Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

Day one – survival.

‘Midway upon the journey of our life
I found myself within a forest dark,
For the straightforward pathway had been lost.’
Canto I, ‘Inferno’, The Divine Comedy, Dante Alighieri.

The cemetery was always peaceful.

Close by. Inviting. Quiet, when the noise got too loud. And the café by the gate offered a warm respite for cold hands in winter… like now. Coffee in hand, I started my journey.

It was raining. I had always found peace in the rain. As dark as a cemetery could be to some, for me it was a respite. A refuge, when my thoughts got too much. The trees always encroached upon the paths, knobbled roots stretched like fingers to trip unsuspecting passersby, steep slopes dressed in leaves. I would find a spot and wait, watch above for birds and squirrels. Once I even saw a deer fly across the path, like some angel or fairy, wrapped in light and movement.

I had thrown my bag over my shoulder and made my way out despite the rain this morning, my coat heavy and warm, but not enough to guard fully against the cool November air. My backpack was heavy, stuffed with everything I’d ever put in there that I hadn’t bothered to clear out. Who knows.

I’d taken a winding route, retracing a couple paths already trodden. Anything to extend the trip. The point of it was not the hike to the top, but the peacefulness of it. Being in nature, surrounded by nothing but birdsong and the pitter-patter of rain. Glad of the waterproofs yet still wanting the peace of rainfall, I pulled my hood down and embraced the coolness on my head and neck. Flyaway hairs clung to my cheeks. I breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of the ozone, fresh and vibrant. That smell always made me feel alive.

My legs pulled themselves up the final steep slope. The weather had kept the paths isolated, a little slippery from wet leaves which were sure to turn to mulch or dry kindling as December settled in. The wind was stronger up here, louder. Looking up, squinting between raindrops, I saw lights run across the clouds like darting synapses.

Lightning. I hadn’t yet heard thunder.

The tall trees around me sheltered patches of the path below, but I stuck to the wetter parts. There is joy in nature. A connection to the natural order. Rain brings life, brings hope, brings change. I had never been religious, but I understood baptism any time I stood out in the rain. It was as though I was a slate wiped clean. Any stress would fall away, replaced by a calm unity, camaraderie in all those living things that too took refuge in it.

I breathed in, that smell stronger, and I felt my arms prickle. Static electricity. Hairs rose slow, like one of those timelapses of a plant forcing its way through the earth. Unfurling.

Some faint anxious nature in me curled in my gut but I pushed it down. I was surrounded by trees, much taller than me, stretched like fingers over the path. If lightning was going to hit anything…

I heard a rolling roar, thunder breaking on a tin roof, and light engulfed-
No, swallowed-
Light swallowed me as though a cavernous mouth. Teeth of static bit through my veins, and I was so afraid.

For that single moment I was so incredibly afraid.

I expected it to hurt, but felt nothing other than sudden heat, some instant bout of fever-
And then darkness.

Silence.

Birdsong.

My eyes open, squint at the brightness. Adjust. Still birdsong, air warmer, warm enough that I move to unzip my coat.

I am not where I was.

Rolling fields of tall wild grasses, a light breeze on what feels like a warm autumn afternoon. A blue sky stretches above my head, clear of any clouds at all.
But it was raining just a second ago…

No paths. Instead, tall trees in the distance, very tall. Unusually tall. Dark green bushels of leaves near the tops. They feel familiar and unfamiliar all at once. A funhouse mirror warping a familiar face. I hear grasshoppers chirp and a bee buzzes by without a care in the world.

No people. No cars, no roads, no buildings. Just rolling grass and stretching trees and not so much as a fence. I don’t recognize this place.

I take a deep breath. Breathe in, and out. Maybe I… zoned out? Had an absence of memory, I just went through a traumatic experience after all… struck by lightning...
I look down at my hands, my arms, strip off my coat and tie it round my waist. No scars I can see, no sign anything happened at all. Just one moment in the cemetery on a rainy November morning, and now…?

I try to remember any survival advice I can think of. I reach in my backpack and grab my notebook and a pen, I’ll remember better if I write it down. As I scrawl jotted notes, I throw my backpack on my shoulder and begin the long gradual incline up the grassy hill, towards a better view of my surroundings, as I scribble.

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SURVIVAL NOTES
1. Don’t panic.

That’s a given. Hard not to, certainly, when in a situation like this, but logically panicking is a great way to make lots of mistakes, very quickly that snowball into disaster. I need my logical brain, not my panicking animal brain, if I am going to get myself out of this.

I force myself to take another deep breath.

2. Stay where you are.

While this is great in theory (people can find you better if you don’t move around too much, it helps you not panic, etc’) I elect to ignore this advice. Mainly because I can see no signs of people at all, and I cannot see into the distance too well as I am in a bit of a dip in the ground. I have taken in my surroundings and still have no idea where I am, plus if I am not in the cemetery, which I most certainly am not, then people will not be looking for me wherever I am now. So, I instead elect to follow point 3 instead.

3. Orientate self. Find higher ground. Get a good view.

You can place yourself by taking in any landmarks in your current location and look for signs of people. Waiting by a road increases the chances of getting spotted, compared to waiting in a random ass field. Yes, maybe you will get picked up by a serial killer, thank you brain for that wonderful nugget of wisdom. That’s called anxiety. Now shut up.

Ideally, it may be that you aren’t as lost as you thought, instead just disorientated. By travelling to higher ground, you may realise where you are. If you are to move, go somewhere you can look around that is visible, where other people might spot you. Like up this sloping not-quite hill I’m already out of breath hiking up.

4. Landmarks. People. Help.

Identify any landmarks, look for people, send SOS signals or similar if you think someone can get to you and notice you in a couple hours.
Otherwise, failing that…

5. Survival necessities.

Shelter, then water, then food. You could die of exposure in a couple hours if you’re unprepared. If you’ll need heat at night prepare firewood and methods to light it. Take note of useful materials and bring them with you if possible, as long as they will not burden you.

Water you can survive without for up to 3 days, but setting up a filtration system is crucial. Water-born diseases exist in even seemingly pristine waters.

Food you can survive without for up to 3 weeks. You’ll be miserable though, so keep an eye out for it. Use your knowledge and only consume that which you know to be safe. Check what you have with you and ration it, that goes for water too. You don’t know how long you’ll have to survive off sparse resources.

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I haul my panting ass up to the peak, grassy slope unforgiving to my usually under-exercised muscles. As my calf muscles twinge from lactic acid buildup, I pull myself upwards and take a look around.

Rolling fields. Tall trees. No buildings at all, or roads.

…Fuck.

So, no signs of people, no way to orientate myself, a net zero landmarks spotted, fucking perfect. At least I’m not in a ditch? I feel my pulse raise and reign my breathing in.

In for 4. Hold for 4. Out for 4. Hold for 4.

Square breathing. Calm those nerves down, it’s ok. We’re gonna be ok. Breathe, and have another look around. Isn’t the sky pretty? Don’t start spiralling about the weather change again, c’mon.

I catch movement by the treeline. Distant, but visible. A person?

I mean… it looks like a person from behind, but they also look pretty naked right now. Soooo….

Am I somehow lost in a nudist colony in the wilderness? Some naked wellness retreat thing? I guess that’s plausible even if I have no idea how I got here. At least there’s people, I’m not just lost in the woods. I relax a little. Just breathe and try not to look for too long at anything other than their face, and we’ll be good.

It’s warm here. The trees aren’t fully orange yet, even though the leaves back in the cemetery were mostly brown mush on the ground. The climate feels different. Too warm. I start panicking again.

Breathe. Logic. Logic is your friend. That classic sherlock quote: ‘Eliminate the impossible. Whatever remains, however improbable must be the truth.’
Draw conclusions. Nudist colony, maybe I was drugged? Or I blacked out? Temporary amnesia, is that even a thing? It’s probably a thing. Concussion?

The naked person is far off, still facing away from me. Something feels off with their proportions or movements, but my brain can’t quite figure out what. They’re far away. Too far…

They walk towards the treeline and their head almost reaches the tree tops. A hand raises and swings towards a tree, and it hits me. They’re tall. Way too tall.
The fist connects, tree shakes and topples. I watch it fall. Hear it collide with the ground from far away. Watch the birds nearby scatter like crumbs. A great distance away.

It is not a person. It’s huge. It looks familiar…

Too familiar…

It cant be… horror rises like a tidal wave through my blood

It turns…

I fall to my knees and begin to hyperventilate. Impossible, that is impossible! There is a line between fiction and reality and it cannot be crossed, not like this.
Somewhere else, anywhere else, please.

I cover my mouth. Stifle my breathing to try and quieten the scream that threatens to rip through my throat. I keep my eyes on that thing, and I try not to draw its attention.

I am well and truly fucked. Either I’m in a coma, or I’m dead, or I’m hallucinating, or I’ve gone fully insane but that – that’s a titan.

A titan.

Attack on titan, Shingeki No Kyojin titan.

I’m… fucked.

I’m fucked.

I am filled with the immediate realisation that regardless of the why or the where or the how, I am going to die here. I am going to be torn limb from limb by people turned into monsters.

I try and recover from the panic attack, breathing exercises are broken by sobs but the need to be quiet, to not draw that thing’s attention, forces my fear into submission. I’m at higher ground but I’m vulnerable. I lie down, fully on the ground. The heaving rise and fall of my chest is disguised by the tall grass. Minimise them spotting me. Hope I don’t get a tic bite. That’s a dumb thought but it’s all I can think about. I don’t like bugs. I really, really don’t like bugs.

Stop thinking about bugs, stop thinking about titans, stop thinking about how much panic is going to get me killed, shut up brain!

Focus. Breathe. The polyvagal ladder in therapy, I’m in fight or flight, I’m panicking, that impedes my ability to think. I need my brain right now, not this. Panic will get me nowhere but dead. I want to survive. If I want to survive, I need to calm down.

Breathe.
Survival.

What do I know. What do I need. 1 shelter, 2 water, 3 food. Focus on that. Shelter, then water, then food. No shelter is guaranteed death. Up to three days without water. Up to three weeks without food. I try not to think too long about the ‘up to’ part of that particular gem. How it’s no guarantee. How it could be sooner.
What can I see. Landmarks. Places to go.

Finding a river would tick off two of those – fish to eat, water to drink, though I’ll need to filter it, but running water is necessary. Stagnant water is dangerous. Disease. Infection. What did Katniss do in the hunger games again? Feel for damp moss? Why the fuck is that my only reference point for this!? In catching fire she tapped a tree, but I don’t have a tapper, nor do I know what fucking trees to tap in the goddamn first place-

Breathe. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

Focus on what you can do, in the moment. I can focus on survival. I can focus on these three things.

Shelter, warmth, I should look for dry tinder, firewood. Forested areas mean resources. I’m near two clumps of trees, but one definitely has a titan in it: that titan I saw in the distance. So… I guess I’ll head for the other one? And hope for the best.

First, while I have the vantage point and nothing can sneak up on me, what supplies do I have?

Resources. Resource management. You’ve played games like this, c’mon. It’s just like prepping for a boss battle or reviewing your inventory before you set off on a mission in an RPG.

I check my phone. The time is what I’d expect. I’ve got no signal, including for 999, not that it would help much right now. I decide to turn everything off on it to save power in case it’s useful later. I turn it fully off and stash it in my bag along with my headphones.

Scarf, gloves, waterproof coat. I’m wearing a jumper with a shirt underneath – I take off my shirt. Put it in my backpack. Keep it dry. I’ll want something dry, that feels clean. I can swap between just the jumper and just the shirt, as long as the temperature doesn’t drop too much. Maybe it would be better the other way round… whatever.

I’m crying, but I’m moving, emptying out my backpack and figuring out what I have. A pencil case with about 30 odd pens, one pencil with an eraser top and a pencil sharpener (blade, good), fold down scissors – another blade, very handy, very useful.

I thank past me 1000 times over for never clearing out my fucking bag and throwing a bunch of random crap in it. I have my inhaler, cold and flu tablets, paracetamol and ibuprofen for my period, a few period pads – though nowhere near enough realistically speaking, but better than nothing. My passport – how fucking useful, I’m sure that will get me precisely nowhere once I’m dead.

Don’t cry again. Breathe. Continue.

Two folded up tote bags that will fit over my shoulder should I find resources or run out of room in my backpack, one big plastic shopping bag – the cheap, supermarket kind – one small Ziplock plastic bag. Crochet wool and crochet hooks in a drawstring bag, a 3.5mm and a 4.5mm. Good – nets, fishing, clothing if I need it maybe, baskets, maybe traps if I can figure out the logistics. I could crochet with dry grass, or vines I guess, as long as they aren’t poison ivy or something.
I have chocolate bars, a Twix, a wafer, a couple plain milk chocolate bars, some dried fruit leather and dried dates, some dried mango, a bag of mixed nuts, a small tin of pringles – a container, very useful. I have one empty water bottle, a reusable plastic thing. I have a carton of juice with a plastic twist top. A can of peach iced tea. A plastic bottle with water in with a flip cap. An empty thermos cup with coffee dregs in it. It’s not much, but its way better than nothing. Containers can be repurposed. Containers are useful.

I know, if need be, I can drink my own piss. I try not to think about that too much. I hope I don’t have to try and piss into one of these bottles.

I have a pack of wet wipes I usually keep for sensory issues. I can get them wet and reuse those, to make myself feel cleaner or at least to wipe away some of the dirt. It’s not like I’ll be able to shower for a while. I could make some makeshift clothing if need be with the used wet wipes? Maybe? It’s a form of fabric, right? I have a pocket sewing kit – shitty thread and cheap needles, but practical. Useable.

I have my keys on a lanyard with a fuck tonne of keyrings attached, including a bottle opener. I mean, no bottles that need them are with me, but you never know how an item could be repurposed. I have my notebook and my sketchbook.

I have books, loads of books actually, explains why my backpack always weighed a tonne – Why I Write by George Orwell, An assorted poetry anthology, The Factory by Hiroko Oyamada, Sunrise On The Reaping by Suzanne Collins, and 1984 by George Orwell, again. All books I’d been meaning to read that then got lost to the abyss that is my backpack. Wow, great. I’m sure I’ll have plenty of free time surviving in the ass end of titan country to settle down and flick through these. At least in a pinch I could use them to help get a fire started - but given the books in question that feels particularly ironic.

I tell myself it could always be worse. You could be in The Magnus Archives, and a certain individual could read your mind, decide you’re too risky a threat, and beat you to death with a steel pipe. You could be in The Walking Dead. Well, it’s not that far off The Walking Dead… You could be in Alien, and Ripley would be in the vents with the cat I’ve forgotten the name of which I definitely knew at one point, and you’d be xenomorph chow and get chest-busted to death. Or acid burned to death. Or murdered by a megacorp right as you made your escape so they could flatten and sequester their dirty secrets. You’re not on the Titanic about to sink. You’re not in The Last Of Us.

You’re not useless. You’re not helpless, not entirely. You have knowledge, more than most, maybe more than anyone in terms of plot relevant info aside from maybe paths time-hopping Eren or Ymir (the sculptor, not the titan shifter) right now. You’d watched the show. Sure your memory isn’t perfect, but it’s better than nothing, right?

This world is cruel, but it’s survivable. People survive. There are things worth living for. People to meet. People to help – maybe even lives you could save. Keep moving. Just…keep moving. I catch sight of another titan, a figure lumbering slowly, shadow faint on the horizon, and I try to cling to my optimism.

I try not to think about my mum. My best friend. What I was going to have for dinner. I’m wearing my trainers, which wouldn’t be my first choice. They aren’t the most waterproof. My boots would be better, sturdier. But there are certainly worse choices, and my trainers are comfortable and since they’re pretty new the tracks beneath aren’t too worn down, so they have more grip than most of my shoes.

Could be a lot worse. Could be in heels. Not that I ever wear my one pair of heels unless I’m forced to, anyway. Could be stumbling around like Bambi in a dress and heels with no backpack of supplies, lost in titan territory after being zapped by lightning. You’ve got stuff. You’ve got practical shoes. You’ve got a chance at survival.
I feel exposed up here. Vulnerable. The sun is up in the sky, central. Midday. It feels like autumn, late September, but I know it’s November, at least it was back home. Maybe its earlier here.

It doesn’t make sense, but nothing does. Stop thinking about it.

Survival: that’s rule number one. You can have a crisis and a break down and a panic attack later, once the sun sets and the titans stop moving or slow down. I really hope they sleep. If my memory serves me, their movements slow to barely anything once the sun goes down, the sunlight is where they get their energy.
Even though they aren’t green like plants I rationalize it as some modified form of chlorophyll. Given enough time and samples Hange could probably figure it out.

Maybe she does, before she throws herself to her death to save her comrades…

Can I stop that from happening?

I push it away. I push death away. I choose survival. I choose hope, not depression. You lose when you give up, so I won’t. I’ll keep moving.

I head for the trees, and I’m quiet. I listen. I hear little, save for birdsong.

I think of titans. Bloodshed. I’m reminded of abnormals, their speed, their brutality, and I push the thought away as fast as it comes.

I know titans can be fast, so my goal is to avoid being spotted. To not be put in a position where I have to run, because I don’t have a horse, nor a good track record for aerobic exercise. Humans are persistence predators. We are built to walk for miles and miles, not sprint about at 100 miles an hour.

Survival. Shelter. Water. Food. I feel at the base of a tree. It’s dry. I take a deep breath in and smell - nothing but grass and tree bark.

I decide I’ll keep just behind the treeline. I’ll move slow and careful – the last thing I need is a twisted ankle. I keep my ears sharp for far too big footsteps, for running water, for birdsong to ground me, for wolves and bears and anything else that could be looming in the forest. At one point I scare the shit out of a deer. It almost collides with a tree and practically trips arse over tit before gathering it’s senses and shaking itself off. It springs off majestically into the fields as though it didn’t just shit bricks 4 seconds ago.

I keep moving

I look for moss. Maybe using knowledge from the hunger games is stupid and bullshit and I’ll die or whatever, but at least I tried to live if that’s the case. Better to try and use knowledge, however flawed, than to give up and wander aimlessly.

I decide to travel the perimeter of these trees unless I see signs of water. I gather dry wood and put it in the outer pocket of my backpack. I gather that which I think will be good for kindling, dry grassy stuff, chunks of tree bark, small twigs. I try and remember how to start a fire, how to filter water.

The whole time I’m alert. My head is on a swivel. I’m slow, cautious. Careful with my steps. I’m probably as well fed now as I will be for a while, maybe ever. (Try not to think too hard about that, brain)

I should take advantage of my mind while its performance isn’t hindered by hunger. As I move, careful and quiet (there are perks to growing up with an abuser – I’m light on my feet) I pull my notebook out. I scribble my goals. I scribble my plans for survival.

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SURVIVAL BASICS

1. Live

2. Don’t die

3. Shelter, water, food

4. Avoid titans

5. Follow river – find people maybe? Horses gotta drink so survey corps need access to water. And soldiers, also, need to drink, well done. Smart brain.

6. Look for walls. What then??? We’ll see. Fire, maybe? Get attention? Deal with if or when we get to it. WHEN we get to it. Not if. Hopeful. HOPE

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Eventually I find it. Earth, slightly damp. Moss, deeper in. Katniss was right. Thank you book I read when I was 13.

The ground grows moist. I follow till it gets wetter.

I enter the forest. Slow. Quiet. I think of titans, think of how they flock around the walls, how predators follow scents through the woods, and I look for plants that smell. I find flowers. I stuff them in my pockets. I roll on the floor, covering my coat with dirt. I try not to smell like a walking meal.

I don’t know if it works, but it makes me feel better that I thought of it. Better than nothing.

The trees hide the sun from me, letting it peek through only in brief intervals, but the tightness of the trees make me feel safer from titans, a little. Even if I’m really just walking blind into dark woods where I can’t see what’s coming till it grabs me – okay brain chill the fuck out a minute. We’re good. Breathe.

I keep moving. The sound clues me in to my first official success: a running creek. My shins and thighs ache, my feet hurt. I’ve found running water. Here the trees clear and I see the sun dip to one side: West.

The sun rises in the east, and it sets in the west, and I hope to a god I’ve never believed in that this, at least, is a universal (multi-versal?) constant. A sense of direction, orientation. I find a tree with a low branch and start stacking branches against it. They fall a couple times before I get the knack of it, but I’m able to build a makeshift shelter that protects me a little from the elements.

I grab a thick log, put it on a flat-ish stone by the creek and set about trying to make a fire. I brush dry leaves away in a big circle – the last thing I want is to start a forest fire. I try the ‘Rub a small stick between your hands rapidly to create friction on a big log with some small kindling’ method that I never learned the proper name for. Eventually, as the sun is dipping low and the temperature drops, I get it going. It’s smoky, but with some extra sticks and adjustments it works, and gives me much needed heat.

I’m thankful for the warmth, and that there’s little wind to put out my hard work. Next time I should think about wind direction. If I had built my fire in the wrong place, the smoke would waft into my shelter and smoke me out.

My hands feel sore. I eat my fruit leather. I save the packet in case I can use it for something but rinse it off in the dribble of a river before me. Resources are scarce – I don’t know how much. Not yet.

I drink my water. I try and remember how to make a water filter and sketch some designs out. I know they aren’t perfect, but I need to try and figure out how it works so I don’t catch something. I manage to put something vaguely together, using river rocks, river silt, and a long dried out wet wipe I found in my pocket. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than nothing. I leave it to filter.

The cold is sharp. Creeping. I’m glad for the fire. I’m glad for my coat.

The quiet is something else. No distant construction noises and moving cranes, no thrum of electricity in the walls, the plugs, the lights, no voices aside from the bird’s evening chorus, no car engines vrooming through paned glass in the dark.

No shuffling of neighbours going to take a shit in the middle of the night.

In the moments between breathing, when the night holds its breath, there is pure silence. It is something between eerie and peaceful, either toeing the line or there is no line and it’s up to you to choose how you take it.

The stars come out, and the night sky is breathtaking, beautiful, near alien in its glory. There are more stars than I ever thought were in the sky at all. No light pollution, aside from the fire the world around me goes pitch black, save for the stars. I try and hunt for the constellations I know and find none.

All I can see that feels familiar is the north star, the brightest, wrapped in the hue of a distant blue galaxy I can give no name to. I gaze up in awe, ears tuned to every sound and yet eyes glued to the sky. I’ve never seen anything quite so beautiful.

I open my notebook, flick to the back page, and write

‘A list of good things. Day one: The night sky. The north star.’

I cry for the people I love. I cry for the comfort of my bed. I cry as I settle down to try and sleep.

I use my backpack as a pillow. It isn’t comfortable. I leave my coat on. I dry my shoes and socks by the fire on sticks.

I cry quietly, though I want to scream, but I’m too scared to attract the attention of predators. Of titans. I congratulate myself, for not immediately getting myself eaten. One day is better than zero. Something is better than nothing.

Tomorrow, I can make a plan of what’s next. I can strategize.

When I finally drift off, I don’t dream. I consider the lack of nightmares a blessing.

Day two

I jolt awake.

Dawn hasn’t yet broken but it’s close. The wind has picked up and knocked some of the branches I’d used as the side of my shelter over, along with a bigger trunk. I think it was the sound that woke me.

It’s biting cold and I’m grateful for my coat. The temperature has certainly dropped overnight, and without the sun to bring the warmth I’m struck by the chill in the air.

My neck hurts. My back aches. My ass hurts from the hard ground. My feet feel sore. I feel miserable and I miss my bed.
I cry again.

I look at my water filter. It looks… fine. But I don’t trust it. I try and figure out how to boil it without a pot. I figure I could try using my pringles can, but how would I pick it up out of the fire?

I spend probably too long staring at the remains of last night’s flames, before I gather some more firewood for later and stash it in my backpack till it almost bursts. It’s heavy, but not impossible. Guess I’m used to a heavy weight on my back what with all these books I apparently carry with me everywhere without realizing.
I try not to think about what will happen if I have to run.

I pull out my notebook and try and jot down everything I think could be useful. To organize my thoughts. To focus on survival.

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TO DO:

- Figure out boiling water for filtration – vessel? Heat proof? Obviously not wood or plastic.

- Find people, or at least signs of people. Footprints?

- What am I going to do once I do find people? Plan to talk to them? What to say? Hey, wassup, I’m out here about to die any second please help me and also, just so you’re aware, I’m from another universe and you’re fictional to me.

- What am I meant to do when I get to the walls, knock politely?

- What if I run into Zeke? What is up you killer monkey titan man, I’m just chilling actually and I’m not Eldian so plz don’t crush me to death thanks xx

- What do I do if I titan grabs me?

- Have HOPE. Keep moving. If bad shit comes, deal with it then. Maybe find a sharp stick or something to use as a weapon, just in case. Ease the anxiety, either way.

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I want to find other people. I don’t want to be alone out here. I need to find the survey corps, in that case, which could go a variety of directions but honestly, they’re my only feasible option. They’ll need to water their horses and their soldiers, so following rivers is a good bet. Flowing water is safer than still: never drink stagnant water.

This creek might connect to a proper river upstream. If I can keep an eye out for signs of people, civilisation, I stand a better chance of survival. My best bet right now is to do everything in my power to improve my survival chances. Currently I haven’t seen all that many titans and have been lucky enough to not have had any close encounters. Let’s hope to keep it that way.

Ideally I want to move faster, cover more ground. Horses. Can I even ride a horse? I rode a donkey once at a beach when I was like, 5. I’m pretty sure I rode a horse once before at a birthday party a long ass time ago. The idea is you rock as it moves right, move with the horse? Anyway, horses, there must be horses out here…
…from where scouts don’t make it back.

I think of Levi’s squad. Annie slaughtering the lot of them. I think of stumbling across a corpse, or what remains of one.

My throat constricts. I push the thought down.

If it comes to that, I’ll deal with that. As grim as it is, it’s a sign I’m getting closer to civilisation, to people, even if they’re dead ones. It’s… well it’s not a good sign. But it is a sign that my survival chances are getting higher.

I feel guilty for considering what resources they may have on them. 3DMG? ODMG? Whatever you wanna call it. Dangerous, I don’t know how to use it. Not smart to try. I could break my leg. My neck. Too risky. Yes Levi could figure it out underground but that’s Levi goddamn Ackerman doing that. I’m sure as hell not Levi levels of skilled.

But the parts? 3DMG, when broken down to components, is metal boxes full of wires and gears. I could boil water in metal boxes, repurpose them as armour if need be, keep supplies in them like big metal pockets. Metal is a useful resource.

I could use wires to make tripwires for titans, to make nets for fish, to climb if I have to? Set traps up for when I settle to sleep in case I oversleep, or set traps for animals if I want meat. Could I kill an animal? I haven’t before, honestly I have a soft spot for animals I’m not entirely sure I have it in me to kill one or hurt one intentionally. Self defence is another matter, but traps are intentional harm that is unprovoked. Wrong place, wrong time. Wires I guess could make some kind of warning system, haul a big branch up so if a titan triggers it, the branch falls and makes a loud noise? Maybe…

I only have the clothes I’m wearing and the shirt I took off earlier. I could use spare clothes. Bodies…

I think of the white of the uniform, blood blooming beneath it like poppies. The colour of war, that reddish brown of dried blood, the metallic scent.

I think of wings of white and blue stained forever red.

I feel immediate guilt for thinking of a human corpse, someone who sacrificed their life, for me to come along and wreck their equipment and strip them for the sake of resources. I think of Levi’s squad again. Of Petra’s blood, her neck snapped back, her hollow dead eyes turned to the sky.

I think of a sword, far more useful than tiny fold down scissors, of my survival chances increasing marginally if I have something that can get through a titan’s skin, or at least something to help me hack through the underbrush and brambles of the forests.

I picture being too slow, I picture panicking and tripping as I try to run from those beasts. I imagine the sound of my spine popping and cracking under the pressure of a titan’s fist.

Being without weapons in a place like this, it’s terrifying.

If it comes down to it, I need to be willing to pillage the corpses. Not because I think of this as some sick video game, but because this world is cruel. Brutal. If I want to survive out here, I need as wide a net of useful resources as possible.

I can’t afford hesitation. I can’t afford to leave materials to the dead.

I try and rationalize to myself that they aren’t going to make any use of it if they’re dead. I try and logic my way through the guilt, the shame of stealing the clothes off a dead man’s back. What if it’s a corpse I recognise? What if it’s Sasha’s?

I supress the urge to vomit. I don’t know where I am in the timeline, I don’t know where I am other than Eldia, titan territory.

I think of Levi collecting the patches of the dead, the wings of freedom of his fallen comrades. I decide, if I’m going to rob the dead it’s the least I can do.
If I take anything, I’ll also take the patch. Whether the survey corps find my body alive or dead, if they find it at all, at least they can get them back. I’ll write a note or something. Will they even be able to read it? I push the thought away. I’ll deal with that later.

I can’t risk digging graves to bury corpses that I come across. Takes too long, out in the open, and could draw in threats. Not just titans, but wolves, bears, foxes – scavengers that smell meat. I can’t risk getting sick from an animal attack, or catching something from a corpse. I can’t risk accidentally starting a forest fire by trying to set fire to a body. I can’t risk drawing the titans’ attention-

- I hear movement.

Distant, but big. Thankfully slow.

Quickly I gather my things, my attempt at filtered water. I roll in the dirt and dip the bottoms of my trainers in the creek to minimise the scent. Then doubt myself and rub dirt back on them. Washing off the dirt could make my scent clearer. Washing off the dirt could make me harder to track. I don’t know anymore.
I skip breakfast, ignoring the protests of my stomach. I take note of the sun’s position in the sky, cresting beams of warmth illuminating the woods little by little.
I find a sharp pebble from the creek and scratch a message on the rock my fire sat on last night.

‘1st night. I’m alive. I have hope.’

I get moving, as the distant sounds grow closer, one slow, echoing footstep at a time.

It’s a few hours later that I remember the empty thermos in the bottom of my bag – that could probably withstand the heat of the fire – and curse myself for forgetting I had it. I resolve to write up an inventory of my supplies in the evening – to reference when faced with a problem. That way I can ensure I don’t overcomplicate potentially simple matters. Wasting time and energy like that is only going to worsen my survival chances.

I decide to follow the river upstream. My hope is that either I’ll find signs of life, of the survey corps – ash remains of fires, holes from pitched tents, hoofprints, horseshoes… corpses… or in the least I’ll make my way to where the river widens and have the chance to catch a fish. Protein. Filling. I need to maintain my muscle. I’ll need it.

I follow the water, taking care to avoid wet rocks or the risk of slipping. I haven’t heard or seen any titans in a while. I pause for a short break and sketch one of the trees, a little spindly one with gnarled roots. I snack on some dried mango, then get moving.

Once I’ve made my way upstream enough that the river starts to widen, and I don’t hear any big movements nearby, I pause again and eat a chunk of chocolate. Then another. I put the opened chocolate in the small Ziplock bag and seal it closed, pressing all the air out. The last thing I want is to attract ants… or bears…
On my way I pass by nettles, then double back to them. Nettle tea is a thing. Nettle tea is better than nothing. I need to start gathering food as I go. With my gloves on I pluck the top few leaves, vaguely remembering fragments of a survival show or a YouTube video, and shove them in one of my pockets. I hope they’ll work. I’ll dip my finger in the tea before I drink it, just in case it stings the fuck out of me.

I try and think of edible plants I can recognize, and list them in my notebook.

---

EDIBLE PLANTS I CAN SPOT

- Nettles (tea)
- Mint?
- Potatoes – big leaves white flowers, will be obvious once dug up if identified correctly or not
- Spring onions – follow the smell
- Garlic – follow the smell
- Asparagus? Goofy ass looking plant looks like a prank so easy to spot?
- Apples
- Pears
- Oranges/lemons (unlikely?)
- NO BERRIES TOO RISKY, SAME WITH MUSHROOMS
- Maybe blackberries but feels too risky to be worth it
- Carrots?
- Coriander?
- Bamboo? Unlikely. Also aren’t some poisonous or they become poisonous after a certain age? So maybe not
- Elderflower? For drinks maybe
- Onion?
- Dandelions
-

OTHER FOOD

- Cow for milk? – too risky cows can be unpredictable and are big animals, don’t wanna piss off a bull, also you are lactose intolerant so not exactly an ideal food choice there pal
- Supplies in soldier’s packs? Just check they aren’t spoiled, and try not to cry retrieving them.
-

---

I remember another piece of information – that dandelions are edible - and set about gathering them as I go. I put them in one of the tote bags as the plastic bag’s rustles are far too loud for me to feel comfortable. I walk with it swung over my shoulder.

I drink my bottle of peach iced tea. The bottle gets tucked in my bag once it’s empty so that I can refill it with water later. The river gradually gets wider the further upstream I go.

I pick up my pace through grassy areas and get lucky avoiding a titan in a clear patch. The light feels so much brighter out of the treeline, and it makes me feel naked.
Defenceless.

I feel like I stink, feel the sweat wicking beneath my arms, through my jumper and the padded polyester mix of my coat.

My stomach growls, and I try to ignore it. I cave and eat my pringles. It satiates nothing, and I devour them in seconds. I lick the salt from the tin, then think better of it when the thirst sets in. My lips feel dry and cracked. Stupid – Tea dehydrates you. Caffeine dehydrates you. Salt dehydrates you.

I’m so hungry.

I keep moving and attempt to ignore the screaming of the muscles in my legs. At one point I come across a field of blue flowers, and I pick one and press it between the pages of my notebook.

I spook a rabbit, and it scares the absolute shit out of me. I have to do breathing exercises again to calm down. I almost trip on the knotted root of a tree but manage to catch myself before I do. I try and focus on the nature around me which is, undeniably, beautiful.

Titans notwithstanding.

The river, bit by bit, widens. When the sun finally tips out of its highest spot and begins to grow lower, I find a decent spot and make a shelter. I transfer my filtered water to the thermos and set up a second filter to get some more. I’m so thirsty.

The shelter is better than yesterdays, more of a lean-to. Sturdier. Maybe I’m getting a knack for it. The fire still takes ages to catch, but it takes.
I feel anxious that I’ve settled down before the sun fully dips below the horizon. It feels dangerous. But it’s quiet save for birds and the occasional rabbit or squirrel, and I don’t want to be stuck trying to get dry tinder to catch light in the pitch black.

They have red squirrels here. Most of the rabbits are wild brown, though I caught sight of a black one earlier. The birds, some I recognise and some I don’t. Most of the animals here only react to me if I move suddenly, but overall they appear relatively unafraid of humans. I guess it makes sense, since there aren’t any humans to hunt them out here. For 100 years they’ve lived without the fear of being killed by humans as predators. Ironic, really.

I don’t see or hear any titans. There's… way less than I had expected. They must be spread out. I guess the survey corps do go around on horses, and I’m on my feet. I hope that doesn’t add too much to the distance I have to go, the time it will take to get there. To civilization. To people. Maybe the fact that I’m an individual and relatively quiet, compared to a stampeding herd of horses, helps me go unnoticed. Look on the bright side, and all that.

I get the thermos and place it in the fire. Eventually it boils. The thought of microplastics hums in the background of my mind, and it feels like a stupid worry all things considered. Anxiety really is an odd associate.

I wait agonizingly long for the water to cool to a reasonable temperature before I drink it. It tastes weird and it’s gone way too fast, but it helps a lot. Doesn’t stop my stomach from growling though. Once the second one’s filtered I boil that too, and risk putting the nettle leaves in. I test it with my finger and it doesn’t sting me. I fish out the leaves and they flop soggily onto the floor. It’s not my favourite flavour but I don’t really care, it’s liquid, it’s warm, it’s… drinkable. Earthy. Green tea-esque. It takes the edge off the weird aftertaste.

I dust off any excess dirt and lob my handful of dandelions into the third filtered and boiled cup. It’s stringy and gritty, unpleasant, but I eat them. I filter some more water, take a piss behind a tree, boil my water, let it cool and fill all my empty containers with the clean-as-I-can-get-it water.

I permit myself one more chunk of chocolate. With another stone I scratch a message on the rocks by the river.

‘Day two. I’m still alive. I have hope.’

In my notebook I write by the fire’s light. I add ‘the warmth of a crackling fire’ to my list of good things.

I draw up a full inventory, and expand on my previous entry:

---

INVENTORY

- Backpack
- Coat
- Gloves
- T-shirt
- Jumper
- Scarf
- Shoes
- Socks
- Passport
- Phone (96% battery, turned off including all signals)
- Headphones (wired, noise cancelling)
- Phone charger (for what good that'll do)

SUPPLIES

- Assorted firewood
- Kindling for fire
- Scissors
- Sewing kit
- Pencil case with pens, pencils, eraser, sharpener
- Sketchbook
- Notebook
- 5 books
- Keys with bottle opener
- Tote bag: 2
- Supermarket shopping bag: 1
- Ziploc plastic bag: 1
- Drawstring bag
- Crochet wool: 1 ball
- Crochet hook 3.5mm
- Crochet hook 4.5mm

MEDICINE

- Inhaler: mostly full
- Cold and flu: 12 tablets
- Paracetamol: 8 tablets
- Ibuprofen: 10 tablets
- Period pads: 3 – could use to dress wounds?
- Plasters: 2
- Wet Wipes: 2 full packs

CONSUMABLES

- Fruit leather: 3
- Dried fruits: 4
- Generic chocolate bars: 4
- Twix: 1
- Choc wafer: 2
- Sealed 2 pack of biscuits: 3
- Nuts: 2
- Tin of pringles: Empty
- Peach iced tea bottle filled with water: 1
- Carton of juice: 1
- Water bottle of water: 1
- Thermos of water: 1

Before I lie down to sleep, I shuffle things about in my bag to try and make it comfier. It doesn’t seem to have much of an effect.
When I drift off I enter a theatre of chaos.

I dream of blood on white shirts, of birds being eaten alive, of sandcastles on a grey beach that morph at the wrong angle and lighting into the shapes of people.
I dream of a draw full of bloodstained, threadbare patches.

I dream of hollow, empty eyes that look right through the sky.

In them I see the reflection of my mother weeping at a fresh dug grave. I don’t have to look at the stone to know it has my name carved into it.

I wake up screaming.