AN: just to clear something up - while eren thinks of hange as female, four thinks of hange as male
basically everyone has their own opinion and hange just likes to sit back and let them fight it out while skillfully dodging questions about their gender and its great (i like the idea of genderfluid or agender hange its just so beautiful it reminds me of that wtnv post about carlos - "are you m/f" "no no im a scientist")
(also, this is the last chapter i have written since like chapter seven was posted oh man. like these have been sitting on my account for a while but i didnt want to spam them all at once because i know im not going to be able to write even semi-regularly at this point ;w;)
(i dont wanna be that guy whose fics are always "last updated: 9/20/04" or whatever but i suspect that is what i am very quickly becoming ;w; gomen)
anyway daily reminder i am trash and desperate plee to not hate me forever :O
last chapter before hiatus goodbye friends i am gone
Chapter 12
"Today you're going to be learning to defend yourself," Four says, walking down the line of faction transfers, handing out guns. The first to receive one, Armin, looks as though he might drop it. "The first part of that is knowing how to handle a gun. The second is how to win a fight."
Four gives me a gun as he passes. It is cold and hard and makes me incredibly nervous at first. I've never held a weapon like this one before. Just the weight of it in my hand feels dangerous. I'm not sure what to make of it at first.
"Fortunately, since you're here and not on the streets, you know how to get your asses on and off a train. Thank god I don't have to teach you that. I'm pretty sure I'd end up killing at least one of you. On accident. Probably."
Hange, who is standing in the back of the room, guffaws loudly. She has to push her glasses back up as they slip down her nose to keep them from falling off completely.
Four twists his upper body to shoot a glare at her. "Shut up, shitty glasses, I can't hear myself think when you're back there braying or whatever the hell that noise is." This just makes her more hysterical. Four sighs in exasperation and decides to cut his losses, rolling his eyes and turning back to us.
"Fuck it, I give up. Let's talk about the stages of initiation until dumbass back there pipes the fuck down," he says flatly. "As you might've been told, our initiation is split into three stages. I'm pretty sure Hange already went over rankings and all that shit, but he didn't tell you that these three stages aren't weighted equally in determining your final rank, so it's possible to screw up in one stage like the disappointments you probably are and then still improve your rank if you work hard. By getting you kiddies used to holding and firing guns, you'll be prepared to act instead of evacuating your bowels on the spot when you actually get into a firefight. Preparation eradicates cowardice, and we are all about that shit."
Surprisingly, especially given its content, Hange has managed to calm down somewhat during Four's speech. The raucous laughter has turned to heavy breathing as she tries to resume breathing normally. She raises her hand to her face and uses the sleeve of her lab coat to wipe a tear from her right cheek.
Near the far end of the line, a short-haired blond boy I saw in Amity yellow yesterday – and who is now dressed in Dauntless black – is lightly tossing the gun from hand to hand as if it were a ball. He waggles his eyebrows suggestively at the initiate closest to him, the tall girl from Candor, Ymir. She recoils from him, pulling her arms up in front of her body and backing into the person to her right. "Wagner! Get that the hell out of my face!"
Four's head snaps around at Ymir's exclamation and he stalks away from us to the other end of the line. Thomas, who is facing the other way, doesn't notice him until he snatches the gun out of the air and points it at him in one fluid motion. All color drains from Thomas' face and his eyes cross as he looks at the gun barrel pointed up at his forehead. I would laugh at the comical wideness of his eyes if not for the very real threat of Four pulling the trigger and killing him on the spot.
"You think it's fun to play with guns, kid?" Four asks quietly. I can hear the bullet click into place from where I'm standing in the middle of the line. "The safety's not on, you dumbshit. Bet you didn't even know to check. You could have killed someone. Oh? Is it not as much fun now?"
Thomas tries to speak, his mouth opening and closing like a beached fish. Four leans forward until the barrel of the gun is actually touching Thomas' forehead. The fact that he has to stand on the balls of his feet to get at eye level with Thomas does not make the experience any less terrifying.
"What's that, brat? I can't hear you. Speak up."
Hange intervenes before things go any further. "Drop it, Four. We're wasting valuable time here."
Four stays where he is for a second, glaring at Thomas, who looks like he is about to pass out from fear. He eventually pulls the gun away and hands it back to Wagner. "Listen, moron. You pull some shitty stunt like that again and I will fucking kill you. Do you understand me?"
Thomas nods exaggeratedly. It's obvious he's still terrified. I can see him shaking.
"Well, boss man says back to work, so it's back to work," Four says. "I doubt any of you transfers have even held a gun before, so I'm going to demonstrate. That is... unless Hange would rather do it?" He turns to look at her.
"Oh, no thank you," Hange says. "You know I prefer not to get my hands dirty."
"Wow, what a loser," Four says mockingly. Hange huffs out a short breath through her nose and rolls her eyes. "I guess my genius plan to get out of preschool patrol failed, then. Whatever. You might need this later, so pay attention."
He turns to face the wall opposite of the initiate line. It has a row of square plywood targets with red rings painted on them. He stands with his feet about shoulder width apart and holds the gun with both hands, one wrapped around the handle with the index finger on the trigger and the other cupped underneath it around the bottom of the handle. He holds his arms straight out in front of him and fires with a loud bang. My ears ring at the quiet following the abrupt noise. I hear murmuring from the other initiates and when I actually look back at the targets, I see why. There's a small bullet hole dead center in the innermost red ring. A virtually perfect shot.
Seems easy enough, right? I feel like my guts are twisting up inside me as I try to picture myself copying him. I can't help but think that, somehow, I'm going to fuck things up spectacularly. Everyone will notice. Surely the kid that screws up on the first day is really in the running as the first to be cut. After dragging Mikasa here along with me, I really can't afford to drop the ball.
The gun doesn't feel as heavy in my hands as it did a few moments ago. I lift it carefully and try to hold it like Four did. I think I've got the hand positioning down for the most part. I move so that it's an arm length away and at chest level. The trigger is harder to pull than I'd imagined, though it might just be nerves, so it takes me two tries to fire it and when I finally do the recoil shoves my hands back into my chest and I stagger backwards. Mikasa catches me with her weird cat-like reflexes. I glance at my target as she helps me regain my balance. The bullet didn't hit it. From the looks of it, though, Mikasa's didn't either. That shocks me but also makes me feel a little better about myself.
"Don't stand with your legs so close together," Mikasa says before letting go of me and shuffling back to her position in front of her target. Oh, right. That's probably why I'd toppled over like a badly balanced domino the first time.
I adjust my stance and fire again. This time I'm ready for the recoil so I don't fly backwards, but I also still don't hit the target. Damn it. I try again. Miss. Again. Miss. My arms are getting tired. I'm not used to having them outstretched for so long. I have less muscle than I thought.
I let my arms swing down to my sides with a sigh, careful not to let the gun slip free as I do so, because I'd really prefer that Four not swiftly execute me in front of everyone. I take this chance to look around the room, down the line of targets and initiates. So far, only two targets have been hit at all. One of them is across from Mikasa, of course – she's always been a fast learner, sometimes to the point that it's frightening how quickly she picks things like this up. The other stand in front of a boy I recognize as a Candor transfer. He has a long face and two-toned hair. His expression, which conveys a detestable superiority that makes me hate him already, reminds me vaguely of Auruo.
In the end, it takes me almost seven rounds to hit the target anywhere near dead center, and I still attribute that mostly to luck. I'm one of the last to do it, but the surge of adrenaline and power that goes through me in that moment is overwhelming. I feel in control in that brief moment of victory – a cold, powerful feeling, and to be honest its intensity startles me.
I can do this, I tell myself. I can. I am Dauntless.
