Chapter Text
February 1944.
Nazi Germany.
As the sun rises on a cold winter day, Mikasa comes to herself with a start. With no purpose other than to goad her into waking, the frigid air lands upon her face. Against her better wishes, her eyes slowly release their close.
Shaking off any remnants of her rest, she stands up and methodically stretches for a few moments. After which, she gazes out the window, looking at the snowfall. Placing a finger outside of her window, she catches a snowflake.
Slowly, she then makes her way to the dresser. She puts on her bra, a buttoned shirt, and fitted pants. Hooked on the wall, she took a greatcoat, grabbing it at the waist and straightening it. Lazily, she throws it over her shoulders. She did not outfit herself with too much excitement. When pinning her iron cross on the breast of her greatcoat however, she took a slight pride.
She stepped into her boots and walked towards her door. Grabbing her keys, she steps foot outside into the snow. Her foot sinks slightly, enclosed by the white powder. She continues down her pathway, making it to her car. Teasing her with a few throttles, the car starts.
Mikasa made her way to a compound, her place of work. The words above the gate read “Work sets you free”. She barely glanced at the words before meeting her coworker’s gaze in the checkpoint booth.
“Sasha,” she said in monotone, handing her an ID.
“C-Commander Ackerman!” Her coworker raised her hand in a salute, then grabbed the ID.
Mikasa stared daggers at Sasha as she fumbled to check her ID.
“Erm… Y-You know there’s some new ones coming in today, right?” Sasha said while handing the ID back, as if to ward off a bear.
“Oh?” said Mikasa, with the first hint of intrigue Sasha had ever heard from her.
Sasha’s face flushed. “Yeah..! A w-whole new batch! We can have one sent to your quarters first, if you’d like..!”
Mikasa shook her head in response. “I’ll be there for the initiations.”
Sasha nodded and, without waiting another second, Mikasa drove off.
Parking her car, she gazed around the compound. The clear chain of command that had been established—the shouted commands in German, the smoke that filled her lungs, its pungent smell. That was how she knew work had started.
Mikasa walked around, following a mental path she had laid out many times before. Passing by the cells, she did not bother to slam on the bars and demand silence. She simply turned her head, and for some, the silence followed. An officer passing by chuckled.
“You’ve really got a hold on things, huh Ackerman? Wish my dog would shut up if I just stared at it.”
Mikasa simply tilted her head upwards in response and continued walking.
After three hours, a bus pulled through the entrance Mikasa had used. She followed the bus, closely on its tail.
Looking from side-to-side, she saw familiar, dull, sights. Left, the warehouses she had already walked by, seemingly even more filled, somehow. Right, the factories where the prisoners worked. All of it, too bleak. It didn’t seem to matter to her, however. Her job was simply to ensure the immeability of the compound, and that she would do.
The bus made its stop at the initiation building, Mikasa’s boots grinding the gravel beneath her as she also came to a stop. She watched as the passengers were removed, staring into their eyes, looking for something.
Each prisoner was thrown off the bus, full of life yet lacking resistance. She scowled as some even had to be picked up off the ground. The winter manifested in their faces, telling the story of a summer long passed.
Yet, in her gaze, she found what she had been looking for. A young man who’s eyes had the remnants of a fire that had been snuffed out in the others. About her age, he was being escorted off the bus. He thrashed against the hands that kept him restrained, like a rabid dog.
“Let me go!” he shouted at the guard who was manhandling him. “I won't let you do this!”
Despite the hostility in his voice, his cries were more of a plea than a demand. Mikasa smirked.
Having given him no more than a few seconds of resistance, the guard holding him slammed his face on the ground multiple times. She pulled him up, face bloodied, and threw him to another guard to be escorted.
After he had been sent to be processed, she approached the woman who had been handling those in the bus.
“Annie,” she said, “the new prisoners?”
The auricomous woman turned to Mikasa, strapping away her gun she had held while handling the prisoners.
“Nothing, if not weak.” She shrugged in retort.
“I apologize for getting personally involved,” Mikasa replied, “but that green-eyed one. What about him?”
“Some kind of hero to the
Untermenschen
. All bark and no bite, though.”
“Hm. Really?”
Annie shakes her head. “We need that one alive,” she replies to the thought she presumes Mikasa has.
“We don’t need any of them alive.” Mikasa responded.
“For him? We do. Something about making ‘an example of him to the others’.”
Mikasa regards Annie’s words, then nods. “I just want to meet him. Can you organize that?”
“I don’t have a choice, commander,” she remarked apathetically. “Talk to Reiner. He handles the new ones.”
Without any confirmation, Mikasa followed the path of the prisoners. Only after a few feet however, she looked back.
“Oh, Annie?”
“Yes, commander?”
“Never fucking touch him like that again.”
Despite her words, Mikasa’s gaze was simply an empty death stare. Annie met her gaze with her own.
“Yes, commander.”
Mikasa turned around and continued on the path the prisoners had taken, determined. The scent of smoke filled her lungs as she walked further.
As she reached the first divergence of the path, she came across a building she had only been in once or twice before. The ‘sorting room’, they had called it. It was where the officers would decide how to use the inmates. Whether in the factories, the fields, or somewhere else. If decided suitable for work, they would then be showered and sent to the infirmary, to ensure peak condition.
Amongst the crowds, Mikasa’s eyes found a broad, imposing man sorting a pile of inmates.
“Reiner.”
The man paused and glanced over to her. His face seemed to give a slight light as he walked towards her.
“Mikasa! How are you?” He gave a light punch to her shoulder.
“Good,” she responded. “Yourself?”
“Just a bit bored.” Reiner threw his chin upwards slightly. “What are you doing here, anyways? You got a shift here now?”
Mikasa shook her head.
“I have a favor to ask you.”
Reiner raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
Mikasa nodded.
“Alright then, what’s the favor?”
“The green-eyed boy with short brown hair,” she says, pointing back towards his crowd. “I want you to send him to the factory. If absolutely necessary he can be sent to the fields, but nowhere else. Make sure he visits the infirmary as well.”
“That’s all?” Reiner responds. “You know I send as many as I can to either of those two anyways,” he laughs.
“Fine. Then he’ll be sent to the factories?”
Reiner gave a thumbs up. “Of course.”
He paused for a moment.
“I am curious, though,” he continued, “why do you take an interest in him?”
Mikasa did not respond.
A grin slowly appeared on Reiner’s face as he came to a conclusion.
“Don’t.” Mikasa said.
“It couldn’t be,” Reiner said while slinging his arm around her shoulders, much to her dismay, “that you intend to be his knight in shining armor?”
Mikasa groaned. “Stop, Reiner. Go back to your job.”
Reiner let out a hearty laugh, but made sure to keep his voice quiet enough for only her to hear. “I’m just teasing you. Be that knight in shining armor. I’ll do what I can!” After a slap on the back, Reiner walks back to his position.
“You! You’re next, come up here!” Reiner says, pointing at the boy Mikasa had described.
Reiner assessed the boy, then nodded. “What’s your name?”
The boy scowled at him. “I won't tell you people anything.”
Reiner groaned.
“I’m trying to make your life easy here man, I really am.”
“Eren. His name is Eren.” A smaller boy besides Eren spoke up.
Both Reiner and Eren turned to the boy.
“Armin?!” Eren said. “What are you doing?”
“We shouldn’t do anything to stick out, Eren,” Armin replied. “Just go along with it.”
Reiner nodded sagely. “Listen to your friend.”
Eren stared at Reiner, his gaze speaking for him.
“You’ll both be going to the factories,” Reiner continued. “Not the hardest job, but not the easiest.”
Eren pulled Armin closer to his side.
Reiner pointed at one of many doors behind him. “That door will take you to the showers. You’ll be cleaned off, sent to the infirmary for a check-up, then given new clothes and your rooms.”
Armin responded affirmatively, while Eren hid any hint of emotion on his face. They walked toward the door. Glancing to the left, Eren saw dozens of inmates being corralled toward another door. They pleaded, grabbing at the guards’ shirts, only to be comforted by the strike of a baton. It didn’t make sense. Why was he being treated like this, and them like… that ?
Entering the showers, Eren and Armin were separated.
“You first, Tier . Special treatment,” the man inside said while pointing a finger at Eren.
Eren looked back at Armin, but gave a slight tilt of his head to reassure him.
“It’ll just be a second, Armin. I’ll see you on the other side.”
Armin mewled in response, but shook his head.
The doors closed as Eren stepped in, separating them. The stench of mold seeped into his nose, complemented only by the creaking of the wooden floors. He made his way to the center of the room, looking at the officer before him.
“Strip.”
Eren didn’t particularly like the clothes he was wearing. They were simply whatever he could throw on when the officers barged through his door, demanding to relocate him. The walk, and subsequent rides during the relocation, didn’t help his clothes either. They were much more dirty and tattered than before.
So, why did it matter so much to him? They were his.
“Strip.”
Slowly, Eren pulled off his shirt, his bravery. Then, his pants, his pride. Lastly, his underwear, socks, and shoes. His strength.
“Toss them to the side. You have no need for them.”
In the corner of the room, a pile of clothes that had gone unnoticed to Eren. Some soaked, some ripped, some only shreds. He hesitated for a moment, then placed his clothes in the pile.
Without a second of preparation, he was doused in the cold water of the hose. His eyes shot open as the water jolted him to his core. Seeping into each pore, he felt as though he’d go through hypothermia any second now. He turned around, begging for it to end. So it did. Just as soon as it began, it ended.
“Grab a rag to dry off. Leave.” The man waved Eren off.
Eren grabbed a rag and dried himself off. ‘The worst was over,’ Eren told himself. He knew the deception in his own words. He just wished to comfort himself.
He exited the showers to be greeted by the woman who had handled him earlier.
“Come with me,” Annie said.
“Where’s my friend? I was told he could stay by my side. He has to,” Eren replied.
Annie groaned. “He’ll be there when you get back. You have something important to do right now.”
“I won’t leave without him!”
“You’re only going to make things worse for both of you. Follow my orders.”
After a few more seconds of contemplation, Eren followed Annie.
Mikasa approached a large white building, the only building, excluding the officers’ barracks, that looked somewhat clean.
She opened the doors to the infirmary. The smells of chemicals seeped into her nose. Passing by the front desk, she led herself to the office of the head doctor, knocking on his door.
Papers could be heard shuffling inside the room, and it was only a few moments until the door opened. Behind it stood a tall, blonde man. He moved circular frames from the top of his head to the bridge of his nose, peering at Mikasa.
“Commander Ackerman,” he said as he widened the door. “A pleasure. What can I do for you?”
“Zeke. A prisoner will arrive here to be inspected by you. I need to take your place.” She replied bluntly.
He raised an eyebrow, and gestured for her to come in. “This sounds like quite the private matter. Let us not discuss in earshot of others.”
Mikasa walked past Zeke’s gesture, sitting on the stool intended for patients. He closed the door fully, ensuring to lock it.
“So,” he continued, “you wish to take my place for just a single patient?”
“Not take. I will display myself as the head doctor for this patient.” Mikasa responded.
Zeke shrugged and raised his eyebrows. “As my superior, I can’t exactly deny your request can I?”
“I’m informing you of what will happen.” Mikasa stated indifferently.
Amused by Mikasa’s bluntness, Zeke smirked.
“While I am curious about your reasoning, I suppose some things are better left unasked.”
“Even if they were asked, they would go unanswered.”
Zeke gave a chuckle. “As I expected.”
After a few moments, he pointed at the corner of the room, where white coats hung.
“Grab a lab coat. I assume the inmate is my next patient? If so, I’ll make haste to get out of your way.”
Mikasa nodded, grabbing a lab coat. She watched as Zeke left the room, and allowed her greatcoat to fall to her feet. She threw the lab coat over her shoulders, the sleeves slightly too long. Regardless, she rolled them up and buttoned the coat.
She moved the antibiotics and microscope, which had taken up most of the counter, to the side. In their wake, she placed a flashlight, scalpel, and tattoo gun. She pushed up the sleeves that had slipped too low once again. Bending down, she opened a cabinet. In it lay a fresh pair of surgical gloves, which she slipped on to her hands. Next to where they had been, a face mask. Mikasa observed it for a moment, placing it on her face. She walked before a mirror in the room and looked at herself. After a few moments of deliberation, she removed it from her face and placed it back.
As Mikasa sat in the higher stool, intended for doctors, she glanced back at the tools she had laid out. The scalpel glinted ever so slightly. She stood up and approached them, grabbing the flashlight. This model was a newer invention—pressing the clip would easily turn on the light. She pressed it, ensuring its reliability.
Only a few seconds later, a knock was heard at the door. Mikasa walked towards the door and opened it. Behind it stood Annie, accompanied by the prisoner she had instructed her to bring. Annie pushed him, and he moved into the office. After nodding to Mikasa, Annie closed the door and left.
Mikasa looked him up and down, then pointed at the stool. “Sit.”
Eren hid his scowl and sat on the stool, begging his examination would go by quickly.
Mikasa withdrew the flashlight from her pocket and approached Eren.
“Name and age.”
“Eren Yeager,” he replied. “19.”
“We’re about the same age,” Mikasa responded as she opened his mouth with her hand.
Despite the fact he physically couldn’t, Eren had no care to make small talk with a nazi.
“I’m Mikasa Ackerman.” She gave a smirk.
Eren couldn’t tell what it was, but something in her smirk disturbed him. It appeared as if she had never done it before, like an alien trying to learn human mannerisms.
“I just turned 20.”
Mikasa turned off the flashlight and placed it in her pocket.
“Looks fine.”
Eren continued his silence. In response, Mikasa grabbed the tattoo gun.
Mikasa made a grab for Eren’s arm. “Hold out your arm, Liebling .”
Eren pulled his arm back as quickly as he could, but Mikasa’s iron grip remained.
“What are you doing?!” he shouted.
“Give me your arm,” she replied sternly. “This is how they know not to kill you.”
At her words, Eren’s eyes went foggy. He understood very well that he was by no means ‘safe’ here. Yet, something in his mind allowed him to ignore it for a short while—to feign ignorance, perhaps, to stop himself from going mad with fear. Only now did he truly accept reality: he would bear witness to atrocities.
With a slight shake, Eren stopped his resistance. Mikasa handed a rag to his other hand.
“I’ve heard the needle can be painful.”
Unsure, Eren waited. However, after it became apparent she wouldn’t start until he bit down on it, he did such. He watched as the needle began to shoot up and down faster, threatening him with each movement. The anxiety had already made him bite down. As the needle made contact with his skin, that bite tightened. The needle of the shoddy tattoo gun was much too wide and shaky.
Agonizing number by agonizing number, Eren’s moans of agony continued to be suppressed by the rag. As the stake bore through his arm, he felt as though his pain would never end. He choked back bile in his throat as his fingers involuntarily clawed at his seat. Each stomp of the needle was like a gunshot. After the longest forty-five seconds of his life, the tattoo was finished.
Across the inner part of his inflamed left arm, ‘210835’ was tattooed.
Eren’s jaw released its iron grip as he held back tears. The rag fell to his lap. Mikasa’s gaze fell on his figure, looking him up and down. The clothes they gave weren’t too strong.
She shook her head. Too soon.
Placing a hand on his shoulder, she attempted to speak to him.
“Eren—”
He slapped her hand away. In less than a second, she struck him across the face in response.
Eren looked up at her, stunned, expecting an explanation. However, he was only met with a cold, disapproving gaze. She slowly removed her gloves and opened the door, Annie waiting behind it. She walked into the room and grabbed Eren.
“You’re going to your room. Come.”
His ‘room’, as it turned out, was located in one of the many large warehouses, referred to by the officers as barracks. The room itself was barely larger than the size of an elevator, a third of the space being taken by the three-tiered bunk bed.
After being thrown into his room, Eren saw Armin. He immediately ran to him, grabbing him in a hug.
“Armin! Are you alright? What did they do to you?” He spoke with fear in his voice, the same fear he had during his ‘appointment’.
“Eren… It’s okay, I’m okay… Are you?”
Eren nodded and quickly looked at Armin’s arm, only to see a similar tattoo. He bit down on his lip.
“It’s okay…” Armin replied. “That’s the worst they did.”
Eren slowed his breathing, then calmed down. With more reason, he became more aware of his surroundings. Most interestingly, the girl sitting on the first tier of the bed. He looked at her with a hint of confusion. Following his gaze, Armin responded with an ‘ah’, and walked towards her.
“Historia,” he said to the girl while pointing at Eren, “this is Eren. Eren, Historia.”
His concerned gaze on her softened, but his confusion remained.
“Isn’t this the men’s block? Why is a woman here?”
“I am,” she stepped forward, “but they thought I was fit for manual labor, so I was sent here.”
He processed her words for a few moments, then nodded. “I see. It’s nice to meet you then, Historia.”
She gave a soft smile. “You as well, Eren. Armin’s told me quite the stories about you two.”
Her warm energy infected him, causing him to smile at her comment. “He better not have said anything embarrassing.” He looked at Armin, who was hiding a smile.
“No, no,” Historia shook her head, “just funny things to pass the time.”
A short silence filled their room.
“What about you, Historia? I didn’t want to ask until Eren got here, but what was life like for you before… all of this?” Armin broke the silence.
Historia looked at him with sorrow. “I have this… friend. I met her in my orphanage. I was eleven and she was thirteen. It was silly, but we always told each other that when we grew up, we’d be in the same family.”
She drew circles on the ground with her fingers.
“One day, she disappeared. I found out she had been adopted. I sobbed into my pillow that night, wishing she would come back. Even if just to tease me for my height. And… she did. But she was… sadder than before. She didn’t show it, but I could tell.”
Historia’s hands curled into balls.
“When I gained the courage, I asked her. She told me that the people who adopted her hurted her, and that she could never be subjugated under someone ever again. We could never. We only needed each other. Then… this happened.”
Eren grabbed her white-knuckled hand.
“Historia,” he said, “I promise you, you will see her again. We’ll leave here together, all of us.”
She gave a slight smile that contrasted with her despondent eyes.
He raised her hand up to his face. “As long as we have our will and each other, they can’t do anything to us."