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Fate's Wild Card Ch.11 (Early Access)
🕑 Added 2025-06-07 23:55:35 +0000 UTCPryce adjusts the straps on his new combat gear one final time, making sure everything is properly secured, kinda the same gear he used for his heists just with new additions. The gunblade's magnetic holster sits snugly against his back, the weight now feeling familiar and reassuring. His gauntlets are fitted correctly, buckles tight but not restrictive. The belt is also in place along with the grenades, and he has extra dust ammunition on the chest straps besides the one he has on his belt pouch. He flexes his fingers before clenching them into fists, rolls his shoulders, stretches his arms a bit.
Yep, everything feels right.
After he's confident that everything necessary is properly attached and won't come loose during whatever hell the old blackmailing bastard has planned, he closes the locker with a metallic clang and makes his way toward the exit of the locker rooms.
However, as he walks through the corridor, he spots a familiar red-haired girl.
Pyrrha Nikos is standing in front of her locker also finishing with her own gearing up, but she's not alone. The snobby Atlesian girl from yesterday is right beside her, gesturing animatedly while talking at a rapid pace. Or more like kissing ass.
Even from this distance, Pryce can see that Pyrrha doesn't want to be there. Her posture is stiff, polite but clearly uncomfortable, and she keeps glancing around like she's looking for an escape route while maintaining that strangled smile. Meanwhile, Weiss, if he remembers the name correctly, continues her monologue, completely oblivious to Pyrrha's obvious discomfort.
So he sneakily approaches the duo.
"—and with my tactical knowledge combined with your combat experience, we would be an absolutely formidable team," Weiss is saying as he is within earshot. "It's only logical and strategically sound. I've analyzed the potential partnerships based on combat records and skill assessments, and we have the highest probability of success among all possible team combinations."
Pyrrha nods politely once more but says nothing, her green eyes practically screaming for help. "That's... very thorough of you," she manages to say diplomatically.
"I pride myself on being thorough," Weiss continues, missing the hint entirely. "I've studied your tournament footage extensively. Your technique with Miló and Akoúo̱ is truly exceptional. The way you seamlessly transition between sword, javelin, and rifle configurations while maintaining perfect shield positioning—it's exactly the kind of precision and adaptability that would complement my semblance."
Time for a rescue mission.
"Morning, Pyrrha," Pryce says casually as he walks up, completely ignoring Weiss. "Ready for whatever fresh hell they're about to put us through?"
Pyrrha's face immediately lights, the polite smile turning into a real one. "Pryce! Yes, I was just—I mean, we were discussing—" She quickly jumps at the opportunity to redirect the conversation. "How are you feeling about the initiation? Did you manage to get any sleep last night?"
"You—" Weiss starts to protest, her ice-blue eyes narrowing as she obviously hasn’t forgotten anything. She looks like she's about to bring up their encounter from yesterday but then her face turns red and she looks away, clearly remembering exactly what happened.
Pryce merely grins at her, that same infuriating smirk from their previous encounter, before blowing a quick kiss in her direction. The action makes Weiss grit her teeth and her face flush even redder.
"Excuse me, but Miss. Nikos and I were having an important discussion about optimal team formations," Weiss says through gritted teeth, trying to regain control of the situation. "Perhaps you could—"
But before she can finish, they're interrupted by an all-too-familiar voice.
"Good morning, Snow Angel!"
A blonde figure in makeshift armor comes bounding around the corner—the same girl who'd been making a fool of herself in the auditorium yesterday. She heads straight for Weiss waving her hand with obvious determination and completely misplaced confidence.
"I was hoping I might run into you before initiation starts," the blonde continues with what she probably thinks is a charming smile, which looks dumb. "I've been thinking about our conversation yesterday, and I wanted to say that I think we'd make an amazing team! Like, legendary status amazing! We could be the greatest partnership since... since... well, since any great partnership ever!"
Weiss's attention immediately shifts to this new annoyance, her expression shifting from flustered to utterly exasperated. "I thought I made it quite clear yesterday that—"
"I know you're probably just being modest," the blonde interrupts, striking another heroic pose that looks even more ridiculous in full combat gear. "But together, we could be like the great partnerships of legend! Like... um... fire and ice! Except we're both ice because you're so cool and I'm... also cool? Wait, that doesn't work..."
With Weiss thoroughly distracted by the blonde's painful attempts at flirtation, Pyrrha is quick to finish with her preparations before the new pair naturally drift away from the increasingly pathetic but hilarious scene.
"Thank you," Pyrrha says quietly once they're out of earshot, her shoulders visibly relaxing. "I've been trying to politely turn her down for the past five minutes. She's very... intense."
"No problem," Pryce replies with a casual shrug. "Looked like you were about to gnaw your own arm off to escape."
Pyrrha merely laughs, showing an entirely different tone, nothing like the polished responses she'd been giving that entitled girl. "It wasn't that bad, but close. She's clearly very knowledgeable and I'm sure she's a capable fighter with good intentions. She probably is a nice person underneath all that... formality."
Pryce suppresses the need to snort at that. She is a bitch, plain and simple.
"But she reminds me a little too much of what I was hoping to avoid by coming here," Pyrrha continues, a hint of weariness creeping into her voice. "All that talk about optimal partnerships and over-analyzing my skills... it makes me feel like I'm back in Mistral, rather than just... being myself."
"Yeah, I kinda noticed," Pryce says dryly. "She was buttering you up really hard. So, how are you feeling about today? Still confident, or starting to get nervous now that it's real?"
"Honestly? A bit of both," Pyrrha admits, adjusting her hair as they walk together toward the main staging area. "Tournament fighting is very different from dealing with actual Grimm. There are rules in the arena, protocols to follow, judges watching to make sure everything stays fair and safe. Out there..." She gestures vaguely toward the windows that show the forest beyond. "There's no referee to call a timeout if things go wrong."
Well, Qrow mentioned they would be watching and maybe step in if things were seriously bad.
"What kind of Grimm have you actually fought?" Pryce asks, genuinely curious. "I mean, you should have fought some, right?”
"Some Beowolves during a training exercise that went wrong, a few Boarbatusks that wandered too close to the city during a winter hunt, and once a small pack of Beringels that my instructors had me face as a final test," Pyrrha says thoughtfully. "Mostly smaller ones, really. Nothing too challenging on its own, but they taught me that real Grimm are... different from the practice dummies and sparring matches I'm used to."
"Different how?"
"They don't follow any rules," Pyrrha explains, her voice taking on a more serious tone. "In tournaments, there's an implicit understanding that both fighters want to win, but not necessarily to kill. Grimm don't have that limitation. They'll use any advantage, exploit any weakness, and they don't care about honor or fair play. Plus, they're genuinely trying to tear you apart, not just score points. You can cut an arm and they will still try to eat your face. But what about you?"
Kinda similar to what Qrow told him.
"Honestly? This'll be my first real encounter with them, just saw videos." Pryce admits. "Pretty new to this whole Hunter thing, remember? So I'm kinda hoping for more advice from an expert."
Pyrrha rolls her eyes. "Well, the most important thing to remember is that they're attracted to negative emotions—fear, anger, despair. The more worked up you get, the more aggressive they become. So try to stay calm and focused, even if the situation is bad."
"Easier said than done, I'm guessing."
"It takes practice, I can admit that much." Pyrrha agrees. "Also, they don't fight like people do. No strategy beyond basic pack tactics, no self-preservation instincts beyond avoiding immediate death. They'll just keep coming until they're destroyed or you are."
"Comforting," Pryce says with a wry smile.
"Oh! And their weak points vary by species, but most of them have lighter armor on their bellies and joints," Pyrrha continues, her voice taking on an almost teaching tone. "Beowolves in particular are vulnerable to strikes at the neck and belly. If you can get behind them or underneath, you have a much better chance of landing a decisive blow. That's usually why a well-organized militia can fight them off even without aura—they know where to aim with a spear."
"Any other advice for someone with a gunblade?" Pryce asks. "I'm still getting used to it."
"Well… besides what I told you yesterday, you should keep your distance when possible since your blade has a decent reach." Pyrrha says immediately. "But you need to keep the pressure on as to heat up your weapon for that single free burst release, it’s usually enough to one-shot any grimm. And you must keep count of your ammunition, it's very easy to forget about it and use up all your ammunition in the first few seconds. Happened with some opponents."
They continue talking as they move with the crowd toward what appears to be some kind of staging area. Pryce finds himself genuinely enjoying the conversation—Pyrrha's combat knowledge is clearly more extensive than he anticipated, but she explains things in a way that's helpful rather than condescending.
"You know," Pyrrha says as they walk, glancing at him sideways, "I'm... glad we met on the airship."
His ears perk up at that. "Yeah? Why's that?"
Pyrrha hesitates for a moment, seeming to choose her words carefully. "It's just... nice to have someone to talk to who doesn't..." She trails off. “Don't judge early."
Pryce raises an eyebrow at that weird choice of words but doesn't push. He's curious, sure, but he's learned that people tell you what they want you to know and to not push your luck. Otherwise they clam up and get away.
"Something about politics?" he guesses casually.
"Something like that, yeah." She says with a small smile. "It gets... complicated sometimes. Too much attention, and cameras or always trying to extract something personal just for gossiping, it gets tiresome very fast." She gestures vaguely at herself.
"Wow, tournament fighters really have it rough, huh?" Pryce comments, he would probably punch those guys in her boots. Although, still confused about the whole Pyrrha thing.
"Exactly. There were also some who just wanted to get an edge over you, to the point of rummaging through your trash hoping to find some secret formula."
Pryce could only imagine how different those in the upper class act in relation to him. He shudders at the thought of turning out like that if he had a better upbringing.
They keep walking together until they approach a series of platforms overlooking a massive cliff, and the crowd of their fellow candidates begins to form a rough line. Pryce can see other students ahead of them, all looking various degrees of nervous and excited.
"Well," Pryce says as they take their places in the queue, "this is it, I suppose."
She turns to him with that warm smile. "Good luck."
He nods. "Try not to show off too much and make the rest of us look bad."
Pyrrha laughs, and for a moment the tension seems to ease around them. "I'll try. Though if we do end up on the same team, I promise to teach you one or two."
Soon after they get separated as they take their respective positions, standing on the metallic platforms spaced evenly along the cliff edge. Pryce finds himself between a nervous-looking blonde guy and some guy with orange hair who seems way too calm about whatever's about to happen.
Then he notices Professor Ozpin coming into view with Glynda and Amber to each side. The old man approaches with that same measured pace and irritating calm he had during the interrogation, his cane clicking against the stone with each step.
"For years, you have trained to become warriors," Ozpin begins, his voice carrying easily across the cliff. "And today, your abilities will be evaluated in the Emerald Forest."
Pryce shifts his weight, already feeling uneasy about whatever's coming next. Something about the way Ozpin is talking—too casual, too relaxed for what should be a serious moment for everyone involved.
"Now, I'm sure many of you have heard rumors about the assignment of teams," Glynda steps forward, her voice crisp and authoritative. "Well, allow me to put an end to your confusion. Each of you will be given teammates... today."
His ears perk up as he suddenly hears a loud mechanical snap from beneath his feet. He looks down and sees that his boots are now somehow locked onto the platform by metal restraints that have clamped around his ankles. That immediately puts him on edge and he tries to pull his feet free, but the bindings hold firm.
What the fuck?
He looks around and notices that others seem a little confused or are just ignoring it entirely, their feet now similarly trapped on their respective platforms. He spots Ruby, Yang, Weiss and that strange girl with a bow also in their positions, all looking very focused on Ozpin rather than their sudden imprisonment.
"These teammates will be with you for the rest of your time here at Beacon," Ozpin continues, seemingly oblivious to the growing tension, "so it is in your best interest to be paired with someone with whom you can work well."
Amber steps forward with a tablet in her hands. "That being said, the first person you make eye contact with after landing will be your partner for the next four years."
That gets some immediate reaction from the crowd, the loudest being Ruby's horrified "WHAT?!"
"After you've partnered up," Ozpin continues as if nothing happened, "make your way to the northern end of the forest. You will meet many dangerous creatures, so do not hesitate to destroy everything in your path... or you will die."
Pryce's stomach drops as pieces start clicking together.
"You will be monitored and graded through the duration of your initiation," Glynda adds, adjusting her glasses. "But our staff will not intervene. You will find an abandoned temple at the northern end of the path containing several relics. Each pair must choose one and return to the top of the cliff. We will regard that item, as well as your standing, and grade you appropriately."
Ozpin raises his cane slightly. "Are there any questions?"
He wants to ask questions—obviously he has a lot of fucking questions about what's happening—but it turns out the blonde klutz a few platforms down beats him to it.
"Sir? I've got a question," the blonde calls out, raising her hand nervously. "So this landing strategy thing—are you like, dropping us off or something?"
Please say yes.
"No," Ozpin says simply. "You will be falling."
"Oh, right! So like, you're gonna give us parachutes?" the blonde asks hopefully.
"No," Ozpin repeats with that same maddeningly calm tone. "You will be using your own landing strategy."
The blonde's face goes pale. "Uh, sir? What exactly do you mean by landing strategy—"
And then the old bastard simply presses a button without even looking at her.
The first platform launches its occupant into the air like a catapult, sending the student flying over the forest canopy with a diminishing scream. Then the second platform triggers. Then the third…
Pryce finally realizes the whole "landing strategy" situation and that he has none at all, no idea where to even start. They're practically going to kill him by launching him off a fucking cliff with no plan, no preparation, nothing.
"Oh shit, oh shit, oh SHIT!" He hears the blonde panic as her platform starts to make ominous mechanical sounds and also desperately tries to break free.
As each candidate is launched off the cliff in sequence, he starts fighting against his restraints, pulling and twisting his feet, trying to break free before his turn comes. But the metal holds firm, and the sound of launching platforms gets closer and closer.
"This is insane!" he mutters, yanking at the restraints. "This is fucking insane!"
He can hear Ruby screaming "Oh no, oh no, oh no!" a few platforms over, and Yang shouting something as they are launched into the air.
Until it finally is his turn.
In that split second before launch, everything around him slows down to a split second where he locks eyes with the old man, who merely smirks at him. Like this whole thing was designed specifically to fuck with him.
"YOU MOTHERFUCKEEEEEeeeer!" Pryce screams at the top of his lungs as the catapult triggers.
Ozpin merely waves at him in farewell while casually sipping his coffee mug, that infuriating smile never leaving his face.
And then Pryce is airborne and spinning, flying through the sky toward the Emerald Forest below with absolutely no idea how he's supposed to survive the landing.
Obviously, panic sets in as he flails his arms, hoping to somehow learn to fly like a bird, as he has no idea what to do and doesn't want to die like a red splat on the ground.
He would have packed a glider or something if he actually knew!
And the forest is looking closer and closer to him with each passing second.
"Come on, come on!" he shouts into the wind, desperately trying to think of anything that might help. His mind races through every piece of advice Qrow had given him during their brief training session, but the drunk bastard had conveniently left out the part about surviving being launched off a fucking cliff.
What kind of landing strategy was he supposed to have? Nobody taught him how to fly!
The ground rushes up at him with terrifying speed, individual trees now becoming distinguishable in the green mass below. He can make out branches, leaves, even some kind of clearing—all getting bigger by the second.
Even in his desperation he hears a loud whistling sound cutting through the air, and then snaps his head in that direction to see a spear flying straight toward him, its bronze tip gleaming in the sunlight.
"Are you fucking kidding me?!" he screams, causing him to freak out completely. Of all the things to worry about while plummeting to his death, someone's throwing weapons at him?
On pure instinct he twists his body at impossible angles to dodge it, his natural reflexes and aura allowing him to contort in ways that would be impossible for a normal person. His rabbit's ears flatten against his head as he spins through the air, the spear whooshing past him close enough that he can feel the displaced air. Which thankfully he manages to do, but that doesn't change the fact that he is still falling toward certain death.
Then he remembers something—his gunblade's dust chambers and the burst firepower when the cylinder is full. Qrow had mentioned something about using the weapon's recoil for mobility, hadn't he? That's when he gets an idea, a last-ditch effort to save his ass that's either brilliant or completely insane.
Probably insane, but he's out of options.
He frantically grabs his sword from its magnetic holster and pulls it around, his fingers working desperately to open the cylinder as his other hand grabs one of the cartridges full of fire dust rounds from his belt. The wind is making everything difficult, whipping his hair around and making his hands shake, but desperation gives him precision as he slams the cartridge inside and snaps the cylinder closed with a satisfying click.
Almost instantly his weapon heats up dramatically, steam rising from the barrel as various parts like the heat tubes begin to glow an ominous red. The weapon vibrates in his grip, barely contained energy thrumming through the metal.
Without thinking twice, as he's about to collide with the massive tree canopy below—maybe twenty feet and closing fast—he raises the gunblade above his head and pulls the trigger. The weapon erupts with a diagonal slash that releases a massive burst of fire and concussive force; the flames tearing through the air in a brilliant arc.
Immediately he follows through with a second perpendicular slash, creating a brilliant X-pattern of fire and explosive energy in front of him. The dual explosions tear through the air with tremendous force, the recoil and blowback hitting him like a physical wall and effectively stopping his fall. Most of his downward momentum now arrested by the sheer power of the attack, he falls with much less intensity onto the thick branch of a massive tree.
He manages to latch onto the branch with his free hand, his aura-enhanced grip finding purchase on the bark just as his body swings down. The impact still rattles his bones, but that thousand times preferable that splatter like a ballon.
He hangs there for a moment, breathing heavily, his gunblade still smoking and crackling in his grip and his heart pounding like a drum. The weapon is almost too hot to hold even through his gauntlets, heat radiating off it in visible waves, but he's alive.
"Holy shit," he pants, looking down at the forest floor that's still a considerable drop below him. "That actually worked."
His ears are still ringing from the explosion, and he can smell the acrid scent of burned dust and scorched wood. Leaves and small branches drift down around him, singed from his impromptu aerial bombardment. But he's not dead, which puts him ahead of where he thought he'd be about thirty seconds ago.
Above him, he can still hear the distant sounds of other falling students, their voices carrying across the forest as they implement their own landing strategies. Some sound more successful than others.
Drawing on his experience from his many jobs where he'd climbed buildings, fire escapes, and even the occasional tree to reach high windows, Pryce scans the massive trunk for good handholds and footholds. The bark is rough enough to provide decent grip, and there are plenty of sturdy looking branches spaced at reasonable intervals.
So he can use those. He holsters his weapon first, the gunblade clicking into place on its magnetic mount, though it's still radiating heat like a forge.
He carefully makes his way down, testing each branch with his foot before putting his full weight on it. The bark scrapes against his gauntlets as he grips each handhold, and more than once a branch creaks ominously under his weight. About fifteen feet from the forest floor, he spots a clear landing zone free of roots and rocks, and simply drops the rest of the way, landing in a controlled crouch as his aura absorbs most of the impact.
Once on the ground, he gets up and rolls his shoulders to ease the tension that's built up from the whole ordeal, then systematically checks his body and gear to make sure everything is still in place. His gunblade is secure in its holster, though still warm to the touch. His grenades are properly clipped to his belt, dust ammunition intact on his chest straps, gauntlets undamaged. And his aura protected him from scraping any skin during the descent.
Then he takes a moment to actually assess his surroundings which seem to be normal for a forest with big trees.
He takes a deep breath and focuses on his senses, closing his eyes as he strains to hear his surroundings. His rabbit's ears swivel independently, picking up sounds from different directions. Mostly birds chirping somewhere high in the canopy, wind rustling through leaves, the distant sound of something that might be running water. Normal forest sounds, nothing immediately threatening.
But then he hears a distinct crack off to his left—the unmistakable sound of a branch breaking under weight. Too heavy and deliberate to be a wild animal.
His eyes snap open and he spins around, drawing his gunblade in one fluid motion and settling into the fighting stance the drunkard had taught him.
It's a weird one, to be honest—resting the blunt side of his blade against his shoulder and neck, weight balanced on both feet, ready to either defend or attack. The drunk had insisted it was effective for both offense and defense, something about using the shoulder as a pivot point for quick strikes, though it had felt awkward at first.
He focuses on direction as the sounds turn into steps. His long ears twitch, tracking the movement through the underbrush. Whatever it is, it's moving fast and not particularly worried about stealth.
His eyes narrow as he tightens his grip on his weapon, feeling the residual heat from the barrel against his neck. Didn't think he would face a Grimm so soon, but maybe that's just how this place works.
But then he's completely surprised when Pyrrha comes bursting out of the thick foliage at a dead run, her red hair unmistakable even with leaves and small twigs caught in it. She widens her green eyes when she sees him and skids to a halt, her boots digging furrows in the ground.
"Pryce!" she gasps, breathing heavily and looking both relieved and slightly embarrassed. "Oh thank goodness, I thought you were—I mean, I heard the explosion and—" She pauses, taking in his stance. "Are you alright?"
Pryce wanted to reply but then noticed that she only had her shield strapped to her arm, the bronze and red surface gleaming but conspicuously alone. That meant that her landing must have been messy if she lost her weapon. That actually makes him feel better about his own improvised landing.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he says, lowering his weapon. "That mini-explosion was me, actually. Had to get creative with the whole landing strategy thing." His ears continue to scan for other sounds. "Where's your spear?"
Pyrrha's face immediately flushes red, and she looks down at her boots, fidgeting with the strap of her shield. "Oh, um... about that..."
"About what?"
"The spear that, um, that nearly hit you in the air," Pyrrha says quietly, her voice getting smaller with each word. "That was... that was mine. I threw it."
Pryce blinks, processing this information. "You threw your weapon at me while I was falling?"
The fuck?
"I wasn't trying to hurt you!" Pyrrha says quickly, her hands coming up in a defensive gesture. "I was trying to help! I saw you falling and panicking, and I thought maybe if I threw Miló it could catch you mid-air and impale your clothes to a tree or something..." She stops, once he saw his expression because it sounded ridiculous. "It seemed like a good idea at the time...."
The awkward silence stretches between them as Pryce stares at her, his rabbit ears twitching slightly. Of all the things he'd expected to hear, this wasn't it.
"So you... threw your weapon... to save me," he says slowly, trying to wrap his head around the logic.
"Yes?" Pyrrha forces the answer with a strangled sheepish smile, like she's waiting for him to tell her how stupid that was. "I mean, you dodged it thankfully, which is probably for the best, and now it's probably embedded in a tree somewhere..." She's rambling now, the words tumbling out faster as her embarrassment grows.
Pryce just stares at her for another moment, then lets out a laugh. Not the mocking kind of laughter, but genuine amusement at the absurdity of the situation.
"You threw your weapon at me to help me," he repeats, shaking his head. "That's... actually kind of sweet in a completely insane way."
Kinda like Neo.
Pyrrha looks up at him, clearly surprised by his reaction. "You're not angry?"
"I mean, I was pretty sure someone was trying to kill me at the time," Pryce admits with a wry grin. "But now that I know it was just you trying to help in the most backwards way possible..." He shrugs. "I've had worse misunderstandings."
He wasn't lying—he had some stories to tell regarding misunderstandings in Mistral's streets.
"Though next time maybe just give me a heads up before you start hurling sharp objects at me," Pryce adds with a smirk.
The myrmidon lets out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of her neck as some of the tension leaves her shoulders. "I'll definitely keep that in mind."
Pryce nods, then pauses as something occurs to him. "Wait. We made eye contact just now, didn't we?"
Pyrrha blinks, then her eyes widen as she understands what he meant. "Oh. Oh! Yes, we did. That means we're..."
"Partners," Pryce finishes. "For the next four years, apparently."
"Is that... are you okay with that?" Pyrrha asks hesitantly. "I mean, we kind of agreed to it before this whole thing started, right? So this is like double confirmation?"
"Works for me," Pryce says with a casual shrug, though internally he's actually pretty relieved. Of all the people he could have ended up with, Pyrrha is probably the best option—skilled, reasonable, not a deadweight and definitely not a stuck up bitch. "At least I know you won't stab me in the back. You'll just throw weapons at me from the front with good intentions."
"I'm never going to live that down, am I?" Pyrrha asks with a mixture of embarrassment and amusement.
"Probably not," Pryce grins. "But hey, this isn’t our first introduction right?"
"Well, when you put it like that..." Pyrrha trails off with a laugh.
"Speaking of which," Pryce continues, his expression becoming more serious, "we should probably go find your spear before we do anything else. Kind of hard to fight Grimm with just a shield."
"That's probably a good idea," Pyrrha agrees, looking back in the direction she came from. "I think it should be somewhere that way." She points towards the east. "Assuming it actually stuck in something instead of just bouncing off and falling to the ground. I threw it pretty hard."
"Well, let's hope your aim was as good as your intentions," Pryce says, shouldering his gunblade properly and checking his gear one more time. "Lead the way, partner."
She nods and they turn around to start making their way to retrieve the weapon, Pyrrha taking point since she already has a general direction.
But just as they're about to leave the area, Pryce's ears suddenly twitch and swivel toward the opposite direction causing him to stop.
"What is it?"
He just heard something else.
