Pitter-patter, pitter-patter.

Ba-dump, ba-dump. Ba-dump, ba-dump.

It felt wet. Wet and cold and glisten-y, the hard concrete under her head and a stark absence of any pain whatsoever. The girl's icy blue eyes cracked open and almost instantly she was overcome with shock. She thrashed once, violently, leaping to her feet in an instant. The world tilted dangerously and she staggered sideways, collapsing against a wall for support.

She whirled around, around, around.

A brick wall. An old, brick wall, mildew and sick moss creeping at its edges. A soft black haze hung over this city, the streets filled with the sound of horse hooves and the creak of wheels on a… carriage?

She peered around the corner.

Just down that road, where there would normally be an intersection and street lights, she spied a black carriage shaded with purple curtains. A pair of dappled gray horses trotted along with tails twitching as they passed. They were beautiful. She felt a sense of irking pity for them.

Everything smelled of dirt, grease, and misery. She could hear the crying of a small child from somewhere distant, see the militant, grimy condition of what she could only assume were homeless people lining up on the sides of alleys.

She tilted her head back.

There was a ceiling here where there should have been a wide blue sky, hanging crystal formations where there should've been fluffy gray clouds. Where in the ever living fuck was she? Trysta had never even heard of a-

Oh, you've got to be shitting me.

Thin wires crisscrossing about three streets down, she picked up the scrape of cables, the hiss of gas pumps, followed by a small, dark figure zipping through the air at breakneck speeds that could've easily given her whiplash.

No. They were not shitting her. Her eyes followed the motion of the small figure zipping through the air; he collided with a stack of boxes surrounded by guards in irkingly familiar outfits. That brown jacket, the blue unicorn emblem emblazoned on the left breast pocket and shoulder, those thigh-high leather stripper boots, if she'd ever seen military stripper boots, that sash around their waists. No way. No way, no way, no way.

The vision wasn't fading, either. She rubbed her eyes. If she was dreaming, this was way too vivid. The scent of miasma and despair beset the air with a certain weight. She could feel the heavy, icy chill in the air, hear the squeak of cables that desperately needed oiling- all in chillingly realistic detail.

This, is the world of Shingeki no Kyojin, where people kill monsters, die for no good reason, and treat each other like shit because they can.

And that, that person zipping through the air… she started toward the boxes being knocked over, oranges, bread, rations spilling out on the ground… yeah, this was the Underground City underneath Wall Sina. And that, that young man with the tiny frame, his black hair shaved underneath, grey eyes ten times as piercing as the television show, that was Captain Levi. Teenage Captain Levi… he had the face of a child.

He had an arm wrapped around his stomach. Though he'd taken off in a solid sprint, moving faster than anyone of his size should have been able to, she could see his energy was starting to wear thanks to whatever wound he'd acquired on his side.

He's a kid.

She turned her attention to the soldiers.

One, two, three, she counted three.

"Hey!" she shouted to the homeless people lined up against the wall. "Those MPs aren't even armed right now! Are you just going to let that kid save your asses and then get killed afterwards?" I'm just… I'm one person… how am I supposed to help him when I have no idea where I am and I just… I just...

She only got blank stares in response.

I just… died...

Sighing with frustration, she turned and sprinted after Levi.

For a little bastard, he ran fast. Especially for a little wounded bastard. She found parts of his gear stowed beneath an abandoned little cottage, the glint of metal only just peering out from underneath. He'd be near impossible to catch at this rate- but she breathed in, breathed out, and pushed herself as fast as she possibly could.

They had stopped on the corner of a tiny convenience store. A small, grizzled old man stood in front of the door, arms crossed with a scowl written over his face.

One of the officers turned at the sound of her approach. Nervous and on-end, she triple-checked to make sure the road was clear before going up to him.

"Ma'am. We're looking for-"

"I know who you're looking for," she replied.

"Do you know where he is?" The man raised a black eyebrow.

"No. I don't."

How am I even fucking alive? What is this? Am I in the hospital, having a trippy-ass dream like you see in the movies?

She waited for the MPs to clear out of the general area before approaching the store owner, who had most likely seen the direction Levi went in.

"Where did the little one go?" she asked.

His lips pursed. He answered her with only a resounding silence.

She squared her shoulders, irritated.

"He just got hurt trying to help some innocent people. He's a kid. I'm a doctor, sort of. It's my sworn duty to help people, I took the Hippocratic Oath for it. Please… where did he go?"

Another blank stare.

Right, they wouldn't know what the hell that was. But something must've clicked, because the man simply pointed in the direction of the alley behind him.

"Thanks, my dude," she quipped and jogged through the slime-covered alley. Bricks, bricks, branches. An 8-foot-high wall. She stopped only two feet away with her head tilted back. Oh, hell no.

She spotted a scuff print on the bottom of the wall. Oh, hell yes.

The girl reached. Too short.

The sound of a soft whimper and a thump confirmed that he was, in fact, between this eight-foot-high wall and the back of a large, crummy house behind it. Wasn't he supposed to have Farlan Church to help watch his back at this point? She knew he'd been alone for some time as an adolescent, but his companionship with the young blonde had been one of the defining events of his central character. Without it, he likely never would have ended up in the Survey Corps. Had something gone wrong?

Shaking the thought aside, she backed up to the end of the alley and took a running start toward the wall. She jumped at the last second as high as she could, caught the edge of the wall on her forearms, and propelled herself over the edge. She landed with a loud crash.

Ow. That fucking hurt.

She sat up, rubbing her head tenderly.

He lay barely nine inches from her right side, perfectly still and straight save for one arm slung haphazardly over his abdomen. Trysta froze. Aw, no.

If she recalled correctly, whether this be a dream or reality, far past being important for the sake of humanity, he was barely more than a kid. She felt her heart drop in her chest as she crawled a little closer and pressed her hand against his chest.

"Hey. Hey, wake up. Look at me." She shook him slightly. "Levi. C'mon, little dude, you're not supposed to die here."

He whimpered and stirred slightly.

You're going to medical school, dumbass. Do something!

She lay a hand across his forehead, taken aback when she realized he was deathly cold. So Trysta did the only thing that could be done, and that was tug him into her arms and against her chest, wrapping him in her jacket. He gave a little jolt as she moved him.

"Hnngh… w… what?"

Confused, glassy grey eyes stared up at her; she found herself pleasantly surprised by the warmth and power in his voice.

"Hi, there, buddy."

He lifted his head. As he realized what was going on, his small frame tensed up and he struggled to get away feebly. She held on tight.

"Who the hell are you? What the fuck are you doing? Get the fuck away! Let go!"

Yeah, if he weren't so feisty, he probably would've made a phenomenal singer.

"Stop it, you're hurt. Stop fighting." She set him against the wall and drew back so they could talk properly without compromising anyone's dignity. His chest heaved as he struggled to stay upright; she held him steady with a hand on his shoulder. "Calm down. Just breathe, okay? I'm not going to hurt you."

He relaxed a little, lowering his right hand to the ground- along with the knife he had been holding. She held her other hand up to signify she didn't have any weapons on her.

"I'm, uh, Trysta. Trysta Verdugo."

"Levi." he replied. He ran his gaze over her in her entirety as if analyzing her atomic structure. She gave a little smile; she couldn't help but find it just a little bit amusing.

"Mucho gusto!" she said, grinning, and reached her hand out in polite greeting.

He narrowed his eyes without taking them off her face.

"Why the hell are you here? I'm assuming you caught the part where I was being chased by the military." He started to get up, bracing himself with both hands on the ground. With a cry of pain he crumpled back onto the ground and wrapped an arm around his midsection. He looked paler than ever.

Pushing his hand out of the way, she unbuckled the leather strap constricting his waist. The young woman yanked his shirt up to see what they were dealing with.

Thanks to the black fabric concealing the wound underneath, she hadn't realized just how much blood he'd lost. Dark bruising surrounded a jagged, clumsy incision that oozed crimson and a sickly white substance, indicating the presence of infection, and the use of a serrated knife. Tugging the fabric a little bit higher, she could see bruises laid upon bruises over his ribcage, fractured ribs that had hardly had the chance to heal before being subjected to further abuse. She frowned.

"Who is responsible for this?" she asked gently.

"You aren't from around here, are you?" he growled. "Down here, it- agh!"

He gritted his teeth as she began to prod around the wound in search of metal shards.

Trysta stared at him for a few seconds.

"You'll die if someone doesn't help you, and you're in no state to be on your feet and moving. Let me help you. I literally have nothing better to be doing than this."

"Fuck off," he growled. "I'm not a damn invalid. Fuck yourself and mind your own business."

Her eye twitched, irate. Did he really want to die so bad? He glared up at her, as if daring to say anything in response. She turned on her heel and left pointedly. She didn't even bother glancing back over her shoulder.

If she had, she might have seen the relief on his face, relief that he wouldn't bring about another death.

If she had, she might have seen that he simply closed his eyes and slumped to the ground in utter defeat.

If she had, she might have seen the very same resignation and reverie before her very eyes that she'd encountered as she lay on the ground dying, the product of sexual harassment and distracted driving.

If she had, she might have felt a twinge of guilt at the very idea of leaving behind someone with his entire life ahead of him to die in the alley of a forgotten city, someone she knew someday would grow to be a hero that people believed in.

She kept on anyway.