Levi itched in his new clothes, grunting as he adjusted the cravat. Fuck this, having to prance around like some kind of puffed up thug. Sure, he used to be one, but those days were over. That he was standing in some warehouse at the edge of the eastern chasm, ready to look menacing and break a few bones if need be, was only temporary.
You don't want to look like a shopkeeper, Sofia had said simply when she presented him with a few selections. Apparently his sedate civilian attire wasn't exactly fashionable down here.
Think you got anything there'll fit me? He shouldn't have sulked, but he knew she was right. Presentation mattered in the underground. Looking like a murderous peacock was part of that deal. Kenny hadn't done much for Levi—apart from keeping him alive—but he'd taught him the ways of their world. Kenny hadn't adopted the fancy-ass look of a lot of thugs; instead, he'd walked around with that wide-brimmed hat of his, bloodstains speckling his tan overcoat. Tch. Unsanitary.
Levi had taken a room and changed. Funny enough, there had been clothes to fit him. He'd gone with a white button up shirt, silk cravat, paisley-swirled satin vest, and fitted black pants. His boots he'd kept—no one had anything that'd fit him in that department. Walking out, he'd found Sofia dressed to negotiate as well, charcoal gray puffed pants (riding pants, as he'd heard Erwin refer to them dismissively once), a black fitted jacket, a plunging neckline. Levi'd made sure not to look that far down. She'd raised an eyebrow at the sight of him.
Finally. You look like yourself.
Levi's gut soured at the thought. He'd become so used to seeing himself in a sliver of mirror in his brown army jacket, his green Survey cloak. He'd grown used to seeing himself at Erwin's side. Now, as he waited for the Schneider Brothers in this dingy warehouse, crates piled up all around them to the ceiling, he felt he'd slipped back in time to when he was nothing more than a thug. That hollow, cold feeling grew in the pit of his stomach. Even Isabel and Furlan hadn't been enough to fill that void. For a while, Levi'd thought it would go away when he was on the surface, but he knew better now. Erwin had saved him from that emptiness.
Levi had to do this—go back on his own beliefs, his own code—to keep Erwin's dream alive. The thought of his Commander looking down on him with disappointment a glimmer in those blue eyes was physical pain.
When they'd met, Levi had been kneeling in a puddle of muddy water. He'd glared up at Erwin, the only man who'd ever run him down—well, Levi'd wanted to get run down, but it hadn't gone like he'd anticipated it. Full of surprises, that Erwin Smith. Levi had never felt hate like that before in his life. It'd choked him, turned his guts to lead. Maybe because he instinctively knew that Erwin was everything he was not, would never be. Tall. Handsome. Brilliant. Admired. Good. No, great. A great man. Levi was only a grub, a selfish parasite devouring whatever got into his path. There was a time when Levi hated people, only gave a fuck about those in his inner circle. That hate had been like a fever that burned right through him. Erwin had saved him, shown him a better world. Then Petra had saved him, let him feel tenderness.
And now here he was. Back again for more cold, angry bullshit.
But not back forever. He kept telling himself that as he gazed at the crates, wondered what was inside them.
Footsteps. Sofia gazed down at him. She'd swapped out her heeled boots for flats, but she still had a good three inches on him. Levi glanced at her from his periphery.
"Do you hate this that much?" she asked softly. Her black eyes registered no emotion. Levi felt a twinge of regret; what'd she done, and seen, since he'd left? She was and had been a kid, after all. Just a kid. Girls her age ought to be starting families or working in shops or pursuing dreams—purer, better dreams for the purer, better world he wanted to make.
Petra. Every glance at Sofia only made him think of Petra. Her laughter, her tears, the high color in her cheeks. The way she could feel everything with ease. Sofia, meanwhile, had the cold pragmatism of the underground's black market in her veins, like a virus. He nearly winced at the thought.
"I didn't leave this place because I wanted to," he muttered. "But now that I know what life's like outside the walls, and in the fresh air, I can't go back. This place is shit. I didn't know it until I saw the rest of the world for myself. Now the underground feels more like a shitty prison than ever."
"Life is better when you rise to the top of the heap," Sofia murmured. She placed a slender hand on his shoulder. "I think that we can carry hell with us wherever we go. Once you change your perspective, any place can be wonderful."
"Tell that to the starving women and children I saw when I first came in." He glared at her.
"We all make choices, don't we? We all have to live according to those choices."
He snorted. "Fuck, you sound like Erwin."
Truthfully, there were a few parallels he could draw between his Commander and Sofia. Only made him more sorry for her.
Sofia grinned. "Is he your superior?"
"The Commander of the Survey Corps. Made me who I am."
"Mmm. I disagree. I think you've made yourself, Levi." Her hand trailed down his shoulder, along his arm. He became very aware of how near to him she stood. The lavender perfume was potent. "And you've done a very nice job." She pressed her lips together; she'd done them up in blood red, accentuating their fullness. "I can't help but admire you. I never could." Her voice was low and breathy. She reached up and "fixed" his cravat, resting her hand upon his chest. In her dark eyes, he saw a simmering want.
He stepped away, roughly brushing her off. Levi winced, felt the hair on his arms stand on end. A sour taste filled his mouth. Any other man might've welcomed that moment, but not him. He fixed his own damn cravat, and turned his back to her. Sofia gave a light, airy laugh.
"Sorry, sorry. None of us could ever tell what you liked. Are you not into girls?"
"No. I mean, yes. I mean." Fuck. He hated shit like this. "I'm not into women. I'm into a woman. Difference."
For years, Levi had lived with only brief flares of sexual desire. Until he'd met Petra, and every other woman melted away.
"I see." Her tone never lost its breezy quality. Sofia stepped up beside him, her arms folded. She appeared liquid, at complete ease. She didn't try to touch him again. "Well, lucky girl. Who is she?"
"In the military. Back home. Safe." Petra. He needed to think of her under a blanket in a chair before the fire, cheek in her hand, drowsing as snow fell outside the window. Her amber eyes fluttering shut, her soft lips parted, her chest rising and falling with her breath. His jewel glittering at her throat. He would enter that room and rouse her, kiss her on the mouth. She'd cling to him and sigh that at last he was home. A girl of sunlight and sweetness, a million years removed from all this filth. He was doing this for her, and the other soldiers, as much as for Erwin. "I want to finish this up and get back to her."
"Then I'll try not to keep you longer than necessary. Ah, Wilhelm." Sofia's voice went from soft to brassy. She sounded like she was performing confidence, but looking at her you could never tell it was fake. She strode forward, arm extended. Wilhelm Schneider came and shook with her. Technically, he was the lone brother of the Schneider Brothers; his younger sibling, Henrik, had died two years ago, according to Sofia. But the name stuck. Names tended to do that.
Levi's name, after all. Out of action six years, but it still did the trick. When Wilhelm Schneider glanced over Sofia's shoulder at him, the man did a full double take. His sallow face paled.
"L-Levi? Is that you?" Wilhelm stepped around Sofia, as if forgetting she were there entirely. Levi watched through half-lidded eyes as Schneider approached. "They said you'd died."
"Not dead. Not in prison. Just visiting." He squared his jaw, and even that was enough to get Schneider to stop dead where he stood. Well. Good to know Levi hadn't lost his touch. "I'm not the one you're here to do business with, Wilhelm."
The other man cooled down a bit. He rested his hands on the top of a silver-headed cane. Schneider was fortyish now, still grizzled and hard but starting to go soft around the middle. He dressed well, if a little loud. Like all of them, really. A lime green coat was maybe not the thing Levi would've chosen, but hey. Made an impression.
"I honestly believed the rumors. About your death, that is. The other stories I heard were that you'd become some sort of hero above ground. Humanity's Bravest, or something?"
"Strongest." Levi sort of hated that title. Sounded like the kind of thing a fussy mother tells all her friends over tea. Well, my child is Humanity's Strongest, that sort of bullshit.
"Humanity's Strongest, hero to the people…and here you are. Playing at being back up muscle." Schneider grinned, scratched his hand against his beard. "What I always tell my men. People never really change."
"You really wanna pay attention to the lady, Will. I'm not that interesting," Levi growled. Apparently Schneider believed him, because he focused on Sofia. Levi stepped back, receding into the shadows alongside two other taller, broader thugs Sofia had brought as extra back up. Schneider barely paid a lick of attention to them.
Levi's eyes flicked to a thug's pocket watch. Come on. Come the fuck on. He wanted to get on the Red Hand's case.
"Sofia. What may I do for you?" Schneider tapped his cane against the ground decisively. He spoke like a father bestowing a pat on his daughter's head. Condescending prick. Sofia, to her credit, did not falter.
"I think you can imagine, Wilhelm. I'm still waiting on the eighty-six gold pieces you owe me for transportation and storage of your contraband. I think that was twelve cases of whiskey and thirteen barrels of wine, yes?"
Schneider's smile grew even more sickeningly indulgent. "If you'll remember the terms of our agreement, that's to be paid out in quarterly installments. The end of the month's in a few days, girly. You'll have twenty-one gold pieces then, along with—"
"In addition," Sofia added coolly, "to the fifteen hundred lump sum I'm expecting on account of your theft."
Schneider's smile withered. It grew still in the warehouse. Still enough you could hear a mouse shit.
Well, fuck. Levi glowered. Sofia hadn't been entirely honest with him, had she? Demanding payment on services rendered was one thing, but demanding repayment of materials stolen? Fuck if that wasn't another topic all together. One that usually led to touchiness and anger. And anger could take up a lot of time.
Schneider swallowed. "How dare you accuse me—" he began.
"How dare you steal from my own warehouses?" Sofia did not let him get a word in. Her eyes scanned the crates piled up to the ceiling. "How dare you think I wouldn't find out? A bit at a time is all it takes; isn't that what you thought?" The girl's hand strayed to her back, and Levi watched her lift up her coat. A gun's handle peeked out of her waistband.
Fuck. Fuck. This was about to turn into turf warfare, and he did not have time for that shit.
Schneider bared his teeth, his eyes glinting with a furious light.
"I'll break you in half," he growled.
"Why don't you simply return what you stole from me? Or if you don't have it any longer, I'll take what I like from your warehouse." She slowly slid the gun from out her back, and her acting was perfect. Schneider was so fixated on her face, he wasn't paying attention to her hand. "I think we'll start with everything in this room."
"Everything in…" Then Schneider did something Levi would've never expected.
He smiled.
"You cunning little bitch," he growled. He laughed, and lifted up his cane. "I see. I see what—"
He didn't finish that sentence. The gang lord slid a silver-handled dagger out of his cane, and reared back to strike just as Sofia brought out the gun from behind her back and leveled it at his face. The war was about to get going—
Levi moved faster than either of them could've anticipated. He kicked the knife from Schneider's hand and swept the putrid man's legs. Schneider collapsed with a loud oof, and Levi placed one booted foot on his midsection. The guy coughed as Levi grabbed his left arm, and calmly broke it in three separate places. Crack. Crack. Crack.
Howls like you wouldn't believe rang through the air as Sofia stepped backwards, lowering her gun to her side.
"My, my," she breathed. "You haven't lost your touch, Levi."
Levi got in Schneider's face; the gang lord's cheeks were a ruddy crimson with the pain. Tears bled from his eyes, and spittle bubbled on his chapped lips.
"I want this over with now," Levi hissed. He put his hands to Schneider's neck. "Give the lady her money and everything else she wants. If you don't, I'm gonna make sure you have a real hard time taking a shit from now on."
Schneider gurgled a bit more, eyes darting left and right as Sofia came to stand over him. Then, he opened his mouth…and chuckled.
"Fucking. Idiots," he wheezed. "You thought…I brought…nobody?"
Oh, shit.
Footsteps echoed in the cavernous chamber. Levi glanced up as six, seven, eight men with guns all emerged from behind stacks of crates, or raced in through the door. Everyone looked down the barrels of their guns, and kept Levi and Sofia in their sights.
Grimly, Levi realized this might take more than a fucking hour to deal with.
Levi had come from a place like this?
Petra was no innocent little girl. She had sliced through the necks of fifteen meter titans on her own. She had raced horses through fields to get away from rampaging monsters. She had walked in one time on Oruo and the other guys in the squad bathing naked in the river. All of that was horrible enough.
But her dim attempts at humor snuffed out as she surveyed the filthy streets, and the miserable people strewn about them. She clutched at her scarf, grateful that it hid her pendant. She didn't want anyone to know about it, not here. Petra wrinkled her nose and sneezed. The place smelled of stagnant water and mildew, of sweat and alcohol. It seemed that everywhere she stepped, she narrowly avoided a pile of feces or a broken bottle.
Oh, Levi. Tears stung her eyes. She and the guys had often exchanged exasperated looks at the captain's obsessive cleaning habits, but if he'd lived here for nearly thirty years… Petra understood why he would hate any kind of filth. She couldn't imagine being here for more than a day, let alone a lifetime.
As Petra kept her head down and walked the street, she tried to think. The first thing to do would be to find the Red Hand. If they were as powerful as Levi said they were, they'd have to be easily discovered. Wherever the Red Hand was, Levi would be close. He was relentless with his goals. She wanted to hold him so badly, feel him warm and safe in her arms. She buried her nose in her scarf. He'd been ready to disappear without telling anyone where he was going. He hadn't trusted her, but then again he hadn't trusted the Commander either. Why did he insist on taking every burden onto himself?
She could kill him if she didn't love him so much.
Petra scanned the shoddy storefronts around her, the crumbling buildings. Gaslight flickered in the windows, painting everything around it a ghostly green. People looked sick down here, though Petra wasn't sure if that was on account of the light or their health in general. Her heart sank at the pitiful sight.
"Hey! Stop! Ow!"
Her head whipped around, and she gasped. Two men were crowding up on a pair of small boys. The children kicked at their attackers, crying and wrapping their arms around their heads as one man—he had a bat tattoo, of all things—lurched towards them, menacing. Another man stepped from the alleyway, a pipe in his hands. They were going to beat the children.
Instantly, Petra's vision was fire. Gritting her teeth, she raced at the men head on.
"Get away from them!" she shouted. The one with a bat tattoo turned around and sneered. She saw he was missing several teeth.
"Fuck off, bitch," he grunted. His eyes widened when Petra delivered a high, perfect kick to his balls. As he crumpled to the ground, she heard him mutter something that sounded an awful lot like 'not again.'
The other man stared blankly at Petra, and raised his pipe over his head. Petra recalled what the captain had taught her once: the running, leaping kick. She lunged and leapt high, striking the bastard in his solar plexus. The pipe dropped to the ground, and the man staggered away. The bat tattoo fellow crawled after him. Petra would have chased the pair, but one of the boys started to cry. She turned to him, and her heart softened. They were dirty-faced and wearing ragged clothes. Their hair was matted with filth, and their fingernails were black with grime. The smaller one wept behind his fingers. Petra knelt before the children, extending her hand.
"It's all right. It's over now," she said gently.
The kid looked up at her; his eyes were clear, and he gave an awful, knowing smile.
"Get her!" the bigger one shouted. Petra, too stunned to think, gasped as she was knocked over. The children pawed at her, their little fingers deft as they yanked at her scarf, searched her pockets with lightning speed.
"Oh! Oh!" The smaller one snatched something and yanked hard. Petra cried out as she felt the chain around her neck break. Something flashed in the child's hand; the topaz. Levi's present.
"No!" she shouted, and screamed when the older boy elbowed her down, gripped her by the front, and squeezed. Petra couldn't even scream from the shock.
"Oi! I felt a titty! I did!" He laughed as he took off running, the little one scampering after him. Petra got to her hands and knees, and gave chase. Fists pumping by her sides, teeth gritted, she bore down on the little bastards. Not her pendant. Why, why had she worn it down here? She was the biggest idiot of all.
But she was going to get it back.
"Aw, fuck. She's fast!" the bigger one squealed, clocking her behind his shoulder. Maybe Petra should've been more understanding of how these children must've grown up to be like this, but she did not have the time or the luxury. They were not going to take her necklace. They were not.
"Stop, you little…shits!" Petra skidded to a halt as the boys peeled off in opposite directions. The smaller one went off to the right. She tailed him through a cluster of people and down an alley. He stopped, looked back at her, and then slipped into some kind of drain at the side of a wall and disappeared. Screaming in bloody fury, Petra fell to her knees and reached down into the drain. It was only a few inches high—enough for a tiny, malnourished body to slip through, but not hers.
Gone. He was gone, and so was her necklace.
Petra sat back on her knees and howled in blind rage. She slammed her palms against the ground, against the brick wall before her. Getting to her feet, she swung haphazardly down the alley, searching for the older boy. But he was gone as well. Like smoke. Vanished.
Petra stood at the mouth of the alley, her chest heaving. Then, heavy tears blurred her vision. She shoved her sleeve into her mouth so that she would not wail and weep. She cried silently, leaning her forehead against the cool brick.
She had lost Levi's gift to her. The one thing he'd given her. He'd told her never to take it off. Five damn seconds in this hell, and she'd already lost it.
It was as if someone had splashed cold water onto her, waking her from a daydream. What was she doing here? She didn't belong. Levi was going to be so damn furious when he found out she'd disobeyed him. Teeth chattering, for a wild minute Petra considered cutting her losses and slinking out of the underground. Going up to wait for Commander Dok, and letting Levi yell at her when he found out what'd happened.
But he was still in danger down here, still alone, and she did not have the luxury of sitting and waiting for him to come to her. She had to go to him.
It could be life or death. So, wiping her eyes and feeling raw and foolish, Petra slunk back onto the road. This time, she kept her head down and her shoulders hunched. Her eyelid twitched. In the span of a few minutes, she'd made a damn fool of herself.
But Petra was a soldier, and soldiers did not have the time for self pity. They had to take action.
She came to a halt outside of some kind of gambling hall. Petra looked up at the sign: The Cheeky Bitch. In flaking paint, she saw the image of a woman with her bottom to the viewer, both cheeks red.
Disgusting. But every other storefront was shuttered, and everyone was watching her warily. At least, that's how it seemed. Petra tugged up her collar and opened the door. Inside, there were a few games of chance at the edges of the room, but most of the space was taken up by a bar at the far end, and couches strewn about the place with a kind of haphazard carelessness. On those couches, men lounged with their shirts half undone, smoking hookah pipes and blowing rings of sickly sweet smoke into the air. Women with corseted breasts and brightly dyed hair sauntered around, sitting on available laps and luring men up to a flight of stairs. Petra's face went hot; she was in a brothel. She'd never been in one before. Hardened soldier though she was, she she'd also been raised in a proper household with proper values. The idea of being in a place like this was too humiliating for words.
But Levi's mother had been a prostitute. That's what he'd said. He'd be hurt if he knew you thought you were too good for this place.
It was a long shot, but she needed help.
"Excuse me." She cleared her throat and walked over to the bartender. He was pouring a couple of ales, and glanced at her. His mustache was waxed impeccably, curled on either end. His bushy eyebrows lifted to see her, and there was a kind of twinkle in his eye she did not like.
"Come to find a job? I think we have use for a girl like you." He licked his teeth. "Start by taking off your coat. Show us what we've got to work with."
It would have been wise to simply refuse. It would have been wise to act innocent. It would have been wise not to grow angry and yell. But Petra was way past wise at this point. She'd been groped and robbed, and she had had enough. She slammed her fist on the bar top, so that one of the ales jumped and splashed its drinker. The man gave a grunt, then started sucking at his shirt to get all the booze out.
"I'm looking for some information," she said.
The barkeep narrowed his wet black eyes.
"Nah. You wouldn't make a good whore. Got a lip on you."
"I'm not a whore. I am a soldier from the royal military, and I demand that you treat me with respect." Petra gritted her teeth. Now the room quieted around her. She could feel the shift; they knew the military was here now. That meant things were serious. The barkeep fluffed at his mustache.
"What can we do for you? Soldier?"
"I'm looking for information about the Red Hand. I need to know where I can find them."
A long, slow blink from the bartender. Petra swore she heard a snort somewhere in the room, and whirled around to find the jerk. Her eyes must have been especially fiery, because several men ducked their heads.
"You want to find the Red Hand?" The bartender chuckled, and wiped down a glass. "If they want to, they'll find you. Not the other way around. Be glad you're not on their list right now, angel."
Actually, Petra was. But it'd be wise not to mention it.
"All I need is a name. A direction. A building. Anything."
"Wouldn't you know all that, if you're military?" The bartender's wet black eyes glimmered. "The MPs know all about our little town. Bet they'd be happy to share with a firm little piece like you."
Petra had had more than enough of men talking about her like that. She leaned over the bar.
"Believe me, they're on their way down. You want to be on my good side when they get here."
He sniffed. "So. Why aren't they here with you?"
"What?"
"If you're a member of the military, where are the police? Where's your uniform?"
"I'm…I'm undercover."
He snorted. "If that's true, announcing yourself as military is kind of missing the point, don't you think?"
Damn. Damn, Petra had let her temper get the best of her. She was not stupid, but when her emotions ran too hot she could make very stupid mistakes. And judging by the way everyone in this room was looking at her now…it had been a large mistake.
"If you don't want to help me, fine. My partner is looking into a saloon down the street. I'll join him, see if he has any luck." She turned, but a wall of men—all outfitted in the livery of some kind of gang, with black leather coats and gold rings—stood before her. They all had shaved heads. A few of them smiled.
"I think you don't have a partner." The barkeep chuckled. "I think you're a pretty little bird that flew in from above. Plunged down a sewer grating, hurt your wing on the way. And you know what, sweetheart?" She heard him move from behind the bar, and then felt the cold barrel of a shotgun against the back of her neck. "I don't think you'll be flying again anytime soon."
Petra's mouth was dry. The men surrounded her, and the gun was not going anywhere.
"This is going to be the greatest mistake of your life," she whispered.
When Levi found out about this…
"What do we do now?" one of the leather men asked the barkeep.
"She wants to find the Red Hand, doesn't she? Well. I heard they were looking for a few new "hires." Massage girls, and the like." Petra's skin crawled. She had a good idea what kind of massage they meant. And hiring in the underground would probably translate closer to slavery up above. They wanted to sell her. "She's a cute little thing. Probably not bad looking, once you put some make up on and do up her hair. They'll take her for a price. On the chance she's not lying, and the MPs are coming, we don't want her anywhere nearby to tell the tale. And dumping a corpse, well. The MPs know all the usual dumping grounds. Plus, this way we get paid."
Petra's mind spun. They wanted to sell her to the Red Hand, like a sack of potatoes. Her eyes darted this way and that, her mind formulating a plan. If she could manage to incapacitate the man without the gun going off, if she could get that gun away from him, she could shoot her way out of here. The thought of turning a weapon on another human being was terrifying, but she was ready for it.
But…
They were going to take her to the Red Hand.
Think fast, Petra. If she tried making her escape, she could be killed. She could have men on her tail if she ran. If she went with them, she could end up in a terrifying, unknown situation. And she did not know how well the Red Hand would know her by sight; the worse case scenario was that they'd realize she was Levi's lover. Bitterly, Petra realized that losing that necklace might have been a stroke of luck.
She had made a complete ass of herself within an hour of being underground. She'd been a fool to think she could waltz in here and play the game as well as Levi.
It would be dangerous if she escaped, and dangerous if she went with them. But there was one large difference between the two dangers, one reason to be their captive.
Levi would almost certainly be there, or close by. If she wanted to find him in this nightmare city, being captured might be her best bet.
If she made his job more difficult, she would have to bear him yelling at her. It would be fine if he forced her to sit in the brig for days on end on account of her disobedience. But they would both be alive, and together. Eventually, he would forgive her.
Petra's eyes stung. She'd wanted to help; instead, she'd become another burden.
Unless…unless she could find the money on her own. If they didn't recognize her instantly, she could try playing their game. She could try to be useful to her captain.
So, even though every fiber of her being screamed against it, Petra lifted her hands over her head and surrendered.
Levi. Wait for me.
"All right," she whispered. Her voice was hoarse. "Take me to the Red Hand."
