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They were known simply as the Walls, and even that was enough to inspire terror. It was whispered in dark corners, but never more than once – it was thought that even that was enough to bring them down upon a person. The tales were legends, and each of them true; or rather, each of them believed to be true, and wasn’t that the whole point? Truth, lies, they were one and the same if enough people could be convinced.
They were a group. It was not known how many they numbered in total; their shadow spread far and wide, from the Inner City palace to the outer region of Trost, they left no place unsullied. They were at least three, though, that much could be agreed upon.
First was Maria, so named because he was always the first a mark would see. Bold, brash, and impossible to miss, he was the first line of defence, and often the only defence required. Horror stories had spread quickly – of his malice, of his bloodlust, of his fury and his ruthless countenance. There were thousands of accounts from those that claimed to see him in person, and know him for who he was; none of these accounts could agree on anything physical besides his eyes. Bright, they said, full of the wild madness of a demon, as devoid of feeling as a titan. Whether a life was taken or spared made little difference to him. He was not, could not be human.
Second was Rose, who followed Maria as a shadow, unseen unless deemed necessary; the second line of defence. Stronger than Maria, and faster, she was as happy wielding a knife as she was fighting with only her body as a weapon. Horror stories had spread quickly – of her tenacity, of her wickedness, of her ferocity and her frigid anger. There were thousands of accounts from those that claimed to see her in person, and know her for who she was; none of these accounts could agree on anything physical besides her mouth. A knife-slash from cheek to cheek, they said, stark and cruel, as unsmiling as a god. All lives were beneath her, for she was stronger, and she was better. She was not, could not be human.
Third was Sina, who was kept hidden by the mere presence of his first defences, and the final hope of the three. He was their centre, their heart, their mind; he never fought because he did not have to. Horror stories had spread quickly – the unseen foe is always more terrifying than any other, and the mere thought of someone controlling Maria and Rose was enough to make hardened criminals weep. There were no accounts, for none that had seen him and known him for who he was had lived to speak of it. Yet there were rumours, rumours that spoke of eyes in the dark, and a hand on the shoulder of a Wall. He made the decisions that were carried out without question. He was human, and that made him the most terrifying of the three.
*****
The boy was young; a pathetic scrap of a child, with bare feet so coated in dirt that he likely couldn’t feel the ground beneath his soles, and hair that fell long and matted into his eyes. It was impossible to tell what shade his clothes had once been, though they were so full of holes he might have been better of forgoing them completely.
He was essentially invisible on the streets of Trost – or rather, folks made a pointed effort not to as much as glance in his direction. A beggar may as well be part of the brick work, he mused – but then, so much the better for him.
If he so chose, he could draw the eye of everyone here, his very own captive audience. That would be stupid, though, and reckless. Armin had planned this down to the last detail, and he couldn’t afford to mess up now. From the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of red, and felt himself relax slightly; even in this, he was not alone.
Following the winding cobbles, he looked for all the world like any other refugee, escaped from the landfill for a day in the town begging, hoping to scrounge a living without backbreaking labour. He knew where he was going, of course, but he meandered his way there. It wouldn’t do for him to look purposeful; that might attract the notice of a passer-by, and even that would be too much of a risk. After coming all this way, he wouldn’t stumble at the final hurdle. He wouldn’t let Armin down.
The house was small, nondescript, and not the sort of place one might expect to find a member of the royal family; he knew better. Many a deal was struck in a place like this – far less conspicuous than a darkened alley, after all, and you only had to pay the right people to ensure that word never got out.
It was unfortunate for this arrogant bastard that he thought anyone was the right person if he threw around enough money.
Oak door, he noted dispassionately – far too nice for the area, and could they really have been any more obvious if they’d actively tried? Still, he raised a hand to knock, careful to never glance back at the street where he knew Mikasa would be waiting.
He knew the girl that answered the door of old; she owed him her life, and more besides, but it meant nothing to him. She stepped aside to let him in, cooing loudly over the poor boy, insisting that he come in and sit down, her master would never forgive her if she left him on the streets, can she fetch him some bread or water? As soon as the door slammed shut, the mask was gone, her face twisted and soured like bad milk.
“I want you to know that I don’t like this,” she said. He frowned at her.
“I’m not asking you to like it,” he said. “But you came to us, so let us get on with it in our way.”
“I’m serious!” She hissed. “If you fuck this up, I could lose my position here!” He didn’t need to ask why it was so important to her – it was difficult for a prostitute to find a respectable job, and even more so for one as young and pretty as Kalyn. However her master may treat her, she was one of the fortunate ones.
It was enough to make him sick.
A glance around the room revealed little of note; none of the things that Armin had told him to watch for. Nonetheless, he moved to open the window, and flicked a cloth down so that it covered the mirror. He was not naturally a superstitious person, but the princeling was. If he could unsettle the pig even before he got started, then it would make everything so much more effective. And that was, after all, their main aim. He couldn’t let the filthy man distract him – there was too much riding on it.
It took scant minutes to set up, but each detail was crucial. The prince couldn’t know that he was walking into a trap until it was already too late.
Mikasa slipped past him on silent feet, her hand lingering on his shoulder. He nodded to her.
They were not kept waiting long.
When the door slammed open, he knew it could only be the prince. Though this house was commonly rented out to minor criminals, there was no possibility that this was anyone else. The master of the house wouldn’t dare double book the prince. He wasn’t sure if the master of the house had any idea what it was that the prince had gotten involved in – he hoped not. If that were the case, then he would seriously regret letting the man live.
Eren took a deep breath and let his eyes well up.
*****
The official story was that the prince had eloped with his mistress to some rural town in the midst of Wall Rose in the hopes of a simple life away from prying eyes. The King, of course, was more than happy to go along with this – perhaps he even believed it himself, a little. It would be just like his idiot boy, after all. It was so easy to ignore all of the tell-tale signs of outside interference.
Everyone in the underworld knew that the Walls chased only the most deserving of their wrath.
*****
The first clue was that Military Police rations were disappearing from within the locked storeroom. They were left unguarded for mere minutes each day, and security had been tightened regularly.
The second clue was that the refugees suddenly seemed to have enough to eat.
Eren was surprised it took them as long as it did to start suspecting foul play. Originally, the brass had blamed rats (idiots, the whole lot of them) but even they had been hard pressed to explain away the missing cannon, the rifles, the tanks of gas, the maps, the 3DMG and the money. There was also the row of shallow graves out behind the privy, but that hadn’t been found yet, and the soldiers hadn’t been gone long enough to be officially classed as dead in the eyes of the law.
Either way, Eren decided as he hefted the pack higher up his shoulder, there was simply no way every member of the military could be that terminally stupid. Suddenly he was struck with an understanding of how Armin must view the rest of humanity as a whole and struggled to shake it off.
No, it was far better to put the gear into the hands of those who would actually bother to use it. He understood that the funding for the Scouting Legion had been cut once again; unacceptable. Heads would roll for that, if he had his way.
Still, that was something better left to Armin. He was the one with connections.
As he walked the streets unnoticed, he mused on how easy it was for a child to be overlooked here in the city – amongst the refugees, a child was easy prey. They rarely lived long. Starvation, malnutrition, disease, accidents, murder; children were particularly susceptible to them all (though not them, oh no) and were rarely given a second thought by the military police. Too busy protecting all of the little noble bastards, no doubt.
Against his thigh, the knife bumped along with his footsteps. The cannon fodder in the pack was heavy but not unbearable. They were stockpiling again – currently there was nothing for them to use it on, but that didn’t mean they would never need it. Better safe than sorry, as his mother used to say.
He slipped between the crooked buildings into a narrow alleyway and waited.
One. Two. Now!
Eren pivoted on the ball of his foot, the cannonballs colliding with his follower’s head. They made a satisfyingly solid thud, followed swiftly by a second as the man collapsed at his feet. Gingerly, he nudged the still form with the toe of his boot and considered it critically. The man wouldn’t be waking any time soon – if at all – and it was very unlikely that he had seen Eren. Certainly he wouldn’t have known what had hit him.
Shouldn’t take any chances, though.
*****
“Six shipments of cigarettes, three of alcohol – hi Eren – two of class A, five of class B, thirteen of class C – top shelf, Mikasa – twenty rifles, forty ration packs, and…” Armin looked up questioningly.
“Four cannonballs,” Eren returned, dropping them carefully at his feet. Armin eyed the blood on the sack with a critical little sigh, though he said nothing. Only nodded to himself and made a note of it in his logbook. Oh what the military police and the courtrooms wouldn’t do to get their hands on Armin’s logbook.
“Not bad,” Mikasa commented idly, glancing around at their little stockroom. Once a set of stables fallen into near unsalvageable disrepair, they had long since repurposed it. It was close enough to several major trading points that it allowed them easy access to business, but was well-hidden amidst forest and wilderness. Few stumbling across it would guess at its true use. Fewer still would dare venture inside to check. By mutual agreement, they had left the exterior as dilapidated as possible. It looked ready to fall on their heads at any given moment; none of them were particularly bothered by the notion.
For a while they stood in total silence.
“I would like to go outside this evening,” Mikasa murmured eventually – the room was quiet enough that they could have heard if she’d breathed the words. Armin agreed and they slipped into the 3DMG like a secret.
And if, at the end of the day, they fell into an exhausted heap together, bruised, bloodied and panting, then that was their secret too.
*****
A body missing. A bloodstain here or a footprint there. A whisper. A rumour.
The Walls did it, they said. The Walls did it. Watch for the titan eyes and knife-slash smile. That’s the only warning.
And run. Run.
*****
Time passed, as time liked to do. Children grew, as was their habit. The fear that had settled over the rich, the corrupt, and the low-down criminals of the underworld grew heavy with each day.
And still the Walls were closing in.
*****
No-one asked Levi who the new recruits were. Didn’t ask why he’d taken them in so suddenly after Trost. Didn’t ask about the strange reports that had started to filter in. Didn’t ask about the sudden influx of supplies. They knew that he had his connections still, connections that they were better off knowing nothing about, and so they were careful not to pry.
Apart from Hanji, of course, but everyone expected them to pry.
(And Erwin, though no-one else would know until much, much later.)
No-one asked about the stench of fear that seemed a permanent fixture in their presence. Didn’t ask why they couldn’t look too long at vibrant, smiling eyes or the quirk of thin, pleased lips.
They all had their suspicions. And they all knew the consequences of knowing.
*****
They called them the Walls. A protection and a cage all at once. Relentless, unfathomable. Dangerous.
They called them the Walls. And the Walls were getting out.