A/N: Chemistry God here! Hey guys. Glad to be writing a new story! I am not going to reveal any more than what the summary stated, I want there to be a lot of surprises! I will say this, however: The plot is not what it seems. Stay alert! The story is planned to be around 100,000 words. If there needs to be more, there will be. 2,000-3,000 words per chapter will be pretty normal. Anyway, without further adieu, I present to you The Mercy File (Until You Break)

Chapter 1: Ymir

Tuesday, September 8th, 2015

The first thing I noticed when I opened my eyes was the calendar right across from my bed. The days proceeding today were crossed off in an angry red. It was the first day of school. And the fifth year anniversary, if you could even call it that, of my mother's death. A dull ache thrummed through my chest, the pain all too familiar. It is a wound that will never heal, never get better. There will always be a brand of my mother's name on my heart. I swallowed the lump in my throat, and sat up on my bed. Seconds later, my alarm blared, startling me. I clenched my fist and slammed it down on the snooze button. The silence that followed was bliss. That alarm clock was fucking stupid, it was noisier than sailor-level drunk Connie. Man, did that kid annoy the shit out of me. Almost as much as this alarm did. I needed to buy a new one at the store when I had the chance.

I ran a hand through my hair, giving a shuddering sigh, my eyes returning to the calendar. I could feel my intestines do a somersault as I was greeted by the nostalgic smell of spices that existed only in memory. The spices my mom used to cook her carne frita using ingredientsx like adobo and sofrito. Hey Mom. I hope you have a good day, wherever you're at. God better be taking care of you, otherwise I'll kick his sorry ass. Make sure Dad doesn't get in trouble at work today. That's all I have, I'll repent or whatever after I've done something stupid.

I closed my eyes, wanting to go back to sleep . All last night I dreamed about school and my mom. I remembered, if only vaguely, a German Shepard trotting through my subconscious. I felt drained, and a little fuzzy. I really didn't want to go to school. Why on earth would I want to go to a place I really couldn't care less about, full of people I wanted to strangle with my bare hands? But, as Commander Erwin told us, our school is different. Better. I almost snorted at the thought. Our school was no different. There was still the same bullshit, same drama, same teenagers. The only difference was that they put us in uniforms and expected us to fight once we graduate high school.

At my other side was the window. The sun, brilliant and yellow, shined through the thin curtains of my room. Clothes, some filthy, some clean, were strewn about my room. No wrappers from candy or chips, or bottles of drinks were to be found though. I may be a slob, but I was a neat one. I stood from my bed, and stretched, relishing the warmth of the sun. The coldness of my room was starting to seep into my toes. The cold spread to the rest of my body, that was only dressed in a pair of smiley-face boxers.

With a little yawn, I shuffled to my drawer. I pulled out a pair of relatively clean, black, skinny jeans. After pulling my boxers off and replacing them with a pair of smaller boy shorts, I slid the pants on. Today was the first day. We weren't fitted for uniforms yet. The coldness of the room was really starting to spread. I was going to have to yell at my dad to turn up the fucking thermostat. this conversation would inevitably end with him telling me to use a blanket, or put on some pajamas. Both requests would be met with fierce resistance. Blankets were far too constricting, and my lady parts needed some air at the end of the day, so pajamas were out of the question.

I put a white sports bra, and t-shirt to match, on. I searched the top of my drawer for my wallet, which held my school I.D. It was nowhere to be found. I cursed under my breath and gave up after, like, three seconds of searching for my wallet. I slouched to the bathroom. After brushing my teeth and hair, I bounded down the stairs by twos, sometimes threes. My dad was already sitting at the table. He was drinking a cup of coffee, with "#1 Dad" printed in almost chicken scratch. I had made that mug for him when I was, like, six years old? Since then, my handwritten hasn't improved in the least. He was reading the newspaper. He folded the paper down to have a look at me. His gray eyes looked tired. He muttered something about not stomping down the stairs.

"How'd you sleep?" I asked him, reaching for a box of Froot Loops at the top of the pantry.

"Enough," He responded gruffly, returning to look at the newspaper. "How about you, Ymir?"

"Thought about Mom a lot," I admitted.

My dad paused. Took another sip of his black coffee. Sat it down. "Me too."

I blinked in surprise. Usually my dad wasn't into that whole entire 'share your feelings with the group' mindset. It ran in the family. I was more like my dad than my mom. He was quiet but not shy, bitter but not broken, strong in body but not mind. We were carbon copies of each other. We both thrived off of sarcastic humor, and often, the stupidity of others. He, like me, didn't have the best brains. My dad joked about what we Peterbridge's lack in brains, we make up in ambition. He was a driven business man. Not quite CEO or anything, but he was up there. He managed some sort of company that supplied specialized goods to the police. I didn't know the specifics because I really didn't care.

My mom...She was the life and soul of the family. She was Puerto Rican, which accounted for my deeply tan skin. She was loud, beautiful, tall, loving...My throat constricted at the thought. I pushed the feelings out of my mind and began to eat my cereal. I was nothing like my mother, anyway.

"You ready for the first day?" My dad asked.

"Unf," I said through a mouthful of Froot Loops.

He folded up his newspaper. A peppered gray eyebrow quirked up. "Classy."

I gave him a smirk and drank the milk from my bowl down. "Have you thought about the dog yet?"

"Answer is still no."

"Why do you gotta be a heartless bastard?" I snorted. "A dog is man's best friend."

He chuckled, and stood up from the table. He grabbed the keys from the coffee table. "I'll think about it. Maybe."

I internally fist pumped. I had been asking for a dog ever since, well, ever. I was almost eighteen years old, damn it! I needed a dog. I left my bowl and spoon at the table, and it was my intention to leave them there. I could almost feel dad's glare at the back of my head. With a defeated sigh, I returned to the table and put the dishes into the sink.

"Remember to do the dishes when you get home."

I waved him off. "Yeah, yeah."

"Don't forget," He warned. "Otherwise, no dog for you."

"You wouldn't dare," I responded.

He opened the door to the garage. "You know I don't bluff," He called as he left the house.

I found my backpack, that was filled to the brim with supplies, as I didn't even bother to attend open house. I was too busy playing Assassin's Creed for that shit. I almost regretted my decision as I slung the backpack over my shoulders. Almost.

I left the house by 7:00 A.M. It must have rained last night, before the sun rose. The smell of rain filled my nose as I walked down the driveway. I opted out of taking my motorcycle to school. Annie had thrown a fucking awesome party a few days ago, and I was so hammered, I'm still a little hungover, like a lingering cloud over my head. I paused at the base of the driveway, taking a deep breath in.

Annie and I dated briefly last year for about two months in the fall. The relationship was not all that emotionally engaging, but I didn't want a super serious relationship. She was a damn good kisser, and she knew where to touch and how. Not that we hooked up or anything, it was just some heavy petting. My throat bobbed up and down at the memories of many make out sessions. I kind of missed being able to just to throw myself at someone and not have any consequences. Not that I would ever, ever, be caught dead admitting that.

I wasn't the type to feel more than I needed to. It was a survival instinct, to block out the emotion, and what inevitably comes with emotion; pain. It's what has been keeping me alive ever since a drunk driver decided to take my mother away from me. I didn't know much about Annie, nor did I want to know her life story, but I knew she had the survivalist's instinct, too. Survivors either hate each other, or stick together. Once we realized that two sarcastic assholes in one relationship was too much to bear, we broke up. We've kept on pretty good terms since then. She was pretty much my only friend. Not that we were close. We didn't share our secrets; they were our own. I was at Maria High School to receive an education, not to make friends. Anybody in my regiment was annoying as hell. The regulars, who call us 'ROTC Nazi's' (Wrought-see was how they said it. They thought it was really clever to rhyme the acronym with Hitler's goons.), were even more unbearable. They were constantly trying to pick fights with us, always sneering at us, always calling us government puppets.

Lucky for them, I wasn't willing to risk being suspended to turn their skins inside out. Because trust me, the bastards and their barbed tongues have said some pretty awful stuff. None of them had the balls to directly insult me. I was just as tall as the average guy, and just as strong thanks to training. I knew for damn sure I was the better fighter. I was being trained by the elite of the elite!

I almost tripped over my own feet because I was so engrossed in my thoughts. I started to walk again towards the bus stop. The leaves of the trees were just starting to tint orange, my favorite color. My eyes wandered to the house in front of mine. I always thought the house had better trees than my own. They were massive oak trees, and super mature, too. The house had been for sale for months. A few days ago, it was sold. I hadn't seen who moved into the house, not a single soul. The only evidence of anybody living there was a small gray car parked out in the driveway.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I dug into my jeans and retrieved the device. I unlocked it with the slide of a thumb.

[Annie Leonhardt, 7:06 A.M.]: Hey.

[Ymir Peterbridge, 7:06 A.M.]: Enthusiastic as always, huh?

[Annie Leonhardt, 7:07 A.M.]: Fuck off, Peterbridge.

[Ymir Peterbridge, 7:07 A.M.]: What do you need, little blondy?

I could almost sense the rage from the cold-hearted shortie. I couldn't help but smirk as I imagined Annie's scowl.

[Annie Leonhardt, 7:08 A.M.]: I would be careful who you are calling little. Besides. I don't want anything. I was trying to help you out.

[Ymir Peterbridge, 7:08 A.M]: Oh really?

[Annie Leonhardt, 7:08 A.M]: Your wallet. You left it at my house.

My eyes widened. No wonder I hadn't been able to find the stupid thing!

[Ymir Peterbridge, 7:09 A.M.]: I was pretty hammered so that doesn't surprise me…

I put my phone back into my pocket. The bus rolled to a stop, a few feet away from where I stood. I rolled my shoulders and entered the bus. Annie was in the middle of the bus, seated to the left side. She was holding up a familiar-looking, worn, black, wallet that was no doubt my own. The bus driver, taking no heed to whether or not I was seated, sped off like he was being chased by the cops. I lurched backwards, almost falling over. I caught myself as I tried to get to Annie, who impatiently held my wallet out into the walkway.

Then, the moronic bus driver slammed the brakes as if his life depended on it. I fell down, flat on my face. I could feel the rough floor of the bus scrape my face. I groaned as I staggered up. I turned around to face the front of the bus to see what the idiot stopped for.

My stomach jumped up to my throat. A small girl, blonde and blue-eyed, walked on to the bus. I glanced back at Annie, who gave me a knowing look. She knew I had a type; small, blonde, blue-eyed, the classic All-American sweetheart. Not that Annie was, by any means, a sweetheart. But she did fit the look...

I stood from the ground and eyed the newcomer, taking a seat. She apologized to the bus driver for being late, and stepped into the walkway. Her hair fell out of her face. I squinted, then recognized who the girl was. I knew her once, back in middle school. The girl... I used to bully her relentlessly in middle school. She changed a lot, lost a lot of weight. Her blue eyes met mine. Recognition flowed through them.

The girl was no other than Krista Lenz.

A/N: For those who do not know, ROTC is "Reserve Officer Training Core" Italicized foods are classic Puerto Rican dishes and spices.