Chapter 4

The center of an arena didn't seem like the kind of place that a huntress should be nervous about. But when the entire crowd sat in silence staring at her, Yang felt wobbly.

Every way she turned, the brawler met the same stone faces gazing at her.

"They think it's your fault," she whispered over Yang's shoulder.

The blonde spun on her feet without thinking. Her eyes snapped shut as she did, and the screaming started. Yang's legs collapsed, and rolled away from the sound.

Breath licked Yang's cheek. "Xaio Long," she taunted. "You better be afraid to face me."

A whimper slipped through Yang's lips. The brawler couldn't say anything. Even her inner resolute huntress cowered.

A laugh. "So submissive. But somehow, I wasn't surprised." She crept up behind Yang, and rested her head on the huntress' shoulder.

Cold arms wrapped around Yang's torso. She lifted her mouth right next to the blonde's ear, and trailed her tongue along its length. "You're mine."


The radio brought comfort to her. It always was a welcome distraction.

Jaune stared at the radio, almost hypnotized by Yang's hands. Several days on the run since their flight in the forest left them with scraps of energy.

"You always had a hand for mechanics," Jaune remarked, not realizing he'd said it aloud.

Yang nodded despondently. "In another life, I'd be a mechanic, not a huntress."

He blinked. "Oh…I said that aloud, didn't I?"

Yang afforded a small laugh that barely reached her eyes. "I don't mind. I've always been good with my hands. No sense in rejecting a compliment, right?"

"Especially not from a dumbass who can't fend for himself," she spat.

Jaune turned his head away. "Right. So how far away is this next town?"

Yang paused in her work. "We ought to reach it tomorrow. They call it Dead End now. It used to be known as…hell, I don't know."

Her companion laughed quietly, and a smile lifted itself onto Yang's mouth.


"Towns like these should stay in cowboy movies," Jaune idly commented.

A visage of dust exposed itself to the duo. Trees had vacated the area, as if to have packed and left. Wind tore through the weak metal structures that used to be buildings.

"I think a fight between a militia and Knights happened here," Yang murmured. "I heard it on my radio."

Jaune nodded. "Let's go in." He drew his sword and shield.

Yang's hands curled around the shotgun. Her right hand was tender, but healing. With a jerk, she cocked it.

Their duet of silence crept through the arid town. Only the whistling of breeze interrupted their melody.

Jaune motioned Yang to move behind him. The two pressed themselves against the side of a building, and looked out from the corner.

A single Knight lingered outside of a gas station. And if a machine could look worried, this one would.

It wasn't that the Knight was alone that bestowed that opinion on Yang, but rather how it stood. Or rather, its lack of standing.

The once pristine white armor had been scuffed by the sandy wind. The Knight sat next to the door, perfectly still.

"I think someone is in there," Yang murmured.

"Leave them," she snapped.

Jaune shook his head. "If someone is in there, we'll help them. Right, Yang?"

"Yes," the blonde breathed.

Despite their resolution, the person in question needed no saving.

He stepped out of the building, brandishing a stick and smashing the Knight across the face. The tarnished Knight crumpled, beaten.

Yang and Jaune shared a gasp.

Roman Torchwick flipped his hat up, and looked at them.