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The night has grown dark, subsiding the thick atmosphere it held just a few hours ago. Exchanging the loud banters and shouts with soft snores and untrusting stares. Lowly lit campfire highlights the tensed faces trying to convince themselves to sleep, reminding the lives they’ve got to safe tomorrow day.
On the side of the resting men, a huge creature awaits. The quadrupedal being stares quietly at the defenseless people, noting the tiniest movement they forms. Its heavy breath is almost voiceless, blending with the whirling wind—waiting for the perfect moment where everybody is at peace; dead as a log.
As the anticipated time comes, it slowly moves—rising from its idle position. Each step it took is gentle, only able to stir the slightest amount of sleep these restless soldiers were enjoying. Someone might open their eyes and wakes up for a couple of seconds, just to brush if off and return back to their realm of dreams. A couple of orbs, though, decide not to flutter their lids close for the second time.
According to the agreed plan earlier, the Quadrupedal Titan was supposed to slip early on in the morning and reach out the harbour they planned to invade—making sure the condition was as similar as it could be with their hopes; despite the odds. Yet it’s still too early for the creature to depart—the moon had just taken its place a couple of hours ago, the sun has yet to show its cue.
Carefully crawling, the titan halts its movement by a tree near the site—few meters in distance, enough for no one to be able to disturb whatever it’s doing. Smoke slowly blows from its nape, revealing a figure of a young woman—wavy black hair and red marks on her cheeks—who carefully slides from the enormous remnants, detaching herself from the binding flesh.
Pieck, the woman, doesn’t say anything. Her steps are little staggered, muscles groggy from the sudden change. The noises of her feet grappling the bushes may be a bit of a disturbance to those who hear—which fortunately, none. Pieck continues to stride away, abandoning the heating carcass.
Her legs give in not so long after—as she lets herself fall to the cold grasses, Pieck inhales a sharp portion of oxygen. Her hand fishes a parchment in one of her jacket pocket without even looking—a small note, folded and crumpled (albeit seemingly not intentional), with the torn edges visible. Her dark orbs dare themselves to gaze down as her fingers unfolds the paper, revealing a written note; smudged ink and messy handwriting.
pieck.
there’s something i need to tell you.
meet me by the bakery.
12 pm. don’t be late.
ps. don’t laugh
porco.
12 PM. A long 12 PM ago—few days that feels like a century given by all the events catching their tails. Pieck remembers in her vivid memory the exact time she was given this particular note: just before she enters the meeting room, that person slides a carelessly tucked paper to her pocket. Purposely pressing his finger onto Pieck’s figure to notice her—which, actually, she would’ve had even without him doing it (though, she does appreciate).
As much as Pieck wants to keep it for later and focus on what she has to do now, the small piece of paper proved to be hard to discard from her mind. Haunting her like a folktale ghost, tingling her senses with fear and guilt—thickly combined into a somekind of a nightmarish solution that chokes her to suffocation. The simple words rang, along with the visage of a man she admittedly has been placing her attention on.
Pieck is not oblivious. She perfectly knew what the letter meant—it could only have a single denotation, especially with the way she closely knew the person who wrote the note. The same question she’s been asking herself in the midst of all this apocalypse—a matter of heart she’s unable to escape—getting answered even before she had the courage to ask.
Everything she’s had, Pieck is grateful of it all. She’s gifted lovingly with everything she could ask for. The hardworks truly pay off, leading her to the path she’d always dreamt of. Securing a good life for her father, the trust of government on her shoulder, a compatible and sensible team to work with—and to top it all, a person she could put her focus on.
If anything… it was only time that wasn’t on her side.
Pieck clutches the paper close to her chest following the sudden heaviness binding her lungs. Her eyes sting, teeth biting into the inner part of her lower lip. After the time she’d waited and expected, she was very close to getting an answer to a question never asked. A wonder in her short lifetime, a chance for something she’d never be able to have in the future.
Whatever he was promising her—if it’s truly the answer she’s been longing for or just yet another hollowed crisp conversation that Pieck secretly enjoys, he didn’t tell her. Never got the chance to. Instead of his charming figure standing in front of the bakery, the last thing Pieck saw from him was blood—his blood—and a punch of misery in his very tender stare.
It hurts like none other. Pieck wanted to reach out—wanted to come for him when he needed help, holding his hand and leading his way out; so Pieck can listen what he had originally wanted to tell. Or at least she can tell him to wait a little bit more so she can take him to her favourite flower field. Or at least she can see him before they depart forever. Or at least she could tell him the time wasn’t right—
“Pieck,” A deep voice calls her name coming from her back. Pieck pushes the letter back to her pocket before even properly folding it, letting the small piece crumples even more. “You’re not resting.”
Back of hand immediately scraps the remaining of Pieck’s almost-tears. She’s still a soldier, afterall, and she believed soldiers should not exhibit their weakness no matter what time or to whom. Her hand reaches out the tree log near her.
“General Magath, I’m sorry,” She turns her body, the soft light of moonshine falls behind her; leaving cast of shadow covering her bloodshot optics. The man understands, albeit not being able to properly observe the girl’s emotions. “Change of plans. I’ll go now. Waiting will only cause greater harm.”
Pieck flips her small blade, sustaining enough scratch on her hand needed for the transformation. Eyes casting down, as if waiting for something to be heard.
“Aren’t you tired?”
“Not at all,” Pieck shakes her head, abandoning the fact over her darkened eyebags. It’s okay—no one can see anyway. “I’ll meet you by the pathway in the morning. May we all are in favor of luck, General.”
Not even waiting her superior officer’s comment, Pieck’s head clicks and the light of titan transformation emits. A new body of the quadruped is reconstructed, fully functional and replenished of energy—or so it seems. Pieck turns away and begins to set a pace. Maybe it’s selfish—but no, she can’t stay like this as long as she wants. She has people to save.
Pieck ignores General Magath’s words of hope. She dashes through the woods with immense speed, yet meticulous speed. The grace of night wind ruffles the titan’s short hair, as if to gently calm its operator down from all the haunting that’s not even caused by her. Pieck bites her lower lip, keeping her sanity intact unless she wants to attract the enemy right into their little safehaven.
It sinks to her mind: Porco never got to tell her whatever he had to say.