Chapter Text
PARADIS
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you are not exactly what I’d call strong. So you’re well-placed to understand what the weak feel like. It makes you adept at judging any situation with accuracy. So you know exactly what to do at all times. Know what I’m saying?”
Jean wakes with a sharp gasp. The sounds of titans and screaming soldiers slowly fades out into the silent room around him. He takes a shuddering breath and rubs his eyes, trying to banish away the sight of Marco’s face from his mind.
It isn’t uncommon for soldiers to go missing during missions. This was a simple fact, one that Jean had comprehended and accepted with his head held high. Of course, Trost wasn’t any normal mission, and Marco simply wasn’t a person that Jean would have simply let slip away unnoticed.
Marco wasn’t supposed to be alone in Trost, afterall. He was a temporary squad leader, one who was supposed to guide around a few less-prepared trainees. And he was a top ten cadet! Top ten cadets aren’t supposed to go missing. Not this early.
He’s too talented to let himself disappear without a trace.
But the battle of Trost was days ago now, and yet not a single soldier or patrol guard or recovery aid has been able to identify any remains or evidence of his death. According to the official record, Marco Botd of the 104th Cadet Corps is somewhere in the belly of a titan, or his blood is soaking into the cobblestone streets beneath the rubble.
Deep within his bones he knows something is wrong. Jean cannot accept the fact that his story would be over just like that.
Marco did not overcome a childhood full of fear and hurt just to die right at his real chance of freedom, Jean is sure of that.
But despite his feelings, this night like all since has been filled with nothing but images of Marco begging for help, all alone and scared as he was ripped apart limb by limb, and Jean not even being aware of what was happening.
It’s the middle of the night, but Jean gets up and heads for the washroom. He doesn’t need to sleep that much, anyway.
MARLEY
“...sir. It’ll never happen again.”
Smack!
“You’re damn right it won’t, Braun. And you are god damn lucky we have a use for this one, otherwise it’d be your ass on the line. Get the hell out of my office.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you sir.”
“You too, Hoover. Get the hell out of my sight.”
Marco stirs as the heavy footsteps leave the room. The next thing he notices is that it’s incredibly cold, much colder than in Trost. He’s laying on a hard surface, it feels like metal. He tries to open his eyes but his head hurts like hell and he feels like he’s going to vomit. He barely manages to crack his eyes open after being blinded under the bright light above him. Marco tries to bring his hand to his head to block the light, but he’s restrained by his wrists and ankles.
The third man in the room must hear the movement, because he suddenly sounds much closer than before.
“Good to see you regaining consciousness. If Braun had brought you back for nothing I would have fed him to someone else myself.” He chuckles. “No, soldier. You and I are going to have a lot of fun together.”
From what Marco can see, the man is older, dressed in a long tan coat. He looks like he might be military, but this isn’t any uniform he’s ever seen before. He’s skinny, built more like a scientist than a soldier. His graying hair has been pushed back away from his face. He has a long scar running down from below his left eye to his chin.
Marco looks around as he tries to gain a better sense of his surroundings. He’s been stripped of his jacket, gear, and boots. His white uniform pieces are dirty and covered in dried blood. The room he’s in resembles an infirmary, but it’s much different than the military hospital in Trost. The bright light above him isn’t flickering like a candle, and there’s no windows in this room.
“I’m sure you have questions,” the man continues. “Where you are, who I am, amongst others. All questions that will be answered in due time. But in the meantime, soldier, I have some of my own. What’s your name?”
“M-Marco Bodt. Member of the 104th Cadet Corps. Commander of the Nineteenth Cadet squad. Please, where am I?”
The man chuckles again and rests his hand on Marco’s thigh. He shivers.
“Hello Marco. You are going to help me with my research on Eldian abilities. Since Reiner has decided you were worth saving and bringing you so very far, you must be very special, Marco Bodt.”
Marco’s mouth has run dry, his heartbeat is loud in his ears. He is very, very afraid.
“Who are you?” he manages. The man flashes him a wicked smile, his scar crinkling.
“You will refer to me as Doctor Fellner. I am the head of Eldian research here in Helios. And I am very excited to get to know you better.” Doctor Fellner starts walking away towards a large desk across the room and starts shuffling papers.
“I will be seeing you, Marco. My men will be with you soon, but for now I have others to attend to. But you and I are going to have a very special relationship, you can count on that. Ciao,” Fellner says as he exits, leaving Marco without even a chance to speak.
As the heavy door slams, Marco becomes acutely aware of the danger he is in. The man, Fellner, had been talking to Reiner and Bertholdt before, so clearly he isn’t the only person here. Were they prisoners too? But why aren’t they tied down with him? What did he mean that Reiner had brought him here?
Now that Marco is more awake he can comprehend more of his surroundings. Medical instruments line the wall behind the desk. There’s lots of syringes and knives scattered around the room along with other horrifying looking instruments. Marco swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. He doesn’t get much more time to be afraid before the door slams open again and three more men appear. These men are wearing strange white uniforms with gray armbands. Without warning, they approach the table and start untying Marco’s restraints.
Marco doesn’t think. As soon as his arms are free he swings at the man closest to him and collides with his face. The man screams and clutches at his nose. Marco manages to dodge the other men and practically falls off the table trying to get away. But before he can get too far one of the other men has grabbed him by the arm and is forcing him back towards the table. He slams Marco’s head down and has one arm restrained behind his back. He’s in so much pain already, and the blow to the head has rendered him nearly incapacitated. One of the men appears behind him with a syringe, and a sharp pinch happens before he’s even dizzier than before. The two uninjured men start to drag him away and into the hallway, and all he can do is attempt to drag his feet to stop them, but it’s no use.
He can’t decipher how long or where they’re taking him until suddenly they enter another cold and sterile room, this time with stalls and water hoses. The injured guard, now with a piece of bloodied gauze stuffed in his nose, appears in front of Marco and starts unbuttoning his uniform shirt. Marco tries and tries to fight his way out of the guards grips but whatever they injected him with has left him weak, hardly able to hold himself up.
“Please…” he begs, nearly a whisper, but the guard does not stop.
After pushing his sleeves down his arms he makes quick work of his pants. Marco tries hard to kick the man in the face but to no avail. The man is rough, yanking the fabric away.
Removed of his clothes, the men shove Marco into one of the stalls. He is cold, so very cold, and he’s trying to hold himself up and hide himself against the wall when suddenly a harsh blast of freezing water hits him. He screams, suddenly more lucid, but the pressure of the water is too much. One of the men is laughing as Marco is forced to the ground by the blast.
Marco doesn’t even register that he’s begging for them to stop and screaming until the water finally stops. His skin is red and raw where the water slammed into him. Curled up on the tile, Marco shakes and shakes. He is ashamed that these men are seeing him like this, angry that he is too weak to fight back, but most of all he is terrified of what they are going to do next. Dripping and freezing, he cries. Tears are silently streaming down his face and suddenly three pairs of hands are on him again, dragging him to his feet. This time, one of the other men has procured a cloth sack that he forces over Marco’s head. His hands are restrained behind his back and without any of his clothes he is quickly being led out the door and back into the corridor. All the fight has been drained out of him, and he hates himself for it.
After walking for ages eventually there is the sound of heavy metal moving, and the cloth is ripped off Marco’s face. The man with the bloodied nose violently shoves him into another small, bright room, hardly bigger than the small cot and toilet inside it. As Marco catches himself against the wall the door slams behind him. None of them had uttered a single word towards him.
He’s still soaking wet, and the concrete walls of the cell aren’t keeping in any heat. On top of the cot, once Marco manages to orient himself, there is a folded white shirt and pair of light blue pants made of a thin material. Sniffling, he gingerly slips the baggy garments on, relieved to no longer be completely bare. The tears haven’t stopped running down his face, but as he slowly lays down on the cot, he can’t stop himself from sobbing.
Do the others know he is alive? Do they know where he is? As far as he’s been able to deduce he isn’t in Trost, muchless within the walls. He can’t remember what happened after approaching Reiner and Bertholdt on the rooftops.
Marco is a soldier. He survived his father, he survived the Cadet Corps, he survived Trost. He tries and tries to convince himself he can survive this too, but for now he lays on this rough, straw cot in his threadbare clothes, and he shakes himself into a restless sleep.