My Defective Heart


A Shingeki no Kyojin story.


Chapter Two: Enter Marco Bodt, the Man with the Giving Heart


I soon discovered death was merciless to the cowardly. My suffering went from the stage of a broken heart because my girlfriend let me to my incapability to function on my own. It is about three months after that news was initially broken to me that I realized death was near, but he is too much of a bitch to end my suffering.

Still after it all, I don't want to die. But it's like they have already fitted my coffin, already inscribed Jean Kirschtein into stone because no one comes around anymore. At first they did. Now they don't. I feel like death has wrapped his invisible arms around me, to make people walk in the opposite direction when I come their way. They act like I have a disease, and sometimes I think I have one too. There's no other explanation for my defective heart.

I try not to think about those thoughts as I go about my daily life in my apartment. I am moving, to where I don't know. Probably closer to a different hospital, one that would either tell me it's all a fluke or provide me with a feasible solution. Somewhere far away, where I don't have to pass by the police station to get out of town and be reminded that my death will be uncertain and painful.

I cringe, heaving a box up from the floor. I can't dwell. I won't die. I will get help from doctors that actually know their shit. Soon it'll all just be a bad nightmare I'm laughing at.

I sit the box by the front door, and three more join it. The rest of my things are already gone, or belong to Mikasa, because like hell will I touch any of that stuff. The call is still bitter and fresh on my mind.

"Mikasa where were you?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes! I was in the fucking hospital! I was close to death when I heard my girlfriend took off!"

"….Don't call me that."

"What? My girlfriend? Why shouldn't I?"

"We are through Jean. Don't call me again."

"What the hell?! What did I do?!"

"Goodbye Jean."

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I had redialed her number until my fingers went numb. She never answered again. I never really understood her. I just knew she was beautiful as hell, and dating her would score some major points, and piss off Eren all at the same time. It was a win win, but now I can see why no one dated her frequently or for very long. She's a cold hearted bitch. I don't want to see her emotionless face anytime soon.

But every time I think about her, no matter how harsh I get, my heart still stings. She's my weakness, the kink in my armor. Maybe my heart's defection is because it knew she left. Maybe it was rebelling to prevent a broken heart.

I sigh, and sit on top of a box. Just the little exercise makes my heart flutter in my ribcage. I've gotten used to the clipped breaths I can now take, but it still makes me lightheaded. If I am to die right here, would anyone find me? I shake my head. Of course. Connie would be the first one of the scene.

The sun is dipping into the horizon, its beams of light echoing to form oranges and reds and a thin strip of yellow. I better hurry up. I need to be on the road soon. I give my heart another two minutes—and when it shows no signs of improvement—I shrug and stand up anyway. It is a short walk to the vehicle. I could make it.

I pick up a box, the entirety of my closet, and walk to the door, striding down the metal stairs to reach my pick-up truck. It was a piece of junk, but it's the only thing I could get on such a late notice. As I go to retrieve another box, I can't help but let my mind skip to Connie. Would he miss me when I'm gone? Like dead and six feet under?

No, dammit Jean, you will not die! Stop thinking like that!

The little voice inside my head couldn't help but add its input. You know better. You're gonna die.

"I am not going to die…" I mutter under my breath, cramming the next box into the overflowing truck bed.

My heart is like a drum, pounding so hard that my chest aches. I lean against the rusted paint of the vehicle and glance up at the apartment. The other two boxes mean nothing to me. They can be left behind.

I get into the single cab, patting myself on the back as I turn it on with a croak. I can't do physical activity my ass. Those doctors are idiots. I peel out of the parking lot, the faster I get out of here means the faster I can escape the memories of my friends, of Mikasa, and of that final hand shake from Levi. The strings bonding them to this place will keep them anchored while I head over the hills and pasture grounds, away from Maria forever.

I glance up at the rearview mirror, my pale skin radiating from the dwindling rays of dusk. My heart is like the motor of this shitty truck; sputtering and coughing, making all the blood drain from my face to go assist the heart.

I tenderly touch my skin, my fingers the same shade as my face.

I don't realize I have drifted into the other lan until there is a crunch, and everything moves forward, my head connecting with the steering wheel to spiral me into a deep darkness, with only my irregular heartbeat to keep me company.


A New Voice

I'm not one for introductions, so you don't need to know who I am. The only crucial detail relevant to the story is that I am a major character.

I am the antagonist.

Although Jean's Kirschtein palpable hate for me is interesting to observe, he is useless to me when his mind is blank and empty. I decide to watch the world he is missing to satisfy my growing boredom.

The police station is like one giant party, and Connie couldn't help but glance at the empty desk of his partner, expecting to see the man there egging his nemesis Eren on from across the room, but is disappointed when he sees it's still empty. No one wants to replace Jean, and although he did want to be around Sasha, it didn't feel right to have another partner.

"Hey Corporal! Watch this!" Eren is balancing on the seat of a rolly chair, wobbling each time it makes an abrupt turn. He is addressing their boss, Levi, like everyone is supposed to but blatantly ignores.

"I hope you crack your skull open as a lesson." The man replies, unamused, and Eren couldn't help but pout.

For a brief period, the boy had disappeared without a word to anyone; it is obviously that is the elephant in the room, especially for Levi.

"Hey Connie!" Connie's face lights up with a blush faster than a Christmas tree when Sasha sits on his desk, and leans over his paperwork.

"Got any snacks~?"

She is so close. Connie could feel his heart speeding up, his blood pumping hard to keep up with the rapid function.

"S-Sorry I don't."

She grins mischievously, leaning in closer just to see him get even more flustered. Eren whistles from across the room.

"Yeah you get her Connie!"

The boy stutters while Sasha laughs, pulling away to hop off the desk. She goes to bother someone else.

"I hate you!" He shouts, and Eren gives him a thumbs up, his balance dangerously teetering

"Glad I could help bro!" Connie wads up a piece of paper and throws it at him and Eren, thinking it is something worse, attempts to bat it away, and ends up falling off the chair.

"Are you okay?" Bertolt asks, his station nearest to the scene of the accident. Connie bursts out in laughter at his colleague's failure, and Sasha couldn't help but approach him again.

A phone begins to ring, like it has so many times during the day, and while most of the officers ignore it, Levi grudgingly lifts it up between his thumb and forefinger—because God knows who has touched it before—and let the speaker hover next to his ear.

"Corporal Levi of the Maria Police Department speaking."

"We have a car crash," Levi recognizes the voice of his commanding officer, Erwin, in an instant, "Two vehicles, and a possible fatality. EMS needs a road block and an escort at all possible."

"Understood," He eases the phone back into the cradle, and clears his throat.

"Listen up!" A hushed silence falls over everyone, "We have an accident! I need six squad cars at the scene immediately. Four for a roadblock, two for an escort, got it?"

"Yes Corporal Levi!"

All the officers scurry around, grabbing their partner's arms or searching for misplaced keys. Connie spares another glance at Jean's desk, the one that hasn't been occupied for months, before his keys are stolen from his hands.

"I'll drive," It is Sasha.

Car crashes aren't rare in Maria, because my hand has been in several. A few times a month the police would be called out for such, but normally it was a single car accident. Once or twice a year maybe, there would be a double automobile accident, but never has anyone died from a crash in these parts. My presence is why Connie's fingers feel numb as they fidget in his lap.

"I'm sure it's okay." Sasha's eyes are trained on the flickering lights of the cruiser before her, her back as straight as a board. "It can't be that bad."

Connie shakes his head, "I don't know…"

They take a sharp turn, causing his shoulder to nail the passenger door. Sasha mutters an apology. Her part-time partner remains silent, thinking about if Jean was still here, he would be the one driving instead of Sasha. He would have something to do. They would talk a little about a lot of things, and help clear the thick air associated with a dire call.

His absence now makes the atmosphere stagnate, and although his one wish is to be closer to Sasha, it's wrong. It's so wrong to Jean. It wouldn't be fair to him at all. It's all he can think about.

"I bet he'll come back someday," Sasha says.

"Who…?"

"Jean."

Connie lets out a little sigh. If only they knew. He hasn't had the heart to tell anyone—not even Jean himself—the extent of his condition. Something sour forms in the pit of his stomach. He hasn't been in contact with his best friend in a while. Maybe after work, he should pay his a visit.

"Oh God…" The girl breathes, and Connie looks up.

The accident is like a blender, shredded pieces of metal skewed on the ground, boxes of someone's possessions spilling onto the earth. A truck lays overturned in the ditch, with a Sudan crunched in its belly. They must have collided, and slid into the ditch together. Honestly, this isn't my doing. I would have come up with something more…creative.

"Connie…"

Sasha's eyes are amongst the boxes, where some of the cardboard is split and leaking its treasure's, others somehow intact. That's when Connie sees it. A police uniform, perfectly folded, lies on the roadway, like it had been recently placed there. He doesn't need to read the name tag. He knows.

Connie jumps out of the cruiser before it even comes to a stop, sprinting towards the emergency responders congregating near a body. It couldn't be Jean right? There's no way. I find that thought amusing.

He hears Sasha call for him, but he doesn't stop; not until he's standing over the responders, and sees his face with his own eyes, his two-toned hair bleached with blood.

"JEAN!"

One of the responders tries to push him away, but he wrestles against their grip to get closer to his friend.

Oh God… Is he dead?! I can hear his voice ringing clearly, as if the words had fallen from his lips.

"Springer!" Levi is behind him, hooking his arms around his chest to heave him away from his possibly dead partner.

"No!" He fights back.

Levi hisses when Connie throws an elbow into his chin, but refuses to let him go, least he got in the medical teams way.

"He's still alive idiot. They wouldn't be working on corpse."

It doesn't matter. Connie knows Jean needs someone. He knows how afraid he is of dying. He'll need someone he knows by his side… just in case I decide to come.

The medical staff places his best friend's limp body on a gurney, cramming him into the back of the ambulance before hauling—mind my phrase—ass down the roadway, one police team in front and another in the rear. Connie relaxes in Levi's hold, but his mind is racing as fast as that ambulance. Is it the end for his best friend? He has to be there. He has to.

He doesn't even ask permission. He just runs backs to the cruisers, and orders Sasha to get to the hospital. She drives off without another word.


It's either something about speed or even desperation that gets people killed. Not that it makes a difference to me. Even when the astronomical unlikelihood that two seemingly similar accidents in the same night would happen were so low, it still managed to come about. It was so unexpected, and all of Maria was not prepared when the daily news hosted not one column, but two columns about two different car accidents.

Nothing like this has ever happened in the town's history. Just like Jean Kirschtein's condition, these accidents were sudden and abrupt, just like my abduction of a handful of souls that afternoon.

Police sirens rang ceaselessly all night.


"Okay Marco, are you ready? You have two new cases. If you need any help just let me know alright?"

The boy dubbed Marco smiles graciously, "I'll be alright miss. Just leave it to me."

I don't know why but as I was returning to Jean's soul, I couldn't help but find this boy entertaining.

The hospital has been a live wire ever since I walked in, although I haven't been called for business yet. Marco had heard from a friend of a friend that there was an accident, and he had to be there. It isn't like he is a nurse. Marco actually has no desire to be one at all. He comes to the hospital to spend time with the patients, especially the ones who have no one to visit them but me.

It is his good nature that brings him here. He likes to see the smiles on people's faces as he walked in. He enjoys spending time with people going through a rough spot, and need a little happiness in their life. I am particularly fond of this boy. I have touched him once, he was in my grasp, and yet he still escaped. He is only one of a few.

How long have I been doing this? He wonders, collecting the two new folders from the front desk. His mother had introduced him to this at a young age he is sure. Perhaps five-years-old was the first time, and he has been doing it in her memory ever since.

"Hey Marco," The boy looks up, and sees a familiar blond, his loose hair bunched up into a wilting ponytail.

"Hey Dr. Arlert," The blond rolls his eyes at the title.

"Please call me Armin, Marco. We are friends after all."

Marco chuckles, "Sorry I can't help myself."

"Did you hear about the new patients?"

"Yep." He taps the folders with his index finger. I consider if the patients will be acquaintances of mine sometime soon. It doesn't seem like.

"Seems pretty bad. They are from Eren's police squad.

Marco had met Eren once. The officer promptly nicknamed him freckled Jesus which I find comical considering he has been closer to me than any other God. Marco couldn't understand how someone as soft spoken as Armin could handle the firecracker that is Eren Jaegar.

"Close friends?"

Armin shakes his head, "I don't think so. But they all did go through training together, so maybe."

"Dr. Arlert to the emergency room. Dr. Arlert to the emergency room bay," An intercom blares, and Marco couldn't help but wince. It seems like I'll be needed as well. I remain only a little longer, to observe.

"Gotta run."

"See you later Armin," The blond doctor takes off down the hallway in a half-speed walk, half-jog sort of way, already working on his latex gloves. Marco decides it is about time to get started on his own job. He opens up the first folder.

Jean Kirschtein, incurable heart condition. Suffered a concussion in a double automobile accident. No known living relatives. Currently submitted to oxygen therapy until he is conscious.

He frowns. Poor guy. He probably has it rough then. Being unconscious, he couldn't do much for him. He'll have to wait until he's awake before he can properly introduce himself to him. He swaps files and opens up the next one. Someone had rushed to complete it, scribbling in some answers while leaving others, like the name, blank; but I know who it is.

Double automobile accident. Fractures. Breaks. Deceased person in car as well.

You lost someone… I'm so sorry. His eyes water.

He feels for these people. Their pain is his pain. He takes a deep breath, and swipes up the stray tears with his hands. He puts on a smile, and tucks the folders under his arm, walking down the hallway. He rehearses what he would say to this person like he always did before he engaged in a conversation.

Hello. My name is Marco Bodt. What's yours?

I go to the emergency bay. Someone's soul is waiting for pickup


Life is a beautiful life. Death is the painful truth.

-Soul Spirit-