaneous rage. I grit my teeth and approach the crowd, stride increasing with every single step. My breath quickens. A person in the crowd looks back, hearing the clinking of my armor, their eyes widen and they tug the sleeve of another person in the crowd, said person looks back and their expression turns into a similar expression of shock. Soon the whole crowd is looking at me.

I continue moving forward, some of the more skittish people in the crowd immediately break off running, the rest stay put, sweating. They're smart enough to understand they wouldn't outrun a Hunstman if he really wanted to chase after them.

I don't need to push the crowd, they part for me. My lips quirk upwards in sardonic amusement, before it turns into a grimace as my Aura twists in fear and a dull ache builds up behind my eyes. I look forward, and my breath hitches.

There she is, as resplendent in rags as she is in rags as she was in her bronze armor. Her eyes - emerald, not crimson - stare into my own, and I wait for the recognition to flash in them. I wait for a long time. My Aura twists in something. I don't stop to think what a Grimm-bonded person is doing being sold at a slave market of all things.

Intellectually, I know that it's not really her. The Pyrrha I knew is long dead, killed at The Fall of Beacon. The one in front of me is nothing but a Grimm-bonded soul, a result of a sick experiment, a super-soldier that was employed with deadly effect during the war; but the red hair is exactly the same shade, and the expression on her face...

For the first time in a long time, my heart beats. Blood pounds, crashing against my ears in a desperate attempt to be heard. My Aura can be called at any moment, in an attempt to slay this abomination for the world, or to slay the world for this abomination. I'm not quite sure. A sick grin grows on my face. This feeling of uncertainty...something other than the painful monotony that had engulfed me and turned me into something infinitely uglier. My Aura twists in somethingIcan'tunderstandbutitcertainlyfeelslikefearwithamixofjoy-! As I meet the abomination's eyes, within them I can see another abomination reflected within.

"How much?" My voice is hoarse and rough from disuse. When was the last time I had spoken?

A thin reedy man that reminds me of a rat, stepped forward timidly, refusing to meet my eyes, he mumbles out something unintelligible. I scowl and step forward.

"What?"

The man's gaze drops even lower and his shoulders hunch together. Prey in the face of a predator. Pathetic.

"T-the highest bid is currently a thousand liens."

I hum thoughtfully, outwardly calm. My eyes have never left the Grimm abomination. It looks back with a startling sense of human intelligence.

"What's her name?" I half-expect him to respond that it's Pyrrha.

"Name?" He looks confused.

I shake my head, and just reach into the pouch buckled to my belt, grasping at every single bill, scrupling it and then offering it to the man. He started, eyes looking at the substantial sum on my hand with a sense of greed, but also a much greater sense of fear.

I grunt. "Go ahead, take all of it. I want her."

The man wastes little time in snatching the lien in my hand, counting all of it with a disgusting grin in his hand. I turn to look back at the abomination, who is now mine. I would name her 'Pyrrha'. Maybe it's a sick thing to do, it wears her face, but that doesn't mean it's her. I don't really care either way. I can fool myself into believing that it is. She looks back at me, eyes soulless, but her lips twist.

"Sold to the blonde knight for ten thousand lien!"

The crowd behind me whispers, in discontent and shock, in disgust and fear. They don't know what I'm going to use her for. Maybe for my own pleasure. Maybe as a living memento. Even I don't what I'm going to do with her.

I step forward, and smile a broken smile.

"Hello...Pyrrha."