Disclaimer: I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan. All rights reserved.

Pairing(s): Ereri/Riren and some Winmin.

Note: I'm only warning you once; this isn't a fanfic for the lighthearted. In a majority of chapters, you'll find lots of deaths, excessive gore, torture, heavy cursing, sadism/masochism, minor drug usage, eventual rape/abuse/kidnapping of children/young teenagers, and other fun things. There's a reason why this is considered a 'dark fic.'

This is also on AO3, so if you wanna go check out the tags just to be safe, then go for it. I looked for something to quench my curiosity of the deep web, which resulted in the making of this hellish story. What, didn't think the deep web existed? Yeah, neither did I.


I

"Mistakes are the portals of discovery." - James Joyce


"If you do that, Eren, you'll see things you never can forget about. Once that part of you breaks, you'll never be the same again."

It was such a vicious cycle, wasn't it? Tell the person you think you trust the most about something you want to try out, or tell a joke you thought was hilarious, and the next thing you know, you're thrown head-first into a lecture.

"What's the worst that can happen?"

Eren knew that the question was like confronting Mikasa, as if he was actually asking her to voice her paranoia, but what other question was there to ask? Growing up, he had brushes to try to use as ice skates and furniture to jump on in fear that he'd land in the lava. Not once – before he reached double digits, that is – had he laid his hands upon any bit of technology more advanced than his most precious GameBoy Color or his Dreamcast.

That was what made him wonder; what's so wrong about the internet? Hell, when he was in middle school, the computer was still considered new, not an everyday thing that could be found in pretty much every household. So what can a few years really do with the internet? Sure, there's fucked up people out there – but how can a few years' time promise numerous sides, all entirely different than the last, to flourish and expand as the days go past?

"Things change really easily, Eren," Well, that certainly was a simple way to answer his question. "There are millions of people in the world that can gain access to the internet. What your co-worker told you was true – I'll bet anything on it."

Eren grumbled, "You're treating me like a little kid. We're not twelve anymore, Mikasa. You've done this before."

It wasn't a lie; all she's done these past few years was baby him. Especially when he wanted to get his hands on a computer the first time, and Mikasa was dead convinced that the internet was plagued with predators and child pornography. Which wasn't entirely a lie, either, depending on where you looked.

Mikasa leaned forward, resting one arm against the table as the other reached out to cup Eren's hand. She sighed, "I just want you to be safe,"

"You're overreacting, really. I'm not your little brother anymore. I know what's safe and what isn't," Eren huffed, punctuating his words with a stubborn pout. He looked remarkably like a small child, despite protesting that he was just the opposite. "And I didn't say I wanted to go around trying to dig for credit card generators. All I said was that I find it all to be a little . . . surreal. He didn't actually prove -"

"No." Mikasa cut him off with an aggressive snap. "Don't get any stupid ideas. I know how you are."

Again with that vicious cycle. Being reminded not to 'get stupid ideas.' Being told that he had tendencies to do stupid things a majority of the time. Things change really easily, he silently mocked. Then again, he couldn't deny that he'd done some pretty stupid things over the years. But really, it was just the internet – what harm could be done on something so simple to use?

Mikasa's eyes lingered over the drink before her, as if debating whether to consume it or not. She landed with making her money's worth, for she finally lifted the glass up to her lips, only to pull away shortly after with a grimace. "God, why is it so bitter?"

"Whiskey isn't exactly the best-tasting drink in the whole world," Eren replied with a slight edge to his tone.

"I trusted that you'd order something that wouldn't be a waste of my money."

"I don't consider it a waste of money as long as you drink it." Eren took a sip of his own drink – the standard Bloody Mary that any bar would offer – his taste buds mildly tingling with satisfaction. He set it back down upon the coaster, adding smugly, "And you did say you wanted to try something new."

"Cocktails taste better." Slight revulsion was evident in Mikasa's tone, but she drank anyway.

Above them, placed over the bar stand just a few yards away, was a small television that faintly illuminated the small area with its dusty screen. It was close enough for them to hear what the bartender had tuned into; a news report indicating the death of a young man in his mid twenties. Nausea mildly tainted Eren's senses as the blurry, yet overall clear, and graphic, videos taken by passersby were shown on the display.

The image of said young man, laying on his back against a cracked, stone wall, with half his face burned to charcoal and a majority of his upper torso seemingly torn off, shone brightly in Eren's mind, regardless of the fact that he'd only viewed it for a few seconds. His face was unrecognizable despite the amateur cameraman zooming in, but even so, no one in their right mind would ever want to know the identity of such a poor soul.

Directing his gaze elsewhere, Eren settled for the nebulous, rosy color of the drink he had ordered. Why did the news have to be so morbid all the time? As if on cue, Mikasa muttered, "Isn't that a little too bloody for TV?"

"They warned us," Eren looked around, where only two other people were turned toward the TV rather than their acquaintances. "and besides, I don't see anyone complaining."

Mikasa pushed her whiskey aside with that same distasteful look – whether it was directed towards the television or the drink, Eren wasn't sure – that she had worn when she first tasted it and waved over a nearby waitress. She ordered a tropical cocktail that had been suggested by the employee. The young girl sped off and left the two alone once more.

Mikasa glanced up from the table, only to catch Eren's attention by pointing out, "Armin finally showed up."

Eren peered over his shoulder, and, sure enough, the small blond the two had known for more than half of their lives turned up. It wasn't often that Armin showed up to the bar, and it was an even rarer situation if he showed up for anything other than raspberry juice. But they'd invite him anyways, even if it was only for their group of small friends to bet on whether Armin would agree to going or not.

"Good morning, Eren, Mikasa!" Armin slipped into the seat next to Eren with a bright smile. Leaning against the smooth leather back of the chair, he let out an exasperated sigh. "What're you two doing here on a weekday? It's not even noon yet."

The solace of having Armin join them encouraged Mikasa to emerge from the nearly suffocating material of her scarf. She teased lightly, "Feeling bold today, or are you just here to help me carry Eren home?"

Surprisingly, Eren didn't say anything about her speaking about him as if he wasn't there. Armin only shrugged. "I'm not brave enough to drink when budget cuts are sweeping through the office. If I'm not next, I don't know who is. It's scary. Especially the owner himself." His brow furrowed and his lip curled up to form a disgusted grimace when he turned his attention to the news. "Isn't that a little graphic?"

"That's what I said." Mikasa folded her arms over her chest and leaned onto the cool, smooth leather back of her seat, much like Armin had previously done. Eyes not leaving the old television, she regarded Eren; "Hey, doesn't that name sound familiar?"

Armin's jaw dropped at the realization. "Wait, really? Yeah – uh, Eren – wasn't Marco your co-worker?"

Eren impatiently tapped his foot on the ground, his hands fidgeting with a stray napkin just as hurriedly, gaze sweeping from one thing in the bar to another. His train of thought changed from the news report to the strain of remembering when he was supposed to show up to work next, then back to the initial topic in question; the internet.

Now, if he recalled correctly, there was something he could use to surf through such websites safely. . . . Or, at least, he thought it was safe. . . . Speaking of safety, did he even lock the apartment door before he left? Huh. . . . Or was it Armin who -

"Eren?"

"Wha -?" He finally realized that they had been speaking to him. He was slightly unnerved by the two pairs of eyes that stared directly at him, and he cleared his throat to say, "Uh . . . yeah. . . . Why not?"

Mikasa looked mildly concerned that he hadn't been paying attention, whereas Armin seemed as if he was calculating something. Eren briefly peered out the door, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. If only he could just get up and walk, even if it was only for a second, he bet it'd relieve the slight itch he felt in his entire body. A slight itch that just refused to go away.

"Were you even listening?"

"I was! Really!"

"Your ears are red, Eren. Did you get enough sleep? Did you have any coffee this morning? Wait. . . ." her eyes narrowed to dangerous, cat-like slits as she instantly jumped to conclusions. Her thoughts were accompanied with the usual unending hailstorm of questions. "Are they overworking you at that place? Are they giving you enough breaks? Damn slave-drivers, I'll sue them for -"

"Mikasa, no! Yes, I had enough sleep. What? Of course I had coffee this morning!" Eren said with a hurried wave of his hand. "It's against the law not to give us breaks, so of course they would!"

"Someone manipulated you into saying that, didn't they? Who cares if they break the law? They won't hesitate with merciless blackmail -"

"Armin, make her stop!" Eren begged his childhood friend.

Armin snickered. "I actually find this really funny." At Eren's glare, he added in a more serious tone, "But speaking of which; Eren, you know I can always talk to my supervisor about getting you a desk right next to mine."

How many times had he heard those exact same words? Eren's seemingly unquenchable thirst for his drink immediately died. He focused on the droplets that gradually slid down the glass and onto the coaster rather than his friend. Eventually, he sighed, "I'd rather be able to get up and run around the store doing stupid shit with the jewelry. Thinking about tying myself down with an office job, where I'd just sit there and type all day . . . . it's not a very pleasant idea. English isn't even my best subject."

The intrepidity steadily diminished as he finished the statement. It was only his tenacity that kept him from acknowledging the years of being groomed for 'professional' jobs going to waste; the thousands of dollars wasted on majors that would never be of actual use to him in his life.

But regardless, he was happy where he was. Isn't that what mattered? Happiness? That lie kept him going and he knew it. As he grew up, he learned one thing; happiness, in fact, never mattered. What mattered was if what you did put food on the table or not. It had always been that way with his family.

"I just don't want you to have a hard time," Armin insisted. "Especially when they're calling you in at outrageous times. I heard you come home at one this morning."

At this, Mikasa promptly inquired, "How many hours of sleep did you get last night?"

Sometimes, Eren really wanted to smother his adoptive sister. "I'm not sure, but I know damn well it isn't the twelve hours that I'm used to." A slight vibration in his pocket brought him to retrieve his phone, only to see that a message had been left by his manager. "Oh, look, another outrageous time to call me in."

"Be careful on the road," the blond warned.

"I'm not drunk, if that's what you're thinking."

"Who said anything about you being drunk?" Armin seemed offended. With one hand pressed against his chest and his jaw dropping in a dramatic gasp, he questioned, "Are you suggesting that I'd let you drive under the influence? What kind of friend do you think I am?!"

"The best in the world." Eren gave Armin a brief hug and Mikasa a quick peck to the cheek. He stood, and added, with a glance to the ravenette, "You and Armin both. I'm glad to have you two."

Behind the scarf that covered her mouth – when had she put it back on? – Mikasa beamed, while Armin pointed out, "Eren, you're smothering us."

He merely rolled his eyes.


Eren was never the smartest in the group, but he was always praised for his determination. That's all that ever mattered, he realized at some point, but it also brought unwanted trouble. Well, it wouldn't really be considered trouble to others – after all, a promotion to a desk job rather than slaving away in the back was welcomed amongst pretty much everyone – but to him, it was.

He was already this close to being promoted to assistant manager. As fun as bossing other people around may have seemed, his only concern was exactly what he'd be doing. Restocking coats, jewelry, and sorting the abundance of ties? Highly unlikely. This, he supposed, was the only thing that stopped him; the inability to get up and actually do something productive would surely drive him insane.

Jean, a new co-worker from a neighboring city, teased him relentlessly for it. Especially that morning, as they stood side-by-side in front of a stack of applications. Jean, in his usual pompous, the-sun-shines-out-of-my-ass manner, snorted, "Why are you looking at that notice, Jaeger? Aren't you too good to be an assistant?"

Eren wasn't the leader type. Sure, he'd willingly follow orders (depending on what they were), but he had never been brave enough to actually lead a group on his own. But, of course, Jean couldn't know that, lest the teasing should increase.

"I could ask you the same, Horse-face; I heard the owner's a neat freak, which means he wouldn't want disgusting animals in his office."

"Go fuck yourself, you suicidal bastard. I'd do ten times better than you, anyway."

Eren was tempted to take him up on the challenge. Another co-worker, whose name was Connie, crept up behind Eren and draped his arm across the latter's shoulders. He encouraged Eren, saying, "C'mon, Eren, you gotta try it! They'd turn Jean down anyway, since he's just a newbie." Glancing at Jean, he added lowly, "And we all know that he has a stick up his ass because of that guy's death reported earlier today – what was his name again? Marco?"

Marco was the only person Jean was ever nice to, and if they weren't fucking, then Marco must have been really damn patient. Now that Eren looked back it it, Marco was the man who was found dead that morning. A shiver ran down his spine. That was a blow beneath the belt and Connie knew it, but he didn't seem to care.

Only Connie would even think about saying something like that, but when Jean offended Eren barely ten minutes into his first shift that month, the troublemaker did anything and everything to get revenge. Connie was basically Eren's partner in crime; the two would occasionally take forty-five minute breaks at the end of their shifts instead of the standard fifteen-minute free periods two hours into their shift, or they wouldn't bother reporting shoplifters. This wasted time and money, of course, but with Connie there to make him brave, Eren couldn't care less.

Despite the slightly unnerved look in those amber orbs that overlooked any sort of fury he may have had, he scoffed, "I don't care. It's just a temporary job. It's useless. And besides, he'd only ever get picked for the part if everyone else who signed up is either half-retarded or crippled."

Eren's fists whited as they clenched, nails biting into the palms of his hands. Connie was about to retort with his own insult that would strike close to home, but he uncomfortably slipped his arm from Eren's shoulders and hissed something about the supervisor. Eren ignored Connie, though. He was not going to be mocked, especially not by a horse-faced bastard like Jean. The white-hot fury that he knew all too well dulled just a bit with a self-conscious glance towards the area where his foreleg should be, not a cold bit of a metal.

"So basically, they'd turn you down and hire me?"

Jean didn't seem to get the memo. "I'm not half-retarded or crippled."

Eren growled and took a threatening step forward. "Not yet, you aren't, you sack of horse shit -"

"C'mon, kids, be nice!" Their attention turned toward the short woman with auburn hair that had addressed them.

Her name was Petra Ral, the owner's personal assistant. The thought brought him to question why he needed a new one. She was far too young to even think about retirement. Or maybe they got into some sort of argument that ultimately cost her the job.

That brought him down a bit; with the frequent contretemps that he could never stop himself from getting into even to save his own life, he could only imagine what would happen if he were to argue with the owner. Then again, he didn't even know who said owner was . . . or his or her name, for that matter. His mind started to wander for about the tenth time that morning until he was rudely brought back to earth with a sharp nudge to the back.

Jean griped, "Happy now? Or were you even listening?"

Whatever the two-toned man had been told pissed him off, apparently. He stalked off, presumably to sulk in the break room, and Connie followed shortly after with teasing nudges to his shoulder. Eren glanced back at Petra and met her expectant eyes. He immediately tried to avoid the eye contact with a flustered blush.

"Uh . . . sorry. I . . . wasn't paying attention. . . ."

Instead of being given a lecture laden with ruthless ignominy, that sweet little smile never left her lips, not even as she repeated, "I said, you should try this one out. Seriously, Eren. You've been here for so long; it's time that you get a little upgrade."

"I like being on the floor, though. Really. I mean, not because of the customers, y'know?" Petra laughed and nodded in agreement along with Eren, and he added, "But in general. I . . . think I'd be a lot more useful here than in an office."

"You'd be useful wherever you go. More importantly, Levi's just going to have you running errands all day." That sparked Eren's interest. "It's a fun job. Levi's a nice guy." She snorted. "I mean, well, once you get to know him, he's . . . not as much of a jerk as he could be."

"Well . . . I guess I could. . . ."

"Good!" Petra's brilliant honey-colored eyes beamed in victory. Possibly because she was the only one capable of convincing Eren to go forth with such things. "Forget the application, I'll bring you up myself."

As they walked down towards the back area, Eren's gaze lingered over the lines of neatly organized coats that filled that particular section of the store. It was quite a big establishment – not to mention expensive – compared to the other ones he had seen, and it held much more merchandise as well. Near the back was the clearance section that, surprisingly, the customers seemed to avoid. Why customers tended to avoid the 'unwanted' coats that filled the clearance racks was a mystery to him, considering how expensive a normal-priced item was, but at least it ensured privacy.

At some point during the walk, Eren finally realized that Petra had been talking to him, and he tuned in to her saying, ". . . Doesn't work with people too often. I mean, Levi never really looks for an assistant out of the blue like this. He's a lone wolf, you get me?"

"Yeah," Eren responded, as if he had been listening the entire time.

He wanted to question Petra on exactly what she meant, but when they entered the office, they were met by someone else. The raven-haired man's silver tie, which lay undone around his neck, brought out the remarkably light shade of blue-gray in his eyes. His dress shirt was partially undone, while his jacket lay neatly folded before him on the desk. His countenance was inscrutable and impossibly emotionless, and he disregarded Eren with nothing more than a brief once-over.

Eren wasn't sure what this man was doing here, not until Petra greeted him brightly, "Good morning, Levi!"

"'Good morning'?" he gestured towards the messy piles of paperwork that lay upon his desk with an acrimonious snarl, "You left me a fuckin' train wreck, Petra, and all you say is 'good morning'? You have three seconds to explain this bullshit before I kick your ass to the curb."

"I planned on organizing that before you got back. It's not my fault you showed up early." Eren's couldn't fathom the fear he felt when Petra neared this man, only to reach up and press her thumb on the furrow in his brow. "Stop frowning at me like that. That's how you get wrinkles, y'know."

He looked as if he was ready to strangle her, but he merely grumbled something under his breath and swatted her hand away. So this was Levi? Eren was at a complete loss for words. During those rare moments where he found himself pondering over who the owner of such an extravagant store was, he never expected that it would be such a pissy man with no filter.

"And who's this green-eyed fuckwit? An intern?"

The brunet was taken completely aback; he didn't expect the man to even notice him, nor had he ever been called a 'fuckwit' before in his life. Petra introduced, "This is Eren! I picked him to be your assistant."

"For God's sake, Petra, choose someone who at least looks capable, not a damn brat from the register!" Levi gave him another once-over, then sneered, "Get out of my office."

Eren's jaw hung open. Did that really just happen? He was denied so quickly, too. Which brought him to question; is every successful businessman an asshole? Anger boiled up in the pit of his chest, retorts ready on the tip of his tongue, but he clenched his jaw shut and turned towards the exit. It wasn't worth his job.

He didn't even reach the clearance racks before Petra trotted up to him with a hum. "You got the promotion!"

"Huh?" Eren abruptly stopped in his tracks. The incertitude he was in was quickly washed away with anger. He ludicrously yelled, "He basically told me to fuck off!"

"C'mon, Eren, you can't be that mad at him already!" Petra smiled at him then; a small, pitiful smile that the brunet knew all too well. Who she pitied, he didn't know, but he sincerely hoped it wasn't him. "He does that to everyone. You're just one of the very few who respected his wish without being an ass about it. Honestly, that man. . . ." A feeble wisp of a laugh left her lips. "Most of the other people who wanted the promotion either got really offended and told him off, or told me they didn't want it anymore. And everyone else who got it didn't last long after."

Eren wasn't entirely sure if he should well with pride at the fact that he passed a test he didn't even know he was being put through or get out of there while he still had the chance. He supposed it was a warning of some sort. But then again, he could just be paranoid. Or intimidated. Whichever came first.

Petra continued, "I don't really know why he does it, but just give him some time, all right? You'll both find yourselves on a nice, healthy level of mutual respect. But whatever you do, don't question him, and never look through his office." At his questioning look, she briefly explained, "He has . . . trust issues, y'know? Just give him privacy, don't pry too much, and leave when he asks. Soon enough, he'll be one of the best contacts you can ever wish to have. Trust me, you'll do great!"

"So when do I start?"

"Visit my desk on Monday."

Petra didn't leave room for any other questions. She immediately sped off after that – to help Levi organize his paperwork, most likely – leaving Eren alone once more.


Boredom was the strangest thing. Or rather, boredom made people do the strangest things. Eren hated being home alone sometimes; he was never sure if he was eating because he was actually hungry or because he was just bored, or why his favorite movies suddenly lost their appeal. His mind wandered, as always, but toward subjects that Mikasa damned to hell – the deep web and its contents.

It was Connie who told him about it, actually. Something about a credit card generator and an industry based solely on stolen goods and military weapons. It sparked his interest, no doubt, but the thought of an angry Mikasa scared him more than anything. But the fatuous curiosity that he'd always held deep within him was stronger than the fear of his adoptive sister, and the next thing he knew, he was downloading a certain browser client onto his laptop.

It was fairly easy, considering the thought of what would happen if Mikasa were to find out. Armin was working a later shift and wouldn't be home until ten o'clock – maybe eleven, if he was unlucky – which gave Eren a good three hours to explore. They shared a comfortable-sized apartment together and slept in separate rooms, but because of the frequent night terrors, Eren wasn't permitted to lock his bedroom door.

They were treating him like a child. It was ridiculous. If anything, this was a rebellion of some sort. But this rebellion wasn't as fun as he thought it would be. So far, all he had clicked through were dead links, and occasionally a working website that offered fake money or fake credit cards (as Connie told him about).

It was a myth, after all. There was nothing to worry about. Eren sighed and rest his head on one folded hand as the other clicked on another link. And oh, look – it's another dead forum. The only thing that could be considered 'dark' about the 'deep web' is the drug sales and the military equipment. He could find these things on the corner of a shady street. Needless to say, it was a let down.

Surprisingly enough, there was a chat box in this forum, and someone was even online. He clicked on the chat box, and seeing that he wasn't required to have an account to talk on there, he typed a message.

Guest: hey

For some time, no one answered. Disappointment welled up in Eren's chest, and he assumed the chat box was broken. That lone member, however, started typing, and within the next few seconds, they responded.

No Name: No one visits my site anymore. What do you want?

Eren's heart fluttered with excitement, but that one part of him still heeded Mikasa's warnings. About how 'horrible' people can be. How 'cruel' people on the dark side of the internet are. Despite the heavy skepticism, he proceeded cautiously (well, as cautiously as he cared to be).

Guest: my friend kept going on about how horrible this place is even tho all ive found are dead links. theres nothing interesting, not even this one no offense

No Name: Mind trying to type correctly? Your message fucking hurt to read.

No Name: But trust me, kid, this isn't the part of the web you want to be in.

He was slightly disgruntled at being called a 'kid,' but his slight fascination at actually getting a satisfying response kept him from pointing that out.

Guest: cant be that bad

No Name: I'll send you a few links. If you're hellbent on finding the good stuff, then you'll open them, no questions asked, nor will I let you leave. Otherwise, I'm getting rid of you.

Guest: you cant do that

No Name: Don't tell me what I can or can't do.

Guest: what are you some kinda hacker

No Name: Keep in mind that these links hold a lot more than just drugs and military bullshit. If you wanna back down, this is the time to do it. Ready?

He didn't respond right away. Some part of him was annoyed since the question had been avoided, and the other urged him to answer 'yes.' But he took too long, and No Name considered that to be an automatic 'yes.' The next message was a set of links numbered one, two, and three, followed shortly after by brief instructions and a warning (if it can be called that).

No Name: Go from top to bottom. It goes from mild to something you never want to see again for the rest of your life. Have fun.

Out of morbid curiosity, Eren debated whether to choose the third link, since it was considered the worst out of all of them. He's seen some pretty messed up things in his life – like that news report earlier, for example – so what is there to fear? It's just the internet, he found himself repeating like some kind of dull chorus to a song, it can't be so bad.

The first link, presumably the mildest one, brought him to another forum page. Unlike the forum he was initially at, this one was quite active. It seemed to be a sales page of some sorts, with prices ranging high to low, but what caught his attention were the titles of the threads. Some mentioned limbs, others mentioned organs. A small chat box appeared off to the lower right corner, one that didn't belong to the forum page, and once again, No Name messaged him.

No Name: What're you waiting for? You wanted something interesting, right?

Eren wasn't quite sure if he wanted to find out anymore, but he clicked on the trending thread anyways. Up came a page bidding the price of a homeless man's organs. The further he scrolled down the page, the more pictures came up with the organs stretched out across the floor and labeled, from the slimy blue snakes that were the intestines to the bloody mass of muscle that was the heart.

Nausea tied his stomach into knots at the amount of blood that covered the floor. In the background of a certain picture, there was a body, limp and useless, torn down the middle with the two halves of skin stretched far out to give more room to work with. The inside was a rich velvet that glistened wetly against the lighting. Eren barely held back the bile in his throat as he immediately closed the tab.

It took a moment for him to recollect himself. When he did, he immediately went to type in whatever vile profanity came to mind, but his finger merely hovered over the enter button when he read No Name's next message.

No Name: Quit making faces at an organ. Do you know how pathetic that is?

It felt as if he had been doused in ice-cold water as his emerald eyes locked onto the web cam. It was off when he first turned on his computer, he knew that for a fact, but now it was on. Watching him. Waiting for a reaction. As soon as he reached up to remove the camera, he received another message.

No Name: Remove the web cam and you'll regret it. Onto the second link.

No Name: Don't keep me waiting.

What was it that Mikasa told him? That there's horrible people on the internet? No, not horrible. Horrible is an understatement. Eren wasn't sure what made him do it, but he clicked on the second link, lest he finds out exactly what No Name could do.

The feeling of being watched was remarkable, and knowing that you're being watched is even worse. Goosebumps erupted on Eren's skin as a shiver wracked down his spine, that voice in the back of his head telling him to avoid turning around, and the only thing he could do was let out a shuddering gasp when the second page finally loaded.

Again, it was a forum. Except, this time, there were pictures that scrolled horizontally across the page. It took Eren a moment to realize that they weren't just pictures; they were actual videos (or livestreams, if he had to guess). They were dark in lighting, but just bright enough to reveal what was happening. He merely glanced at them, but just a few seconds was more than enough.

There was a man that was wrung up by the neck by barbed wire, kicking and twitching quite weakly, while the skin was ripped off his back, strip by strip. Another man was forced to lay on a wooden table with his head dangling off the edge, and within the next second, he was killed by a rusted ax to the throat that took five more swings to fully decapitate him. A newborn was held by the ankle, dangling uselessly as it cried and screamed, only to be silenced by being dropped in a tub of boiling oil.

All of these were done by masked and cloaked figures, and once Eren realized that it was a cult recruitment page, he closed out of the tab and ripped out the camera from its perch. He tore it out of its socket threw it across the room, and as it hit the wall and came clattering down to the floor, he burst into tears. Why, exactly? From fear? Fear of No Name's threats? Fear of the secrets that the deep web held? He didn't know anymore.

That feeling of dread dulled a bit when he looked back at the chat. No Name didn't say anything. He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. Before No Name could threaten him any more, he clicked on the third link.

He shakily sighed in relief when he was brought to another dead forum page. All of its threads dated back to early 2007 – 2009. It was named the Wings of Freedom, with the advertisement beneath it that promised to rid anyone of their problems, therefore 'freeing' them. Eren shook his head in disbelief when he saw that it was a hitman-for-hire site. It had the same chat box, but its overall layout was different. In the chat box, No Name was typing, and the dread that Eren felt rushed back in like a waterfall.

No Name: You shouldn't have done that. Web cams like that are expensive and you're broke as fuck.

No Name: But since you work for peanuts, I'll give you this one for free. Try it out, kiddo. What do you have to lose?

Another shaky sob left Eren's throat as he typed in his hasty response.

Guest: its dead

No Name: It is, isn't it? Which is why you have nothing to lose. Besides, I don't get requests anymore, especially not from people like you. Tell me about the scum you'd like me to get rid of for you.

Eren looked around the room, then glanced at the digital clock. It was almost ten o'clock. He silently pleaded for Armin to get home already. He couldn't stop shaking, nor could he keep the tears at bay. Even if Armin showed up, with or without comfort, he no longer had that doubt. That the internet wasn't so bad. That people couldn't be as horrible as Mikasa said they were. He almost felt empty. Like he lost something he had been holding dear to all these years.

Regardless, he didn't want to play No Name's game anymore. His heartbeat raced when he tried to exit out of the page and saw that it was unresponsive. Everything was unresponsive besides the option to respond to No Name and the 'submit' button on the website. As a last resort, he held on to the power button on the tower, but nothing responded. His monitor refused to turn off. He was given no other choice but to reply.

Guest: let me leave

No Name: Why? You wanted something interesting. Except, you didn't like those links I sent, did you?

Guest: OF COURSE I DIDNT YOU FUCKEN FREAK

No Name: Trust me, kid, if you really don't like them, I won't send them anymore. But you still have this one to attend to.

Guest: Your not a real hitman

No Name: Don't doubt me.
Again with that morbid curiosity. Sure, he was bawling like a little bitch, but there was that curiosity that urged him forward. That one part of him that craved to test whoever this freak was. Hitmen only exist in the movies. Or at least that's what he kept telling himself when he clicked on that submit button and typed as slow as he could, as if the procrastination would save him in the end.

So he typed in Jean's information. He didn't know Jean's address, but he knew where he worked and what he did, so he assumed that was enough. He never liked Jean anyways. More importantly, this was just another freak on the internet. Nothing special. None of the threads were even active. Maybe he was visiting the forums for old time's sakes, or he was looking through the older threads just for the sake of looking. Whatever the cause, it didn't matter to him.

No Name: You're an interesting kid. Usually, people would have just unplugged the damn tower or something, but hey, that's none of my business. I want you to visit me tomorrow, same time. Same forums we met at.

Eren's jaw merely hung open, unsure of what to respond with. After a minute or so passed with no reply, No Name messaged him again.

No Name: Remember, I'm not a patient person.

If that was supposed to be a threat, it fucking worked.


Eren didn't know what came over him. His movements were almost mechanical as he started up that God-forsaken browser once more. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to have a browser history, and he started to panic once he realized that it was a quarter before eight o'clock. The forum he found after surfing through dead links for a good hour and a half would have to be found once more in fifteen minutes. No pressure.

Surprisingly enough, it only took a good thirteen, fourteen minutes of clicking through familiar pages when he found himself on that same forum. Again, there was only one person online in the chat box, and almost immediately after the page loaded up, a message popped up for him to read.

No Name: Welcome home, kiddo. Are you ready for something new?

A link was sent after that. Eren didn't bother clicking on it or replying to them. There was no monitor to watch him. No way for No Name to know if he was still there or not. He could act dead, just like this forum page, and he'd be left alone. A good ten minutes passed by with nothing but the eerily cold chill of his bedroom and the silence of the apartment.

His heart jumped when he was automatically redirected to that page without clicking on it on his own. Immediately, he set to exit out of the browser, but no matter how long he spent spamming the 'X' on the top right corner, it refused to close. In the chat box that belonged to the forum, a private message was sent to him.

No Name: Just a few seconds, brat, then you're off the hook.

In the middle of the page, there was a big play button, set with another chat box that belonged to the actual website. He then realized that this was the same hitman-for-hire site from yesterday. His private message was washed away by all of the other guests in the chat box, all sending in their requests and betting with virtual currency.

They all sent things like, 'use a different knife' or 'start ripping out teeth next' or 'drill under his fingernail.' Eren's hand shook as it gripped his mouse, his finger hovering over the left click button, his heart pounding frantically against his chest. He hoped it would be a screamer. Just the old Jeff The Killer screamer, flashing lights and all, accompanied by a mini heart attack, and that would be the end of it. No harm done.

When he pressed play, there was screaming, all right, but it wasn't what he anticipated. The man that was bound to the chair had his arm held out and bound by leather straps to a table. His fingernails jutted out awkwardly with shiny bits of glass glistening from underneath them, all bloodstained and crusting. There was a sickeningly deep gash on his forehead that bled freely, with a bust lip and an eye hidden by black, tender bruises. The eye that was untouched was a remarkable shade of hazel, and his hair was matted, but was still recognizable with two different tones.

It suddenly became too hard to breathe. Everything hit a sudden stop around him. He didn't hear Jean's pleads anymore, nor his ragged breathing or the sharp ringing noise that was made every time someone entered a bet. Just his frantic heartbeat, racing nonstop in his chest, with a strong constricting pain that threatened to knock him out if he didn't remember to breathe soon.

Besides the bandages that concealed the torturer's face, he wore the stereotypical hitman attire; a pitch-black suit and tie that matched his raven hair. The only thing that was different was the one eye that was left alone to allow him to see. Blue-gray, almost bright enough to be silver.

"I'm getting bored," The torturer's voice was distorted and low-pitched, just barely comprehensible. "Is that all you ladies and gentlemen want tonight? Standard torture methods? Someone get creative with me."

Eren's attention was turned towards the chat. Instead of the dull gray that every guest talked in, another person's name was in bold text, but it wasn't No Name.

Commander: I can't stand his crying.

The guests agreed with him. The torture saw this and purred, "What can I do to fix that, sir?"

Commander: Grab those pliers and rip his eye out.

Commander: Gag him with it, too. His voice is annoying.

"I can do that." When the torturer gripped the pliers, Jean jerked and twisted in his seat, his voice now hoarse and shaky with fatigue. As he neared Jean, he asked them, "How much you wanna bet he'll stay conscious through the whole thing?"

The ringing sounded ten times louder in Eren's ears. Eren frantically tried to turn off the tower, then the monitor, then resorted to hitting it once or twice, until he finally saw the pliers dig their way into Jean's untouched eye. Blood instantly spurted out and stained the man's wrist as he slowly ground and twisted the pliers, working his way to ripping the eyeball out completely.

Eren could no longer hold the bile in the back of his throat. His head spun and he started to hyperventilate, with Jean's screams loud and echoing in his ears, until it all came to an abrupt stop. He couldn't hear anything. It was completely silent in his bedroom once more. It took a moment before he regained control and returned to his seat, only to see that somehow, he was back at the dead forum page. The message that was left for him was probably the scariest thing that had happened to him yet.

No Name: I told you not to doubt me, Eren. Next time, don't choose someone that lives so close to your apartment. It's so tempting to go see your pretty little face in person.


This fic is probably going to ruin me. What do you think? Anything missing? Too much, too little? *cough cough* suggestions for future torture scenes- *hack* *cough* Reviews are very much appreciated!