"Out for a run," I lied and she only snorted.

"Lying isn't really your thing, is it?"

I prepared myself for her to shoot me.

There was no reason to play games anymore.

"Stop fucking around with me," I gritted and it seemed to catch her off guard.

"Hey, what's wrong?" She asked in this tone I despised. She was frowning and looking plain upset, but it was all a lie.

All a trick.

"Hey, Reiner, boy," Ymir nodded at me, "how about I give you a lift to the place, huh? I know Berty-boy and Annie will be there. Maybe they'll help clear your mind from whatever this is?"

All I could hear was lies.

She had taken Historia and caged her away until she could no longer run away. She manipulated everyone and now she thought she was clever to fool me?

"I don't want to leave you alone. Something ain't right and I feel you might be a bit irrational—do you need some water?" Ymir parked her car, getting out.

There was nobody with her.

I could—I could kill her now.

I felt my gun in its holster. It was getting heavier by the second as she neared me.

"You're shaking all over, Reiner," Ymir said, stopping by me, "tell me, what's wrong—are you feeling well?"

"Stop asking me if I feel well! I know you don't care!" I slapped her hand away but she didn't seem to be fazed.

There were memories racing through my head.

Of artwork I drew growing up that I showed my father. He didn't care a lick about it. All he said was that it's a good hobby but that I had to become a police officer.

Playing sports with Bert and his family would always be there, but not mine. Father had work and mother was always busy gardening or doing this and that.

Care.

I shook my head.

"Fuck you," I growled, readying my fists and she still didn't care.

"What're you going to do, Reiner?" She asked. It was devoid of threat and anger. It was concerned and quiet.

"Are you going to punch me…? I don't think whatever you're thinking is going to solve that." Ymir spoke and I felt my resolve break a bit.

Why was she—

"You're a liar! A fucking thief! Why would I ever work for you—you're—you're a fucking criminal!" I swung and she stepped out of it.

She didn't even answer as I finally hooked to the left, slamming my fist right against her shoulder.

She winced, grunting, but she did not fight back.

Why—she fucking killed people, Reiner—KILLED—and yet—and fucking yet…

"Why—why the fuck are you so—why do you pretend to care!?" I stepped and another blow hit and she winced again.

"Who said I did not?" She replied, bringing out her hands this time and catching every throw, deflecting them away from her throbbing shoulder.

"You—You fucking kill people! KILL PEOPLE! I KNOW WHAT YOU DID! I KNOW WHAT YOU DO!"

I blindly swung, staggering, hoping she'd just die, but she took hold of my wrist and all of a sudden all I saw was the blinding streetlamp glaring down at me.

"I do. And so do you." She muttered, realizing what was going on now.

"Police or mafia, we kill people. Either one is wrong, Braun," she muttered, walking towards me and blocking out the light.

In her hand—my hand whipped down and found that my gun was missing from its holster.

The fucking bitch.

"Going to do me in, then, huh, cop-killer?" I sneered.

I would at least die doing what's right.

"Hah. No." She threw the gun in the nearby alley.

"I don't plan on killing anyone the night before my anniversary." She adjusted her tie, glancing back at her stalling car.

"Now, if you still want to be a heathen, I will leave you here. If you want to talk it out, you will get in the car and we'll go our place to the VIP lounge for a drink with me." She looked back down.

"Why the fuck—why would you want to talk about 'it'?!"

It didn't make sense.

"And how do I know you won't just kill me!?"

"I don't work that way," she blinked slowly, "if I want to kill you, you would know. Plus, I had more than plenty opening just now, no?"

I got up, feeling my back ache, but she offered a hand.

I glared at it but she didn't withdraw.

"You should take someone's courtesy, no?" She asked, getting irritated.

I rolled my eyes, grabbing her hand as she helped lift me back onto my feet.

"Come now," Ymir hopped back into her vehicle and I did, too, glancing at the alleyway.

Either I was crazy or stupid or both to come unarmed.

"I think a drink will put you in better spirits," she hummed, turning the car radio up and humming with whatever it was on.
.

.

.

Ymir went by the counter.

I kept standing, watching her as she grabbed glasses and alcohol.

"Relax," Ymir spoke, "I'm not going to poison you. I prefer to tell my enemies when and how I want to kill them. It's polite."

She smiled but I didn't budge.

"Stiff as a board and a wet towel at the same time," she clicked her tongue. I slowly made my way to the bar stool and sat there, remembering seeing my father sneak off sometimes to go to the speakeasy back home.

He said it was a law nobody cared for except the government. Even then the politicians went through it.

Ymir poured a generous amount of alcohol—whisky?

Whisky.

"Now, go ahead," she nodded, drinking her cup without a hint of grimacing, "tell me all that you hate me for."

She peered into her glass, smiling bitterly.

"It might do me some good, huh? Give me a guilty conscious hopefully."

I chugged my whisky and glared at her.

"You kill the original police chief's son at my station! What the fuc—"

"And you can't pretend that boy was any good," she shrugged.

I bit my tongue.

The boy wasn't known to be a good kid—got into all sorts of trouble and made his father cry once because he didn't know where he went wrong. The boy one day came late in the station, blood on his hands and cracked up on drugs.

The boy had killed a prostitute.

The station pulled together to keep it hush hush as the police chief drowned himself in whisky in his office, crying in front of his son.

After that, the boy died shortly after.

And the police chief retired.

"I will tell you this if it helps justify it—not that it ever will," Ymir lazily stirred the ice cubes, "it wasn't his first time killing someone. It was just the first time he didn't have friends to clean up his shit."

I stared at her.

"Whatever. He was just a boy!"

"And the people he killed were just boys and girls, too," Ymir cocked her head to the side, "they didn't have the luxury of living parents or let alone ones that were alive and cared and had jobs… the only difference we have here is that the boy killed them and got off scotch free every time."

I gritted my teeth.

"Why didn't you report it!?"

"Hah!" Ymir barked a laugh.

"Did you hear what you just said after admitting you guys covered up the whole incident for a friend? What a joke, Braun. Justice does not turn a blind eye to anyone." She took another swig.

"Vigilante justice isn't any better," I defended ourselves but she didn't even bat an eyelash at the retort.

"Okay. Give me another one," she nodded, leaning against the bar and staring at me, "give me another reason why you want to 'bring me to justice'."

"You steal everything and anything you can get your hands on! You cannot justify your greed!"

"Hoh?" Ymir put a hand over her heart.

"Hoh. What a claim." Ymir smirked.

"What!?" I was ready to wring her neck again.

"Stealing things that aren't yours says the white man to the Native American. How ironic." Ymir finished her drink, batting her eyelashes and removing her fedora.

"That does not justify you stealing from banks!"

"No, it doesn't. Stealing isn't the way my people will get back what was taken, but stealing from banks helps everyone."

"That's the most stupidest fucking thing I ever heard!" I shot up, bar stool falling behind me.

"Really? Have you seen the neighborhood around us? All of it is owned by us and has the least crime rate. Everyone who works for us gets to move here if they were in the slums—we're constructing more apartments even today for our employees." She gestured to the window but I didn't want to look.

"You guys are just fucking helping yourselves. What about the others who you stole from!?"

"Do you think the poor man owns a bank account?" She countered and, again, I was biting my tongue.

The fucking bitch kept finding loopholes that didn't make sense or didn't matter.

"We look out for those have the most injustice upon them…and we dish out these infractions to those who often get away with them…isn't that justice?"

"No! It's not! You are abusing other people for another's gain!"

"Hah! And isn't that how America works? First the indigenous people, second the blacks, and now you're abusing the immigrants who wish to find a better life for themselves? You have no right to say what I am abusing if you think class and monetary difference justifies suffering." Ymir slammed her palms against the surface of the bar.

"You are just crammed full of hypocritical beliefs, aren't you?" Ymir tapped her own head, viciously smiling and laughing.

"Why don't you get your head out of your own ass, Braun? You will believe just about anything said to you, wouldn't you? What else did your shitty father even—"

"Leave my father out of this!" I tried to slap her but she dodged it and snorted.

"Oh, don't tell me ol' pops hid things from you, hm?"

"Shut up!"

"Fine." Ymir crossed her arms.

"But you cannot look up to him as this pure gift of God. He's far from it, Braun… however," she lowered her arms.

She went back to the bar, leaning on it and staring at me as if she never offended me.

"You can change things, Braun. You are a man of justice…when we got you a new suit, you said so yourself that the ends justify the means, hm?"

"I was lying to save my cover before I realized you were just playing us all…where's Bertolt?"

"He's probably in the main lounge, flirting it up with Annie." She laughed.

"He's a sweet man, isn't he? It's too bad Annie just does not have a thing for men."

"What?"

Annie was…?

"She doesn't care for men particularly. She does seem to enjoy the company of women. Hm?" She winked, snickering.

"A-And, wait," I reloaded my questions and she sighed again, tired, "you're cheating on your wif—Historia—Miss Historia Reiss!"

"Oh? Has Annie been bragging to you about me and her?" She tried to joke but her face was all red.

"No! She informed me of your infidelity! Have you ever thought what Miss Historia is going through knowing this?" I pointed.

I was feeling a bit heavy, but I didn't want to give in.

Every thing… I didn't want to believe but Ymir…she—she was a good person.

She was…more about justice…than anyone I ever saw.

And I didn't want to believe it.

No criminal could ever be like this. It was things only of imagination and novels.

Ymir glanced at her drink, thoughtful.

She smiled a bit.

"I'm sure she's just thrilled about it." She shook her head.

"I never wanted to tell her about it…she'd get all sorts of worked up."

"You're disgusting," I shot because I found this reason to hate her.

"Oh? Well, if that's the one thing you need to justify your 'investigation' then sure…but it won't end happily for you."

She stood up, putting her cup away.

"Justice has its sacrifices but I will ensure Miss Historia Reiss is safe and that your underworld is brought to light and disbanded."

"Is that really what you have to say after all this? Look around you, Braun… when you come to our anniversary tomorrow, take time to look around and really think if this is justice is worse or better, hm?" Ymir took my glass away, placing it in the sink.

"You're invited to our anniversary party tomorrow. If you come, I will take it as a gesture that you wish to put back your old, diluted views of justice behind you and embrace the new world of justice. True justice." She went around the bar, holding out her hand in a shake.

"And if I don't?"

"If you don't, I will formally invite you to your own death." Her eyes were downcast, a frown on her face as if…she was saddened by the deal.

"That doesn't sound like justice."

"I'm only the dealer of it. Not the judge." She admitted but it felt like a shitty way to make herself not responsible.

"Do you understand?" She gestured her hand again.

I stood up, glaring, and took her hand, shaking it.

She smiled a bit.

"Please…do come to the party…don't worry about dressing up nicely. It's just a fun thing to do, yeah?" She withdrew her hand and I was already walking away, gritting my teeth.

"Hey, Braun?"

I didn't stop as I opened the door.

"I never wanted to kill you in the first place…you're a hardworking, good man... take the night off to get some good sleep…" She cracked her knuckles and I gave her one last glance.

She was staring down at the ground…shy.

Like a kid knocking on their friend's door to ask if they could come out and play.

"I was hoping…things could've turned out different…and they still can…"

Did she really not want to kill me?

"Ymir."

Her head shot up.

"Are you saying you wanted to be friends this whole time?"

I remembered Annie saying that the Dancing Titan wished for friends and that she was lonely.

Was that not a lie?

I didn't know if it was or a lucky shot in the dark. Everything was a lie these days.

"Wh-What? N—er, yes…I guess…" Ymir scratched the back of her neck, looking irritated.

Embarrassed, really.

But I guess…it would make sense if I tried to think of her position…

Trying to do what she thought was best…working hard…saving people…doing things that people thought were immoral when she saw it was the justice the world needed…

In fact…

"Hah." I chuckled and that didn't seem to ease her.

I guess if we were at the same station…on the same side… we would've been good friends.

I didn't give her the comfort of an answer as I left, shaking my head, and going down the hall and into the main lounge.

The music was alive, people were dancing, the smell of alcohol and tobacco was heavy, and guarding Historia Reiss in the VIP section was Annie Leonhardt.

She saw me and nodded.

Ol' Bert was probably getting her a drink or something.

I lifted my hand and went for the exit.

The streets were cold but it was a nice feeling after all the heat that came upon me.

I was torn between laughing my ass off to screaming to crying and then laughing some more.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets and whistled, trying to shrug off this feeling of inevitable doom.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day

To the last syllable of recorded time;

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death.

Hm.

How did the rest go?

Something, something…

It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.


A/N:

Do you believe in justice?

Is justice symbolized through a badge or actions that're meant to better the world?

Which one is better?

In this world, there's a thing called equivalent exchange.

You must give and take.

So does that mean the ends justify the means is truer than an idealized justice system people strive for but continue to corrupt?

Justice.