"Well shit," Armin cursed as he tugged Mikasa behind a clothes rack. "This is bad…really bad…"

"What's going on?" Mikasa whispered as the blonde poked his head from behind the clothes. "I thought you said there's no way for people to notice us!"

The woman watched as the blonde shook his head, eyes wide. "I wasn't expecting the secretary from the mental hospital to be here! She'll recognize the two of us on sight!"

Mikasa sighed. "You really didn't plan for that? And you've been evading the police for how long?"

There was a lengthy pause. "I…I've had a few other things on my mind," Armin admitted, looking down. "B-but we just have to—"

"Armin is that you?"a voice asked from beyond the rack.

The serial killer almost screamed if not for Mikasa covering his hand and dragging him into the rack of clothes.

And then suddenly someone stepped into the clothes rack.

Mikasa recognized her immediately this time—it was the nurse from the senior home and the secretary from the asylum. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a lopsided ponytail and strangely had a comforting smile on her face.

"It's okay," she said, "I'm not going to hurt you guys. I…I'm kind of on the run myself."

"How do we know that?" Mikasa asked, ignoring Armin's muffled protests.

The secretary shrugged. "Just look it up on twitter or the news. It's all over social media—"

Armin suddenly bit Mikasa's hand, making her cover her mouth with her free hand to stifle the squeal of pain.

"We've been on the run for a few weeks now," he muttered, wiping his mouth. "Mikasa's phone was confiscated ages ago and I've never had one."

"O-oh…" the secretary said, "Well I'll fill you in later. You can come with me if you want—I have my car and a lot of cash if you need clothes."

Mikasa and Armin glanced at each other. They did desperately need clothes—Armin was wearing one of his button-ups and jeans, but Mikasa was stuck in a tiny tank top and some really, really short running shorts due to her and Armin's massive size difference. He claimed the shorts were a billion years old, and they certainly felt it.

"Someone's after me," the secretary explained, "but I've been doing a pretty good job keeping off the radar. I can help you if you just trust me."

"Is that why you changed your name to Historia?" Mikasa questioned.

Historia flinched. "Where's you hear that name?" she asked harshly, "My real name is Historia, but I changed it to Christa!"

Mikasa blinked. "Wait…what?"

"How did you know her real name?" Armin asked curiously, cocking his head to the side. "I knew she changed it and her last name is Reiss, but I didn't know her first name."

The raven haired woman looked down in shame, the memory of one her biggest mistakes weighing down on her. "…your…your Grandfather told me, actually…"

The curiosity in his blue eyes darkened into remembrance. "I see," was all he said.

There was a pregnant pause, and Historia spoke up again. "So…let's go shopping, shall we?"

The two runaways glanced at each other again. It might be a trap, but…

"I can get food too," Historia offered.

Both of their stomachs growled.

"Fine," Armin decided, rolling his eyes. "Mikasa?"

"Coming," she replied, and the three of them crawled of the clothes rack. Luckily there was hardly anyone around, and the few that were there were too absorbed into their phones to notice.

"So what's the business with you changing names?" Eren asked, still not quite understanding.

Historia looked down into her coffee. "Well…" she mused, "my…dad is trying to find me, and I don't want him to."

"Okay," Annie said, "We know there's a lot more to the story than that."

"Well I don't know if I trust you enough to reveal the entire story," she huffed, turning her chin up a slight bit.

Annie shifted to stand (and possibly lunge at her) but Reiner pulled her down.

"Look," Eren said, "We admitted to shielding a known fugitive. It's only fair that you tell us."

"I don't see the logic in that," Historia argued, "I found out you were hiding a fugitive. You can't extort blackmail out of me."

"But I can," Armin said, returning from the bathroom. He looked his normal self, smiles and all—which of course was unnerving as hell in Eren's opinion.

"You don't scare me," Historia declared, looking him dead in the eye. "If you harm one hair on my head you're going back into that straight jacket—I'm sure Dr. Smi—AAH!"

She didn't even get to finish the sentence when suddenly Armin's hand was at her throat.

"I have another idea," he said, still calm and collected as Historia gasped and flailed for breath that wasn't coming any time soon. "You tell me why my grandfather knew your real name along with everything else or I'll have to go back on my promise to stay vegetarian—I'd have to dispose of the body somehow you know."

Everyone else in the room became silent, and every hair on Eren's back stood on end. Did…did he just threaten to kill her…and eat the body?!

"I…I'm not afraid of you…" she gasped.

"You forget," Armin said, his grip tightening. "You're completely expendable. You did your job. We were planning on letting you stay out of the goodness of our own hearts, but if you don't behave I'll have to get my hands dirty—and no one wants that, do they?"

"Nope," Eren replied instantly.

Armin finally let go of Historia's throat, and she collapsed onto the floor heaving for air. "Do you understand the position you're in?" he asked, that damned smile still on his face.

"I…should be asking…you that…" Historia whispered, grinning as well.

The serial killer looked down and saw the fork sticking out of his chest.

"Really?" He asked, gesturing to the fork. "This is the best you could do? That's sad, really…"

He then yanked the pen out of his chest, and a small blossom of red spread from the wound. "You could have killed me," he admitted, twirling the pen in his hands. "But obviously you don't know any better. You probably haven't killed that many people, have you?"

"…'that many'?" Reiner asked hesitantly.

"I mean, you've had to have had some experience," Armin continued, kneeling in front of Historia. "But a wound this shallow wouldn't do anything."

"You're right," she said, "by itself it'd do absolutely nothing. However, with poison or something it'd do a bit more damage though, don't you think?"

Armin's face went blank, and then laughed. "Oh, that's clever!" he said, rubbing his chest. "What will it do? Is it a deadly virus? Will it burn my insides? Am I going to end up frothing at the mouth and choking on my own saliva?"

"The last one, actually," Historia replied, "It's just a simple suicide pill liquefied and slathered on a fork. I've done a lot better."

Eren looked back between the two. Was this all for show or were they actually having this conversation when Armin can die any second now?

"Oh, then you should have pulled out the good stuff then," Armin replied with a dismissive wave of his hand, "I just barf those things back up. If those worked then I would have died years ago! I'm immune to a lot of things actually—I've had to take a lot of meds when I was younger, and after a while they lost its affect."

"But if you were to overdose—" Historia started.

"Been there, done that," Armin sighed, shrugging. "Trust me, I've tried everything. I got pretty close with some hydrochloric acid from the chemistry lab at school, but some kid walked in and called the ambulance and I was saved."

"Asshole," Historia sneered, "I'm gonna have to try harder with you…unless…"

Eren sensed a dangerous shift in mood from the blonde girl. "…perhaps instead of killing each other we can—"

"Nope," Armin replied immediately, standing up. "I'm Annie's, and if she even feels the smallest headache I'm shoving this pen up your ass."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Historia said, huffing hoarsely. "But fine."

Eren almost spit out his coffee, and even Armin looked perturbed by the way his smile turned into a grimace and his eye widened in confusion. "Um…glad we're on the same page…?—so about your name change and my late Grandfather…"

Historia sighed, dragging herself back onto the couch. "Well I honestly don't know how your Grandfather knows my name," she admitted, rubbing her neck. "But my full name is Historia Reiss—Senator Reiss' illegitimate child. He wants me back for some reason, and I'm not too fond of going back into the arms of the man who abandoned me to a bunch of psychopaths—and by psychopaths I mean some of his political enemies."

"So they fucked you up," Armin concluded, nodding. "I know the feeling."

Eren shivered. "And all the poison bullshit?"

"One of them was actually kind to me," Historia replied, shrugging. "And she taught me how to cook—both normal food and drugs, both harmful and helpful. I killed everyone slowly, but of course I spared her—I just need to find her again…"

"So now we're looking for someone," Bertoldt muttered, "Is she gonna be staying here too?"

Eren flinched at Bertoldt's tone, but Historia didn't seem to care. "No," she replied, "and I'm not staying here either—I already have someone I can stay with."

She then turned to Armin. "To be honest, I was going to let you stay there out of the goodness of my own heart," she mocked, batting her eyelashes. "Think about it—what have you done for me after everything I've done for you? Nothing—that makes you in my debt."

"Wrong again," Armin replied, crossing his arms. "I've known your last name was Reiss for a long time. I just never cared to turn you in because I didn't feel like it."

Historia didn't physically flinch, but something flickered in her eyes. "Your bluffing," she stated.

"Then how do I know that you're living with Ymir right here in Trost?" Armin asked, smirking deviously. "How do I know that you guys occasionally head down to the destroyed part of town to sell drugs to the few desolate left with nothing to lose? How do I know that the woman you spared was Frie—"

"You son of a bitch!" Historia screamed, standing up and lunging at him. "Don't you lay a fucking finger on Ymir, you hear me! She—she has to support herself somehow, you know it! And you fucking know where Frieda is I'll fucking—I'll fucking…I'll…"

She trailed off at Armin's grin.

"Checkmate," he said, plopping down between Eren and Bertoldt. "You now have given us enough information to not only blackmail you, but Ymir as well. I wasn't bluffing about knowing your last name though—if you're trying to hide from a wealthy family I'd avoid wearing a ring with their coat of arms on it if I were you."

Historia's hand flew to her other one, covering the expensive looking gold-ruby ring on her middle finger. "It was my mother's," she said defensively. "And I've gone this long without people noticing."

"But you can easily put the thing on a necklace and hide it in your shirt," Armin pointed out, "So not only would it protect your identity, it'd protect the ring as well."

"What do you know about protecting something you love?" the blonde girl bit back, "You killed your entire damned family."

Low blow, Eren thought as he saw something dark flicker in Armin's eyes. "Almost all of them," he corrected, "Mikasa gets credit for my Grandfather."

Eren saw Mikasa flinch and look back down at her coffee.

"My point still stands," Historia insisted.

Armin shrugged. "I never said you weren't right on that account," he replied, "I just don't feel like being blamed for my Grandfather's death."

"About that…" Eren interrupted, eager to steer the conversation away from Historia. "The media…they kind of pinned it on you…"

There was a pause as Armin sighed and put his face in his hands. "Fucking perfect," he cursed, "Whatever. I probably wouldn't have had to be there for them to blame me."

"Okay," Reiner said, probably trying to steer the conversation back to something a little less disturbing. "Now that we kinda have all this figured out, what will we do with it?"

"Well I want to know how Armin's grandfather knew Historia's name," Mikasa murmured, "I mean, Armin didn't even know her first name…"

"I should be asking you that," Historia replied, taking a sip of her coffee. "I never told him, not once—the only people who know who are alive are Frieda and Ymir."

"Well he had to find out somehow," Armin insisted, "Did he have any connections with your family at all?"

Historia shrugged helplessly. "Not that I would know of," she replied, "but I haven't kept track of who kisses my father's ass and who wants to kill him in years."

Armin thought for a moment. "Well then the only thing there could be would be your ring that you kept waving about while taking care of him. He probably just figured it out and accidentally told Mikasa."

For some reason, that didn't sit well with Eren. "But if your grandpa's anything like you I'm willing to bet that he's behind something," the brunette said, "Saying it was his aging mind is like saying you got caught after saving Annie because you're insane. There was a reason, wasn't there?"

The blonde boy was quiet. "…you're right," he decided, "my Grandpa wouldn't do that…but then why?"

"The hell if I know," Eren replied, leaning back. "But I think this is enough bullshit to deal with for one day—I have work in the morning."

"Oh shit, you're right," Reiner agreed, standing up. "I didn't even notice how late it was! It's that daylight savings man…"

Eren glanced at the clock and noticed it read 11:30 pm. "Yeah, I need to get outta here…"

"I'll come by here tomorrow," Historia said, standing as well. "I'm sure Ymir wouldn't mind."

"Alright," Annie said standing. "Now out, both of you."

The brunette glanced at his sister, and he heard Annie groan. "Fine, you guys can stay a little while longer," she muttered, "But I'm going to read in my room."

With that, she got up and left. A few more waves later Historia was gone as well. Reiner made an excuse to go to the bathroom and left, Armin quietly made his way to Annie's room, and Bertoldt stalked into his and Reiner's room, and thus leaving him alone with Mikasa.

"So…" she said quietly, shifting her feet from side to side. "I'm…going to stay here?"

Eren nodded, patting the seat next to him. "I can stay a little while longer," he said, "so I believe we have some catching up to do."

At that, Mikasa smiled as she graciously took her seat beside her Eren.

"For the last time, no means no!"

Marco resisted the urge to punch Amber in the face as she stomped her foot like a four-year-old throwing a temper tantrum. "You have no right to keep me from my grandson!" she shouted, "He's the only family I have left! I deserve to at least tell him that I'm sorry!"

"You had a chance to apologize," Marco growled, "How many times was he locked away in a mental institution? You could have visited him without fear of retribution from him, couldn't you?"

"Until he broke out again!" the blonde woman shot back, "Then he would have been out to get me!"

"And what makes this time different?"

The freckled brunette stared Amber contemplated his question. He already knew the answer.

"I…I just feel it," she whispered, "He's…he's changing, and it may be for the better."

"No thanks to you," Marco almost snarled, "How do you know that seeing you won't completely undo the progress he's made? Don't forget—it's your fault that he's like this in the first place!"

Amber looked like she had been hit.

"It seems like you have," the freckled brunette sighed, attempting to calm himself down. "Look, I'm not going to let you see him—not yet, anyway. As much as I think you two should stay as far from each other as possible, Annie thinks that you may be able to help—"

"So let me see him!" Amber burst out, "What's so difficult about that!?"

"Seeing you will only make things worse," he said, "and forcing yourself on him is bound to have devastating consequences. Knowing you, if he refuses you'll just see him anyway, which will just incur his wrath and jeopardize your life."

By now, Amber was trembling. "A-a-and if I do stay away?" she asked tentatively.

"Look me in the eye and say that you will."

Amber looked away.

"That's what I thought," Marco muttered, "Now you stay away from Armin, or else it won't be him you should be worried about."

The blonde's mouth open and closed like a fish, but no words came out.

"He needs more time," he continued, "and then we'll tell him that you exist, and ask if he wants to see you. If he does, then fine. But if not…"

Marco watched detachedly as the blonde woman stepped back in fear. "…I'll kill you myself."

"Well Mrs. Smith," Dr. Smith said, "You're quite resilient, aren't you?"

The blonde woman sighed as she fidgeted with her straight jacket. "I still don't understand why you keep on calling me that," she murmured, "that's not my name."

"Yes it is," the doctor insisted, "you just don't remember, that's all…"

Dr. Smith then began to pace back and forth, making her feel very uncomfortable. "It'll take time," he continued, a grin spreading across his face. "it's always like this…you just need to be reminded of how much you loved me…loved us."

"I still don't know what you're talking about," she repeated, throwing her head back and groaning. "My last name is not Smith…"

"It will…" Dr. Smith murmured, "Just wait…I just need to find a way to make you remember…"

The blonde woman shook her head helplessly. She's been trapped down here for who knows how long, and this psycho keeps calling her "Maria Smith" instead of her actual name. It wasn't the straight jacked that bothered her (not really, anyway)—she kinda had it coming after stabbing someone in the neck in the cafeteria earlier. It's just the fact that no one calls her by her real name (hence the reason why she stabbed someone) and look at her crazy when she insists otherwise!

"Can't you do a blood test?" she asked for the hundredth time, "I'm sure that would clear things up…"

The doctor shook his head and laughed. "Maria…" he murmured, "We've already done that—you wouldn't be here if you weren't the real one…"

The blonde woman rolled her eyes. "Okay, if I was truly Maria then why would I be insisting that I'm not?"

"Simple," Dr. Smith said, shrugging. "You simply don't remember. You're blocking it out, to be more specific."

"…are you suggesting that I have a multi-personality disorder?" the woman asked, quirking an eyebrow. "That…that makes no sense…"

However, it actually did make sense—her family's always had had mental health issues, so she figured it would be a given that her genetics would be shit just like everyone else's. But multi-personality disorder…?

"I…don't believe that I have a history of that," she lied, "and besides, my legal name isn't Maria—you can check my birth certificate."

"Oh I know," Dr. Smith replied, "However you do have a personality named Maria—we have a child, you know…"

"Now I don't buy that one bit," the woman stated bluntly, "I only have one child that I had with my rightful husband!"

"As far as you know right now," the doctor reminded her, "you forget, none of the personalities remember or know things the others do. One of them could have had a child and you wouldn't know, even if you looked them in the face."

"S-so I have two children?" the woman demanded, "Then where's the second one? You're not taking care of them are you?! You're insane!"

The doctor laughed again, and there was a sinking feeling in her gut.

"You only have one child," he said, "and it's mine."

The woman sat there dumbly, her blue eyes widening in horror and confusion. "That…that's not possible," she whispered, "my…my husband…"

"We'll get into all the details later," Dr. Smith sighed, looking at his watch. "I have paper work to do. Until next time, Maria."

The name made the woman's temper flair. "I'd never have a child with you!" she shouted as the doctor left the room. "My name is not Maria Smith! I'd never take your last name!

The door slammed shut with an air of finality, and the woman took a deep breath and screamed at the top of her lungs—

"It's AMELIA FUCKING ARLERT!"