"What mad conviction led man to believe he could rule the world when he had already failed to rule himself?" – Dieter A. Bachmann
1:
"Hey fatty," the bald, hard looking man standing in front of her says in a smooth, threatening tone. "What's your name?"
The agent squares her shoulders ever so slightly, resisting the impulse to look down at her flat stomach.
"Iris Bachmann, of Mitras, sir." She places her right fist over her heart, moving her left hand to her lower back. The man looks at her salute as though he finds it distasteful.
"I think you've made a mistake, recruit. You must have taken a wrong turn on your way home, because this army has no need for fatties who needs help getting dressed in the morning." The sun bounces off his shiny head and into her eyes, forcing her to squint at him. When she makes no attempt to speak, he continues:
"Why are you here, you maggot?!"
She blinks slowly. Shadis' grim face hovers only a few inches from hers, left eye twitching slightly.
"To serve, sir," she bites off curtly.
"Oh, so we have another who is just dying to serve the king." Shadis' smile mocks the idea. "You and cadet Bott should join hands."
"Is that an order, sir?"
A flicker of amusement flashes across his face, but then his expression sobers. He contemplates her quietly for a moment.
"Service?!" he barks. "And what the hell would Mitran pampered scrum like you know of service? You make me sick! Turn around so I don't have to look at your stupid face again."
She turns around with as much dignity as she can afford, hearing someone close by snicker quietly. Iris hears Shadis stalk away in search of someone else to amuse himself with. Her new view of the large group of recruits offers up a wide selection of young faces. They are a ragged bunch of strays, runaways, farmers' children and impoverished working-class youths fallen on hard times. Many are as thin as bean stalks, so wispy that a strong gust of wind might whisk them away.
She allows herself to glance at the long faced kid the instructor had head-butted some minutes ago. He cups his forehead with one hand, standing rigidly upright as if desperately straining to maintain his sense of dignity. Behind her Shadis identifies his next victim and comes to a halt.
"Who are you, maggot?!" she hears him ask.
"Reiner Braun, from within Wall Maria," a boy replies in a deep baritone. Shadis snorts loudly, but for all his bluff and bluster it is apparent to her that he is not totally averse to the raw material he sees in front of him. Perhaps he even harbors some amount of respect for those who were outside Wall Rose on that fateful day, two years ago.
"And you?! Why are you here?!"
"I'm here to save humanity." His accent is a little strange; not quite the typical farmer's slur which seems to gulp down some of its consonants, but a somewhat more refined drawling singsong… He must be base-born though, surely. No one of decent birth would speak so plainly or thoughtlessly.
Shadis makes a show of belittling the recruit even though he clearly likes the look of him. He does another sweep of the lines and hones in on someone within Iris's visual range. It is a small blonde girl who is decidedly pretty, and the instructor questions her so viciously Iris finds herself waiting for the moment when the girl will break into tears. Some recruits exchange glances, clearly wanting to intervene on the girl's behalf but not doing so because they are afraid, knows it is no use, and because of that distinguished rule of the military ranks that allows those of higher rank, no matter how brutish or vicious they may be, to senselessly torment those stationed below them. When the girl, Krista, seems close to unravelling completely Shadis finally lets up and leaves her be.
The ceremony draws to a close and the instructor takes his leave. Iris picks her pack up off the ground, ignoring those around her as she makes her way to her assigned bunkhouse. Once inside she places her pack atop one of the empty beds. She unpacks her clothing, paying no mind to the murmur of voices around her. Her hand brushes against a cool metal disc inside her pack, and she picks it up. The brass object is of intricate design, and beautiful enough to serve as an ornament, should you lack the knowledge of its intended purpose. She lifts her eyes and scans the bodies inside the room, finding that none of them are looking at her. She cannot keep it here where someone might steal it. After a moment's hesitation she slides it into her boot, tucking it into her sock. It would be unacceptable if it went missing.
Iris looks up, seeing the ghost of herself reflected in the window glass on the opposite wall.
"Pay close attention to everything," she thinks, looking into the eyes of the person in the glass. "We will not do our best; we will do whatever it takes."
She feels as though someone is looking at her and turns her head. Most of them look away when they see her turning, but one girl's eyes remain fixed on her.
"Hi," the pretty blonde girl says. Her eyes are big and innocently blue; the shade of morning skies.
"Hello," Iris replies.
"I'm Krista." The girl smiles in a friendly way, the same way she no doubt smiles at anyone she meets.
"Iris."
A tall, slightly older looking girl with tanned skin and freckles sitting a couple of bunks away from her makes a face that says she has heard enough of this exchange to be bored with it.
"Gloomy one, aren't you?" she asks nonchalantly, making it clear by her tone that she expects no reply. Krista looks appalled by the girl's rudeness, but only manages to give them each a doubtful look before she kind of shrinks into the background in a peculiar way.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Why did you come here if all you're gonna do is stink up the entire place with your doom and gloom? Some rich girl coming here wanting to play soldier, seems like. Not to your liking so far?"
"I feel right at home," Iris replies. The girl seems a little disappointed that her words had not elicited a stronger reaction. She peers at Iris with mixed reproach and intrigue.
"Sure… seriously though, most of us are just dying to get into the MP's so we can get behind Shina and enjoy the good stuff in life. Why would you come here at all?"
Iris shrugs as if to say "I do not expect you to understand" and sees the girl's eyes flash with anger.
"I am here to serve," she repeats, reflecting on how it is a rather unsatisfactory explanation. "
"You don't strike me as one of the monarch's fanatics," the girl remarks with a hint of seriousness.
Iris shrugs. "If I had been born a boy I would have been trained in medicine, like Papa. This seemed to be the best option available to me." She finds it impossible to read the expression on the girl's face.
"I'm Ymir," she says coolly.
"Iris Bachmann."
Ymir turns back to her. "Your accent is ridiculous, Rich Girl."
"Yours is rather… colorful. I suggest we learn to get along, seeing how we will both be joining the 104th." Iris reaches into one of her trouser pockets, pulling out a leather band, and begins to tie her hair back.
"Are you that confident you will pass the test? No one's gonna cut you any slack here, you might paint a target on your back by acting all cocky."
"I will pass the test." Iris finishes with her hair and gets ready to go.
Ymir snorts loudly. "Good luck then." Iris reflects that the girl really is rather tall, slender and almost boyish with her narrow hips and flat chest.
"Good luck to you too."
She exits the bunkhouse, intent on running before supper.
This place feels strange and unfamiliar to her, and she finds that she wants to go home. Instead she will remain here and await further communications. It will get easier once she knows what it is she must do, or so she tells herself.
"Five miles there," she remembers Papa saying. Her breath comes in rapid bursts while her feet thrum rhythmically against the packed dirt. She sees Potato Girl running around the barracks, but steers her steps in the other direction in order to avoid contact.
"Five miles there and five miles back; run, if you want your supper. You will thank me one day, Pumpkin."
Her earliest memories are of her running down the cobbled street with the sound of her heart hammering in her ears; seeing her house up ahead and knowing that as soon as she turns the corner she will see Papa standing outside, his pocket watch in hand. If she makes good time he will smile, and later on he will tell stories at the dinner table. She loves his stories.
The dinner hall is packed. She looks around for a space to sit and notices a table that she at first takes to be empty. The blonde girl sitting there is no doubt the prime reason for the lack of other occupants – her face holds an expression that says she might like to strangle cats in her free time. Her blue eyes seem disinterested and threatening at the same time, daring anyone to disturb her peace and quiet with their presence. So far no one has risen to the challenge. Unperturbed by the look on the girl's face, Iris moves in that general direction before she notices the familiar shape of Ymir at another table nearby. There is a free space next to her where Iris could sit. She considers her options for a moment before she decides to take her chances with the scary blonde.
A moment later she sits down next to the freckled brunette. She had decided against her inclination to seek Ymir's company, only to change her mind mid-way there. At first Ymir seems not to notice her presence; it looks to Iris as though she is discretely observing Krista out of the corner of her eye. Then, as if her spider senses have begun to tingle, Ymir turns her head.
"Oh, it's you again," she says and shows her teeth in something that could be either an ironic smile or a sneer.
"It is I," Iris parrots.
"Was almost beginning to think you'd run home, Rich Girl."
"I run in circles like everyone else," she says, inspecting a grey glob of unidentifiable origin she just found in her soup. She feels intent on disguising her disgust of the belligerent nickname as disgust at being confronted with shocking low-end cooking. Ymir snorts a little.
"Funny."
"It was no jest," Iris replies and doubtfully tastes the broth of the soup. Deciding that it is alright she braves the grey glob to venture into her mouth, losing heart only a moment later and swallowing it whole without chewing.
She looks up, noticing a stranger sitting on the other side of the table. His eyes are a startling golden shade of hazel, so intense that as his eyes linger on her face she finds his gaze to be almost intrusive. She scrutinizes the tall friend sitting next to him, feeling him looking at her all the while. The friend is lanky and unassuming; his dark brown hair cropped short, mouth downturned and serious, and his dark eyes are shy, yet softly pleasant in a way that his friend's eyes are not.
"Hi," the aforementioned friend says in the low, rich baritone she had heard earlier. So this was the savior of mankind.
"Greetings," she replies without looking at him.
"Hello, I'm Bertholdt," the tall one says and smiles a timid, gentle smile that transforms his entire face.
"He seems to be a kind person," she thinks apprehensively, regretting the thought as soon as it enters her mind.
"Iris Bachmann."
"You're the Mitran girl," the brunette's uncomfortably intense friend says, and somehow swims into view again in an uncanny way. He seems to take the fact that she is looking at him at all as some kind of encouragement. "Reiner Braun," he says and smiles. There is nothing unassuming about this smile, or about the way his eyes refuse to leave her face.
"I know. You are the savior of mankind," she replies dryly, searching for a way to subtly point out that he is overstepping by speaking to her with such familiarity.
He chuckles.
"Ah, you heard that. I really should think before running my mouth... I'll do it though, somehow."
To her right, Ymir produces a sound that is a cross between a snort and the shriek of an angry rodent. "Hear, hear," she scoffs.
"You think it impossible?" Iris asks without thinking, and the look she receives is all the answer she needs.
"You'd have to be pretty dumb to believe in saviors," she says, but Reiner's expression does not sour. It is as if he did not hear her at all. "I'm only here to save myself. No one else will," Ymir continues.
"Most people would not consider this an easy life," Iris says before realizing the implication in Ymir's words.
"People who say that don't know shit," Ymir responds darkly. "Let them tend to their lives and I'll tend to my own."
A tense, quiet moment passes before Bertholdt smiles apologetically.
"I think I might be the only one who came here hoping to lead a peaceful life."
"Do you not feel there are things worth fighting for?" she asks.
"Quite the opposite." He smiles again; dark velvety eyes glinting sadly in the dull light from the lamps above. "But there are also many things not worth fighting for."
Iris is still trying to decipher what that could possibly mean when Reiner shifts at his friend's side. As if by some strange magic she feels compelled to look at him.
"Was it you I saw running earlier? I thought I saw someone blonde and-" for just one split moment his eyes leave her face, and they sort of glide down her neck and chest before wandering back up. "-and it was not Potato Girl" he finishes.
"It was I," she replies stiffly.
"Why not relax today when training begins tomorrow?" The slight smile is still there on his face; it seems to say "Look, see how friendly I am. You can trust me".
"I am relaxing right now," she replies, sitting rigidly upright on the bench.
Reiner chuckles as if she had made a joke. "The instructor did not get to you then?"
Iris looks at the light and well-natured smile on his face. For a moment she considers what "get to you" is supposed to mean.
"A certain amount of humiliation is to be expected in these circumstances. Individualism has no place in a military unit, and it is fair to assume I would think myself better than others when all rungs of the societal ladder would agree that it is so."
"… I'll take that as a 'No'." That smile again; friendly, inviting even.
They eat in silence. Ymir disinterestedly pokes around in what remains of her meal as she slyly throws little glances Krista's way. Iris notes her rather particular interest in this one girl, and so keeps an eye on her as well. She sees Krista slip a loaf of bread underneath the table, tucking it into the pockets of her skirts. There is a strange look on Ymir's face as she watches Krista paw the food.
"I have never been to Mitras," Bertholdt says and looks at Iris with mild interest. "What is it like?"
Sometimes people ask strange questions.
"Clean," she replies, thinking of the stained sheets she is expected to sleep in. She sees the corners of Bertholdt's mouth turn in a subtle smile.
Iris shrugs defensively and continues: "Society there adheres to its own set of rules; rules only the king may impose on; and life goes on as it always has, regardless of what happens outside of Sina."
"Have you met the king?" he asks eagerly.
"Everyone living in Mitras has seen His Grace from afar; he addresses the people from his balcony upon his birthday and on Liberty Day."
"You haven't had the chance to meet him up close then." He seems a little less eager now.
"I have on occasion, but His Grace does not grant such audiences to just anyone," she explains, a little confused to have to do so at all. She peers at him, wondering just how far into the outer rim of Maria he grew up. "While most recognize His Grace as their king and protector, there are some who argue that the crown is a retrograde blight upon humanity. Society has already been infected with their empty claims of rationalism and reason, ideas of free commerce, and the promise of liberty – Imagine what harm such radicalists might do to His Grace's person if they were allowed at court."
Bertholdt sits back a little, thoughtful for a moment.
"They screen people before allowing them access." The way he says it, it is no question.
"Yes. But how do you investigate someone's thoughts, if you cannot compel them to speak?" she replies pointedly. The slight edge in her voice seems to confuse Bertholdt, who gives her a lingering look.
"You're nobility then," Reiner comments casually. Iris puts her spoon down onto the table, feeling her brows furrow slightly. She searches his face for resentment, but finds none there. His expression is perfectly blank.
"I am."
It takes a moment for him to show any reaction. "You're a lady," he smiles
"Titles do not matter once you enlist."
"What a shame," Ymir puts in sarcastically. It appears she had still been listening after all. "And here I was going to call you Lady Rich Girl. I bet the officers will trip over each other in their rush to hang a badge on you when we graduate."
An officer's badge in exchange for a private donation to the military treasury – such things are strictly against regulations. The choice of which branch to go to, if at all, and when to do it will not be hers to make, and so Iris does not occupy herself with thoughts of it. She shrugs dismissively, and a slightly awkward silence follows.
Reiner looks as though he is about to break the silence when some sort of disturbance behind them interrupts him. They turn in their seats and see that a small crowd has gathered around a brown haired boy with intense eyes who looks as though he only came of age this year. He was among the ones Shadis had glanced at in passing only to move on in search of fresh prey, and looking at him now Iris understands why. He must have been there that day; he has the slightly ragged, frantic look about him.
"Who is he?" she asks the people around her quietly. A sandy blonde boy she does not know the name of, sitting one chair away from Reiner, turns to her and almost whispers his reply:
"That's Eren Yeager. He and his friends were in Shiganshina when the gate fell."
Iris Blinks. "And who are you?"
"Mylius Zeramuski. I'm from Ranohira."
"Oh, I am-"
"I know," he says quickly. She nods and says no more.
"I'm gonna join the survey corps and rid the world of titans," Eren says heatedly.
"Shiganshina is…" she mutters, more to herself than to anyone else as she stares right at Eren.
"Where the titans broke through," Reiner finishes for her in a tight voice. His smile is gone. She decides to make no comment on how she already knew that. Let them think her ignorant.
Iris half registers that whatshisname, with his bumpy forehead and with the face of someone who knows he is the smartest person in the room, asks if Eren is serious in his wish to join the Survey Corps. Whatever reply Eren gives muddles in her mind as her focus drifts to settle on the previously so smarmy Reiner.
"Did you see… when they came?" she asks him and Bertholdt, making the assumption that they have known each other for quite some time. Reiner's face darkens as he trades looks with Bertholdt.
"Yeah, we did."
"Ymir, what about you?" she asks the tall girl at her side. Ymir seems to have lost all interest in the conversation and is looking elsewhere, but Iris feels that perhaps she is not so aloof that she did not hear the question.
"What was that?" Ymir drawls, lazily watching the ill-tempered blonde girl who still sits alone at her table. Iris prepares to repeat her question when Ymir waves a hand at her, still turned away, obviously deciding that she probably heard the first time after all. "Ah yeah. Nah I didn't see anything, was miles off the wrong way."
Iris nods thoughtfully.
They had raced towards Trost that day, but by the time they got there the district had already been flooded with refugees. She had seen no titans, only the pale, shocked faces of the survivors. No one had tried to stop them as they made their way up to the top of the wall – the Garrison soldiers rushed past almost without taking note of their presence. She remembers once officer recognizing Papa, offering them the advice to return home in case the gates of Sina would close, but they had kept on going. Once they reached the precipice they had spent hours scanning the horizon, seeing the smoke rise in the distance as towns and villages burned to the ground. The entire time Papa had been clutching some kind of small device in his right hand; gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white.
She looks up as the bell signaling the end of supper rings. Reiner and Bertholdt are on their feet almost immediately, saying goodnight before they head off together with hurried steps. Ymir does not seem to mind that Iris accompanies her outside, and to her question of where they are going once she realizes they are not headed for the bunkhouse, Ymir answers:
"Tracking something. I think I've got a good idea of where this thieving little mouse is off to."
They find Krista Lenz feeding stolen bread to Potato Girl. Things get stranger when Ymir bends to pick Potato Girl up, saying they should get her to bed. She claims it is not from kindness, but only gives a rather half hearted excuse as to why it is in her self-interest to help Sasha before she carries her off. Krista looks to Iris as if hoping she will provide some clarification, but she too only shrugs her shoulders in puzzlement before she follows behind the taller girl.
Back at the bunkhouse Ymir unceremoniously dumps Potato Girl onto a bunk and leaves her there, still fully dressed. The exhausted Sasha was probably asleep even before she hit the bed, and so they make no effort to move her.
"This idiot is never going to learn anything if you keep pawing food for her. No one will think you're noble if you get caught," Ymir says.
Krista Lenz looks confused and a little aggravated by the tall girl's comments.
"I don't see how it's wrong to want to help people," she says and looks between Ymir and Iris.
"Don't forget you're stealing from all of us to feed her. If she'd just kept her stupid mouth shut she'd have had dinner just like everyone else." Ymir grumbles turning away from the blonde girl.
Iris strips down to her undergarments, taking care when slipping the metal disc from her sock and tucking it underneath her pillow. She will hold it in her hand while she sleeps. She climbs into bed and lies there, staring up at the roof above.
This is her life from now on, these people her comrades.
As the lights go out one by one, slowly filling the room with darkness, she tells herself that she is proud to have been chosen for this duty. When the time comes she will receive further instructions, but until then she is on her own out here. She clutches the brass object in her left hand, wondering how long she will be able to keep it hidden. It is not a forbidden object, but it might arouse unwanted attention since it is made of a rare metal alloy. Perhaps she ought to treat it as a family heirloom and hide it in plain sight. Iris closes her eyes, letting the tension drain from her muscles.
"Who is it?" she thinks groggily, just as she is about to fall asleep. "Who was I sent here to find?"