Overhead, news helicopters hovered in hungry urgency. Their propellers tossed the clouds and clicked in a whirring motion. Sirens hugged the street, sticking to the dry air and professing importance. The rain two days ago left the sky in angry heat. The sun had clawed its way closer to the ground and slapped the city with a burning whip. Businessmen and women pulled their collars apart trying to breathe as they scuttled to work, trying to avoid the crowd and traffic which kept them from their offices. Usually the Ferrari turned heads as it sped down, but the attention today bled elsewhere.
Earlier, Ymir and Christa were woken up by an imperative call from Marco telling them Jean had been in an accident. An explosion.
Ymir turned the radio up.
"...99.5 bringing you the latest: Mr Johnston, owner of Johnston's General Store in West Utopia, has been found dead. His shop was bombed at 5 am this morning. Witnesses say they saw three, hooded figures in the shop before it exploded. Two people have been reported injured from the blast."
"You don't think..." Christa whispered, looking at Ymir with eyes full of worry.
"Why would Jean be out at 5 am?"
"This can't be a coincidence."
"One way to find out." Ymir kicked the gas pedal.
###
The ground where the store once stood was scooped out to form a small crater. A charred pillar remained, but it was bound to collapse at any given moment. Ash outlined the markings of what were once shelves, a desk, the cash register. Nothing was left to bury. The only reason that the paramedics identified Johnston was through witnesses. Everyone knew who he was – though the city was big, it was hard to forget the man who tried to file a lawsuit against a dormant superhero. One such witness was Jean. He was sitting on the back of a paramedic van; dust on his clothes, on his hands, his face. A bloodied square bandage was stuck on the top of his forehead. Beside him, a paramedic officer and a dark-haired, freckled man were squabbling.
"Oh, god." Ymir opened the door for Christa. "Marco's having a go."
Christa got out and followed Ymir closer towards the scene. The Garrison, the central police force for the city, had set up a perimeter of yellow tape around the scorched ruins of the store. Several policemen herded off newscasters and any civilians who attempted to get too nosy. The pungent scent of smoke loitered in the air, burning her nostrils. A silent rage filled her heart as she remembered Sasha and Connie almost getting killed by Hyrr in the store. It had only occurred a few months ago, but felt like it had been a lifetime.
As they got closer, they heard it. The swallowing rage of Marco Bodt.
"Isn't there anything you can do!?"
"Sir, please, we've done everything we've can to help him."
"Do more!"
"Sir-" The paramedic held his hands up in defeat and backed away.
Marco saw them out of the corner of his eye, but the terrible expression on his face did not falter. "Ymir! Christa! Tell this man he needs to give Jean more help. More...bandages. I don't know!"
Ymir took one glance at Jean, who sat quietly and miserably. His shoulders were slumped, hair dishevelled. A dying light in his eyes confirmed their worries.
Christa addressed the paramedic. "Thank you for helping my friend. Please don't mind Mr Bodt. He's just...distraught."
The paramedic shrugged, but smiled at Christa. He nodded and left for the front seat of his van.
Marco cursed, and turned to Jean. He kneeled and faced him. "Jean, are you sure you're alright?"
Jean nodded.
"What happened? Why were you caught in the explosion?" Ymir asked.
"Took me," he answered.
"Took you?" Marco held Jean's hands.
"Excuse me."
They all turned to look behind them. There stood a woman with red hair which she kept short and kempt. Her eyes were kind, but very determined. Her uniform consisted of a white, ironed shirt under a dark green army-cut jacket. She held out a badge. "My name is Detective Petra Ral. I'm with the Survey Corps. The Garrison don't deal with high-profile cases like these. I've been sent to investigate."
"The Survey Corps? You guys have the resources to look into this?" Ymir asked.
"We do. Especially cases which concern...enemies of the state." She looked at Jean. "Garrison troops have told me there were two witnesses. The other one did not reveal anything. He was too shocked."
"Was?" Christa crossed her arms.
"He just...passed away." Detective Ral pursed her lips. "I was told a Mr Jean Kirschtein was the only witness left."
"Jean?" Marco eyed him and the detective anxiously. "What could he know?"
"It's very suspicious, you must understand. Are you his husband?"
"We're engaged to be married in a few months." Marco stood up and shook her hand. "Bodt. Marco Bodt."
"Mr Bodt, if you don't mind, I must question Mr Kirschtein. Would you kindly take your..." She shot glances at Ymir and Christa. "...associates away for awhile?"
Marco's Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped. "Will you be alright, Jean?"
Jean nodded, eyes on the ground.
###
Twenty whole minutes passed. Marco tittered and paced the sidewalk. They watched the whole ordeal painfully. When Detective Ral waved them over to signify that she was finished, she thanked Jean for his time and left, already making a call. Marco took off his jacket and wrapped it around Jean. He looked like a newborn child. They reached Ymir's Ferrari and Marco's Porsche on the other side of the street, a couple of blocks ahead.
Before they got into their cars, Ymir noticed something odd.
Jean began smiling, as if he was laughing at something. This smile turned into a grin and then into a held-back laugh.
Ymir's face contorted in confusion. "Guys? I think Jean's completely slid off his cracker."
Christa inhaled. Something was definitely off. "Do you think that explosion triggered something? Was there a gas?"
Marco placed a hand on his shoulder. "Jean?"
Jean continued snickering. He brushed away the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "Lord Almighty, you should've seen all your faces back there."
"What!?" Ymir lunged forward and pulled on his collar. "What are you talking about!?"
Christa took Ymir's arms and tore her from him. "Ymir, wait."
"I lied to high hell and back with that detective," he said. "It was a front."
"You – you bastard!" Marco smacked him on the side of the head. "And to think I was so worried for you!"
Jean winced and rubbed his head. "Hey! The wounds are real. It's the whole 'hey I don't remember a thing, I'm so shaken' act that's fake."
A light bulb opened in Christa's mind. "You...threw her off the case. You didn't want her finding out."
"At least one of you gets it. Alright, let me explain." He leaned against the wall of an empty shop. "Last night, I was out late because I was finding a...present."
"A present?" Ymir asked.
"Yes."
"For...?"
"His Majesty the King Fritz." Jean rolled his eyes. "Who for? My fiancée of course!"
"For me?" Marco's eyes forgot their worry and their anger. They began sparkling.
"Marco, the department stores were open late. I went to get that rice-cooker you wanted so badly."
Christa smiled at him. "Jean, you're so sweet!"
Ymir groaned loudly. "Okay, come on, let's get to the point."
"Anyway, I was out to get it, but I was...assaulted. I was caught off guard in the parking lot. They put a bag over my head, took me someplace else. Hours passed, until we were at Johnston's. The guy was working late. Really late. Checking stock, getting ready, I guess. I still had the bag, but it was thin enough so that I could see the neon sign, the lights. I recognised where I was." He sighed. "But, I couldn't see their faces. They were masked. Fear not, I had this."
Jean pulled a small device from his pocket.
"Your voice recorder!" Marco said. "It was automated?"
"I got to press one button. It was the only one I needed. It got enough evidence."
"Let's get to the apartment," Ymir said. "Maybe you're not so useless after all, Jean."
###
Ymir and Christa sat next to each other, shoulders touching. Their closest hands were clasped together underneath the table. The War Room was still as Jean plugged the recorder into the screen and raised the volume. An audio wavelength of the recording appeared on the screen, tossing and turning on the pitches and sounds of each of the voices. Christa identified the ones she knew.
JEAN: Where are you taking me?
?: Kolossal. Don't let go of him.
REINER: You think he'll help us?
JEAN: Help you with what?
?: Shut him up.
A slap.
JEAN: Ouch! Hey, guy who isn't talking, maybe you can reason with your friends.
BERTHOLDT: Bruder, Eis, quickly.
?: I've got a proposition for you, tailor. Tell us where Hyrr is, and we'll let you go.
JEAN: What kind of a proposition is that?
REINER: We won't hurt you. Please, just tell us.
JEAN: I don't know where she is! Why would I know!?
?: You're a tailor. You make suits. You would know.
JEAN: Hyrr hasn't been seen in months.
REINER: It will be easier for you to tell us.
JEAN: I don't know where she is!
A scuffle. Some shuffling.
?: Who's that!? Hey!
JEAN: I'm over here! Help! Help!
?: Kolossal, Bruder, leave him. Let's go. Bruder, smash that window. Place the barrels.
REINER: Eis, no, we can't. He's innocent!
?: If you don't hurry, we will get caught. We can pin this on Hyrr.
Grunting. Smashing of some windows. A man yelling.
JOHNSTON: What are you doing!? I'll call the cops!
Rolling. Heavy rolling.
JEAN: What's going on!?
Something flying through the air. People leaving.
?: Hey, man, are you alright? That was close –
A deafening explosion.
Sirens.
The recording stopped.
"I couldn't recognise the woman," Jean said. "She seemed like she was in control, though. The other guy...he wasn't part of their plan. Just a passerby. He was the other 'witness'. If I'm honest, I think he accidentally shielded me from the blast."
"So, they want to know where Hyrr is..." Marco scratched his chin. "But they couldn't get information, so they decide to put her on the most wanted list? For bombing the store?"
"They're probably hoping that she'll be lured out by the existing military and the government," said Christa.
Everyone stared at her, well aware that Reiner Braun and Bertholdt Hoover's involvement made it personal. Even more personal than it was.
"It's a game," Marco said. "They can't start a full-scale hunt without provoking the army. They can't get Hyrr without getting tangled in all that red tape. Which is why it's good Jean didn't tell Detective Ral what he knew. We wouldn't be able to pursue this with the Survey Corps at our backs."
"All I told her was that it was most certainly Johnston who died in the explosion. He was caught in our war," Jean said. "He deserved his identity."
"Call in Armin," Christa said. "We need leads, and I know where to start."
###
Armin Arlert wasted no time in getting to the War Room. They showed him what Jean found and he began working to match the third unknown voice in the Trinity. A thick pair of earphones was on his head. With one hand he adjusted a pitch slider onto the laptop he brought, and with the other he began searching for possible records onto the GSX-1200. His fingers were impossibly fast – nimble and agile, like the fingers of a pianist.
Christa walked over to Armin, placing a hand over his seat. "Any luck?"
He didn't look up from the screens. "Close, but not as close as I'd hoped. The Trinity is as obscure as they get."
She began racking her brain for clues. "Bruder, 'brother'...Kolossal, 'colossal', Eis, 'ice'...Ice, ice, ice."
"You need ice?" Ymir asked.
"No...They – Bert and Reiner referred to her as 'Eis'. German for 'ice'"
"And?"
"Reiner worked in a steel factory...his powers as Bruder is reinforced defence..." She bit her lip. "An ice skater!"
Ymir's eyes widened. "Why would they work in professions that would give away their powers? It's too obvious."
"Which is exactly why they chose it," said Christa. "Armin, cross-reference the voice sample with local ice skaters."
"Gotcha." He typed into a registry.
Countless names and profiles zoomed into the screen, each being automatically tested for any registered voice records. Wavelengths differed and most of them did not match the original pattern. By the thirtieth one, they got it right.
TITAN COMPANY SKATERS: ANNIE LEONHARDT, MATCH.
"Annie Leonhardt has a place in south Sina, Stohess District." Armin pushed back the sleeves of his shirt. "Says here she hasn't been paying rent for the past weeks."
"Then it's likely a dead end." Christa sighed. "At least we know who she is."
Christa took a seat next to Armin and began searching for further information with him. Ymir left the War Room, in search of Marco who had left to make brunch.
###
There were small bags under his eyes as he fried a couple of sausages on the stovetop. They crackled and sizzled around the bubbling oil.
"You look like shit," said Ymir, leaning against a counter.
"Thank you." He turned a sausage.
"Good thing he was safe, huh?"
A small smile. "Jean manages to get himself in the worst situations."
"I didn't know you two were engaged." Ymir chuckled. "Christa's going to squeal about it later."
"He proposed with an onion ring. How could I not accept?" Marco laughed.
"Yeah." Ymir's interest faded. Her voice drooped.
"Something troubling you?" Marco grabbed a pair of tongs from a cabinet.
"It's about-"
"-Christa." He put the sausages one by one on a big plate. "You're too obvious. Sometimes I feel like I have to scrape your jaw off the floor."
"What does that mean?"
"You're so head over heels for her. Good lord, you think you're discreet?"
"I'm not that transparent." She arched her eyebrows. "Am I?"
"You are glass, my friend. Glass. And on the other side, all I see is Christa."
Ymir moved closer and began helping him with scooping out the mashed potatoes. "How am I going to tell her?"
"That you love her?"
Ymir blushed and growled. "N-no! I'm talking about...who I am."
"You're never going to tell her," said Marco. "I warned you from the beginning, you didn't listen."
"I'm not going to hurt her."
"No? Then why are you thinking about telling her?"
"Marco...if I don't, we'll go around in circles."
He sighed heavily. For that split-second, he looked five years older. "I know I'm the one everyone comes to for advice. But to be honest with you, I don't know what to do about this. I want to help Christa, I do. You just...you had to pick the worst time to be in love."
Marco placed plates around the table. "Food's on the table! Everyone up!"
###
After brunch, everyone took one look at Christa and saw that she had turned into a walking mess. Emotional turmoil toiled away inside her, and it slowly made her crumble. Marco fretted and fretted so much he almost resembled being her father. However, she listened to no one except Ymir, who took her to their apartment and forced her to rest. She made a rule to prohibit discussing their predicament with the Trinity.
Per her request, the next day, they drove to the Forest of Giant Trees. The soil's scent offered itself to their noses, holy incense which was almost a lullaby. It was a place of comfort for Christa – a sanctuary where she could practice her gift. Her prayers were heard here, the leaves trembled at her command. More importantly, this was where she could hear Ymir's heartbeat. It took effort to make it out in crowded places, or filled places. It was stronger here.
Christa took off her jacket and hung it on a branch. "Close-quarters today? I missed my set the other day."
Ymir put her hands in her pockets. "No training. We should just have downtime, y'know? Just us."
Christa smiled. "You're right."
"There was something...I wanted to tell you." Ymir avoided her gaze. She looked at everything else except Christa.
"Go on." The blonde shortened the distance between them.
"I'm, uh...I'm." H-Y-R-R. Four letters, one word. Easy to say. "I'm really..."
"Really...?"
"Really..." Hyrr. I'm really Hyrr. I'm Hyrr! "Gay."
"I'm sorry?"
Ymir cursed her brain. She cursed every fibre in her body. It was the first word that came to her mind other than 'Hyrr', what was she supposed to do? She sighed and gave up. "I'm really gay."
Christa put a hand to her mouth, stifling a laugh. "You're too much sometimes." She playfully pushed Ymir. "I think I knew that already. What do you really want to tell me?"
The birds stopped singing overhead. The forest seemed to be encased in amber.
Ymir kicked at a blade of grass. The dew stained her boot. "If I told you something bad about me...would you still trust me?"
"How bad?"
"Bad."
Christa placed a hand on Ymir's chest. Her fingertips felt the electric pulses which resonated within. It felt like dipping your hands into melted chocolate. Her heart was a singer. It sung as the seconds passed. "No matter what happens, Ymir, I'm on your side."
"I don't deserve you, Christa." Ymir scowled. "If you knew about all the shit I've done..."
"I'm no saint either. I'm no goddess."
"You sure?" A smirk replaced the scowl. "Look at that halo. Right there." She wiggled a finger above Christa's head. "You see it?"
Christa swatted Ymir's hand away, but it kept coming back again and again. "Ymir! You're insufferable!"
Ymir continued teasing her, and Christa played along jovially. As Christa forced Ymir to step back, the brunette stepped on a loose piece of stone.
"My Christa, you're just so-" Ymir lost her balance. "Oh, shit!"
Her weight made its footprint loud and clear in the hushed forest. Birds flew away, shrieking in fear.
Ymir groaned, but didn't make an attempt to stand up. "Great."
Christa laughed and extended her hand. "Come on."
A devious grin danced on Ymir's face. She took Christa's hand, and pulled the blonde down. She hit Ymir's chest with a yelp, her hands hanging onto the brunette's shirt for dear life. Ymir put her arms around her and wiggled from side to side, causing Christa to giggle uncontrollably.
Christa propped herself up and gazed down at Ymir. Her freckles stood out today, they almost glowed. "Very predictable."
"You think so?" Ymir reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind Christa's ear.
Christa could hear it. The uniformed marching, the passionate hallelujah caught in a forest in the afternoon. Ymir's heart. "I know so."
Their faces were so close – like magnetic forces clinging to each other from memories of past lovers. Lips shuddered in anticipation.
If someone told Ymir a year ago she would be stuck in the dirt with a five foot blonde in a haunted forest, she would have called them the craziest person in the world. Now, at this very moment, she felt like the crazy one, knowing her heart was tied to Christa. It would not let go. It was selfish, pained. It was love.
"Christa, I-"
She never finished her sentence.
An agonising flash of fire shot through Ymir's lungs. It bore a hole through her neck. Clutching at her throat, she began gurgling blood in her mouth. Her vision began to falter – she saw Christa's panicked eyes, glassy and breakable, staring back at her. As her hearing followed her vision in the same manner, she felt smoke rise up in her stomach, pushing against the walls of her body.
Christa hopped off Ymir and started shaking her. "Ymir!? Ymir!"
Ymir's hands grabbed onto Christa, clawing at her arms.
"What's happening!? How is this happening!?" Her voice was thick with tears.
From nowhere, a voice rang out. It sounded like an illusion, dark and vacant. The wind carried it throughout the whole forest.
"We will take back what you stole," it said. "It was never yours to control."
Protective anger swept over Christa, and she willed herself to transform. A white wolf bared its teeth, bounding around the area, sharp eyes looking for any signs of the voice. But it vanished. No one could have proved its existence, if it was there at all, or if Christa had merely dreamed about it.
The voice, she realized, was Annie Leonhardt's.