Jaune had seen Yang's bike many time before. How could he not? The machine was loud, sleek, and unapologetically Yang. It had a body painted in sunburst-gold with black accents, like someone had dipped the metal in molten flame and hardened it into speed. He'd caught sight of it in the parking lot on more than one occasion and heard its growl echoing across the lot after school. Once or twice she'd even rev the engine as she passed by, just to watch him flinch and smile.
A few times, she'd even joked about taking him for a ride.
"Plenty of room behind me," she'd said, voice dripping with playful innuendo. "You just got to get in position and hold on tight, Jauney."
He laughed it off every time. Everyone knew Yang's jokes—half teasing and half flirtatious, meant to get a rise out of people. But now, with the keys jingling in her hand and that grin on her face, for the first time, Jaune realized she wasn't joking tonight.
The thought made his stomach flip strangely.
Yang gave the bike an affectionate pat as they reached it, crouching to flick the kickstand up with her heel. "There she is. Beauty, isn't she?"
Jaune looked at the shining curves of the machine. "Beauty" wasn't quite the word he would've used—"slightly terrifying death trap" came to mind—but he kept that to himself. Though... he could admit, that the vehicle was certainly... majestic, in a sense.
"Helmet's in the side compartment," Yang added, gesturing. "Go on, grab it. I don't usually let people ride with me, you know. You should feel honored."
Jaune pulled the spare helmet free, his reflection warped in the glossy visor. He muttered, "Right... throughout heaven and earth, I alone am the honored one."
Yang looked at him curiously. "What?"
Jaune scratched his cheek. "Eh, it's just something I see from social media, time-to-time."
Yang tilted her head in confusion and flipped her hair over her shoulder as she slid her own helmet on. "Right... anyways, don't you worry. I like you too much to turn you into roadkill."
She straddled the bike, and Jaune hesitated before climbing on behind her. The seat was narrow and due to his tall stature, his knees bent awkwardly. Worst of all, or perhaps best of all, the sudden closeness made his ears heat. Yang reached down, twisting the ignition. The bike roared awake, vibrating under them like a caged animal.
"Better hold on tight," she said over her shoulder, mischief in her voice.
Jaune hesitated for a beat, then wrapped his arms around her waist. Her leather jacket was warm against his palms.
And then they were moving.
The tires squealed slightly as Yang pulled out of the lot of Beacon, merging onto the main street that cut through the heart of Vale City. The wind tore at Jaune's sleeves, slipped under his collar, tugged at his hair through the bike. He ducked instinctively, pressing closer to Yang's back as they accelerated.
Vale City at night stretched out before them in a cascade of neon and shadow. The streets glowed under rows of streetlamps, casting golden pools across the asphalt. Storefronts still open this late spilled light into the sidewalks, colors bleeding together—flashing reds from a ramen stand sign, blues from an arcade, pinks and greens from a karaoke bar.
The city pulsed with life even past midnight, even today, when there were "terror attacks.". Cars crawled along the wider avenues and headlights carved bright tunnels in the dark. Above them, electronic billboards shimmered with shifting images—ads for holo-tech gadgets, live broadcasts of sports matches and even a concert announcement that blared across a ten-story screen.
Jaune found himself staring, drinking it in. He'd never realized how much different the city felt at night. The daytime Vale he knew was orderly, loud, and had businesslike traffic chatter all over. But here, at this hour, the city felt freer and looser, as if it belonged to a different kind of heartbeat.
Yang leaned into a turn, and Jaune clutched her tighter, his stomach swooping as the world tilted. She laughed over the engine, clearly enjoying his panic.
"You okay back there?" she called.
"Just Peachy!" Jaune yelled back, voice snatched by the wind.
"Good enough!"
She revved the throttle, and the bike surged forward. They weaved through traffic, slipping between sedans and utility trucks with effortless precision. Yang rode like she lived—recklessly, confidently, daring the world to try and stop her.
And yet… Jaune didn't feel unsafe. His heart raced for sure, but there was something about the way Yang handled the machine—steady and practiced—that made him feel assured. She wasn't simply joyriding. She knew exactly what she was doing.
His mind drifted, unbidden, to Yang herself.
Jaune felt as if Yang used her jokes as a shield. She was always the loudest voice in the room and always the first to tease or the one to throw herself into things headfirst. But beneath that shine… Jaune had learnt that she was quite a vulnerable person. He'd pieced that much together in the short time he'd known her.
From their conversation earlier, he'd learnt that her father was a LUCID operative, one of the strongest—a rank 2. That kind of power came with responsibility. Responsibility that had pulled him away from home again and again. In that scenario, someone had to step up, and someone had to make sure Ruby was okay.
In any case, Yang had stepped up.
He wondered how many nights Yang had to reassure Ruby that she wasn't alone. How many times she'd swallowed her own emotions and replaced it with a grin so Ruby wouldn't see the cracks. How many mornings she'd biked to school pretending everything was normal, when in reality her family was a broken mess.
Did that give her a kind of mom energy? Maybe. She was protective enough at least, but Jaune couldn't help pitying her for it.
Pitying Ruby, too. Neither of them had chosen this life—to fight the dream creatures, Grimm, every night in the Nightmare Realm. They were simply victims of circumstance.
And yet… he was the same, wasn't he?
To this day, Jaune was a victim of a chance so rare that apparently he was the only case. He wasn't even supposed to awaken at his age, but the Dream still claimed him. Every night he'd fought and every night he killed or was almost killed. Forced into battles with no end, same as them.
Mocha's situation was different. Though, maybe parallels between them could be drawn.
In any case, maybe Jaune shouldn't pity them. Maybe he should only pity himself.
Jaune sighed, the sound swallowed by the rushing air. He tightened his grip on Yang's waist as they shot onto a raised bridge. Below, Vale's river shimmered with the reflections of streetlamps and neon, a rippling mirror of the city's light.
Up here, he could see more. Towers rose like jagged teeth in the skyline, some capped with glowing logos, others dark and imposing. Smaller neighborhoods sprawled out beyond the central hub, their clusters of windows twinkling like constellations.
The bike slowed slightly as they reached a long stretch of road that hugged the waterfront. Yang shifted gears, the engine's growl mellowing into a steady purr.
"Not bad, huh?" she called back, her voice carried by the night.
Jaune swallowed and forced a laugh. "You mean the ride or the heart attack?"
"Both!"
He smiled despite himself, watching the lights blur by. The wind was cold, but there was warmth pressing against his palms where he held her.
They rode on, deeper into the night. Past restaurants closing up, their staff stacking chairs. Past convenience stores glowing like beacons on lonely corners. Past groups of teenagers hanging around arcades, their laughter cutting through the hum of traffic. Past the river again, where the bridges crisscrossed like veins feeding the heart of Vale.
The city breathed around them—alive, sprawling, imperfect, beautiful.
And Jaune, caught between the warmth of Yang's back and the cold of the night air, realized he could breathe with it.
The streets blurred into a stream of neon and shadow as they rode, until finally Jaune leaned closer and raised his voice over the engine.
"So... uh, Yang? You do know my house is the other way, right?"
He felt her body shake slightly with laughter. He could hear the cheeky retort building in her throat—probably something about trusting her sense of direction or how she didn't need directions—but instead, she just called back:
"Yeah, I know. Just felt like driving for a bit."
Jaune blinked behind the helmet's visor. "You… just felt like it?"
"Yup," she said, stretching the word with a grin he didn't have to see to know was there. "You complaining?"
"…Not really," Jaune admitted. And he meant it.
So they drove on. Past more bridges, more lights and more of Vale, breathing in the cool night air. Eventually, Yang looped around, leading them back toward the quieter outskirts, and before long Jaune recognized the familiar streets of his neighborhood. Rows of houses lined with garden fences and porch lamps replaced the high-rises and storefronts. The noise of the city gave way to the hum of cicadas and the occasional bark of a dog behind someone's yard.
Finally, Yang slowed to a stop in front of Jaune's house, the engine rumbling low before she killed it. The sudden silence rang loud in Jaune's ears, and he pulled off the helmet, shaking his hair free.
"Well," he said, swinging one leg off awkwardly, "guess I survived."
Yang smirked, flipping her visor up. "Told you. No roadkill tonight. You did good, passenger."
Jaune grinned faintly, tugging at the strap of the helmet before setting it down. Then, after a pause, he asked, "Thanks... um... about what you told me earlier, at base. Will you—are you, uh… gonna see the therapist and talk about any of it?"
Yang blinked, caught off guard. "Huh? Oh." She rubbed the back of her neck. "Maybe I should. Everyone keeps saying it helps. But honestly…" She looked away, sheepish. "I don't really think that I want to spill my guts to some stranger. Feels weird, ya know?"
Jaune tilted his head. "Hmm... I guess that makes sense. But... are you sure you want to keep everything bottled up like that?"
Yang shrugged, a little defensive but not angry. "Not exactly. I… I'd rather talk to people I actually trust, y'know? People who get me." Her eyes flicked to his, and she gave a quick half-smile before glancing away again, slightly embarrased. "Like you. You're a good listener, Jaune."
He smiled softly. "Guess I learned a little from my sister. She's the type who makes people talk even when they don't want to. Damned psychology majors, I tell ya."
"Heh, Jade, right?"
"Yeah." His smile faltered a bit. "Haven't checked in on her after what happened today. I should probably do that tomorrow. Although, from what I heard, she's completely fine. Still not sure how to react to her memories being wiped though. Makes me... I don't know..."
Yang nodded, pulling her helmet off fully and letting her golden hair spill free. She stretched her arms over her head, then gave him a wave. "Yeah, I can imagine. Family's important to me too. You should check in on her tomorrow." She stepped back onto her bike, already strapping her helmet again. "Anyways, I'm off, I saw this cool hill about ten minutes away from the back your house. Looks like a suuuper good spot to take pictures. I'm gonna check it out right now. Might make a good lookout."
"Really? I didn't even notice. Sounds nice, I'll check it out another time, I guess." Jaune said while handing her back the helmet.
"Yup. Later, Jauney." She took it and flashed him one last grin before revving the engine. The bike growled to life, and within seconds she was speeding off into the night, golden hair like a comet trail in the darkness.
Jaune stood there for a moment before finally turning toward the house. He unlocked the door quietly and slipped inside.
The familiar warmth of home wrapped around him. The faint scent of coffee and the soft creak of the wooden floorboards.
The front door clicked shut behind Jaune, muffling the distant hum of the neighborhood. The house smelled faintly of reheated stew, the kind his dad always made in a pinch, with whatever vegetables were left in the crisper.
His father sat in his usual place on the couch, legs spread comfortably, the glow of a holo-tablet reflecting across his face. A newsfeed scrolled on the transparent screen, its muted voices filling the room with snippets of panic: "Authorities have yet to release details—several casualties confirmed—terrorist activity suspected—"
Without looking up, Nicholas called out, "Yo, you're back late, and from the looks of it, you forgot the onions too."
"Yeah," Jaune admitted with a wince. "Got a ride from a friend and… kinda forgot on the way. Sorry. Did you already make dinner?"
Nicholas finally glanced up, sharp blue eyes settling on his son like searchlights. "Yeah, just some stew though and don't worry about the onions, it's all good. I'll just pick some up tomorrow. Don't sweat it." His voice was easy, casual, but Jaune caught a trace of something behind it—curiosity, maybe. "How was your day?"
"Good." Jaune tried to sound breezy as he made for the stairs. "Nothing too special."
Nicholas tilted his head, gaze narrowing just slightly. "Nothing too special, huh? That's an odd way of putting it." He tapped the holo-tablet, flicking the feed back a few minutes. Footage of black smoke curling over Vale's market district replayed. "Didn't you happen to see any of what went down in downtown? Some pretty big incidents. Shootouts, fires and even talk of terrorist attacks. Whole damn streets were locked down. I, personally, didn't even know there were any terrorists to begin with."
Jaune's hand tightened slightly on the banister. He forced a swallow. "…No, I… uh, didn't know there were any either. Guess it was just a surprise to everyone, eh? And don't worry, neither Jade nor I got caught up in anything."
His father hummed low in his throat. "Mm. Funny, that." He leaned back against the couch, letting the holo-tablet hover beside him in standby. "The vids I've seen were only a couple blocks from the place you were at. That was the same place you went to right, Glacier's Crest?"
Jaune's pulse stumbled. He pushed a shrug. "I guess? I wasn't really paying attention. I was already headed back when Yang offered me a ride."
His father's eyebrow arched. "Yang?"
"Yeah." Jaune cleared his throat. "A friend from school. She had her bike, so, you know… saved me the walk."
Nicholas chuckled, shaking his head. "A girl with a bike. Sounds like trouble." His smirk turned sly. "She your girlfriend?"
"What? No!" Jaune's face burned. "She's just a friend."
"Relax, Jaune." His grin softened, though his eyes never lost that sharp glint. "I'm not grilling you. Just making conversation."
Jaune shifted uncomfortably. The wooden steps beneath his hand felt suddenly slick.
Nicholas went on, casual as a man chatting about the weather. "Still, strange of you to be out all night after these incidents. Dangerous even. Market district was in chaos, from what I hear. There were dozens injured and property damage was everywhere." He whistled low. "Would've been a hell of a thing if you or your sister got caught up in all that."
"I didn't," Jaune said quickly, the words tumbling out. "I kept clear. Didn't see a thing. Besides, I texted you earlier, didn't I?"
His father's gaze lingered on him in silence, heavy and measuring. Jaune fought not to squirm under it.
Finally, Nicholas leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. His voice dropped, low and even.
"You're a terrible liar, Jaune."
The room seemed to shrink around him. Jaune froze, heart kicking hard against his ribs. Slowly, he turned back, throat dry. "…What do you mean?"
Nicholas set the holo-tablet down on the coffee table with deliberate care, the way a predator sets aside a bone once it's picked clean. He leaned back, steepling his fingers, eyes gleaming with something Jaune couldn't place—amusement, cruelty, malevolence.
"I know you were caught up in it. Of course I know. How could you not be?"
Jaune's chest tightened. His mind raced, searching for an excuse, an angle, anything. But Nicholas wasn't done.
"Your clothes," he said lightly, almost conversational. "You clean up well, but I can still smell the scent of smoke and blood on you, you know. Can't hide it from senses as good as mine. Comes with ranking up, after all." His father tapped his nose with a... kind... smile.
"...What? What did you just say?" Jaune thought he heard his father wrong.
"You heard me right, kiddo. Come on now. Your ears aren't that bad are they? Then again, maybe we should get you checked up. You might get tinnitus sooner or later. Your grandfather had it."
"Dad—I don't understand. What—"
Nicholas's grin sharpened and his voice turned almost mocking. "Don't look so shocked, son. You think LUCID controls everything? That chaos like that just springs out of the ground?" He spread his hands, chuckling. "Please."
Jaune's mouth went dry. "Dad... what are you talking about?"
His father's eyes glittered like shards of glass. "I'm talking about the fact that I was the one who planted the fucking Amalgamations, Jaune. Well, the ones in downtown Vale at least. The others handled the rest."
The words hit like a sledgehammer.
Jaune's breath caught in his throat. His body locked up, a thousand thoughts slamming into each other like a train wreck.
No. No, he couldn't have just said that. Couldn't mean it.
But Nicholas leaned back, utterly at ease, watching his son like a man savoring a joke only he understood.
The world tilted under Jaune's feet, vertigo rolling through him. He gripped the banister tighter, knuckles white, the air refusing to fill his lungs.
His father's smirk didn't fade. If anything, it widened.
"You see, Jaune…" His tone was casual, almost fatherly again, which made it worse. "Chaos doesn't happen by accident. Every fire, every scream out there—it all starts because someone sets it in motion. And today? That someone was me."
Jaune wanted to speak, wanted to shout that it wasn't funny, that it couldn't be true, but his voice wouldn't work. His father's words coiled around him like a vice.
Nicholas leaned forward again, voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur.
"And the best part? Nobody can do a damn thing. Not the government, not Ozpin and certainly not even LUCID. They'll flounder like fish out of water, unknowing of the depths of the ocean beneath their fins. But us?" He tapped his chest, grin spreading wolfish and proud. "We'll stroll right through the wreckage, and pioneer the new age."
Jaune's vision blurred at the edges. His mind screamed at him to move, to speak, to do anything—but his body refused. His legs might as well have been carved from stone, every muscle locked by the cold horror seeping into his veins.
The world wasn't just tilting anymore. It was crumbling apart, piece by piece, leaving him with nothing solid to stand on.
.
.
AN: Plot twist
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