Chapter 2: Year 832 | Mitras' Underground - Eighteen Years Ago

"The Robbed that smiles, steals something from the Thief."

- William Shakespeare [Othello]

Mitras' Jail

"You've really fucked up, Smith. What did I tell you about keeping your head down?"

"Leave me alone, Dok. How is this my fault?"

"You can't attack a superior officer—especially not a goddamn Captain. You'll be lucky not to wind up in front of a firing squad. Six months out of basic training and you've already landed yourself in confinement. God fucking dammit. What was the point of joining the Military Police if you were going to pull this suicidal shit? You would have lasted longer in the Survey Corps with him."

"…"

"Nothing to say for yourself?"

"…Harris wanted to fuck me, Nile, and he wasn't taking no for an answer. What the hell was I supposed to do?"

"Shit."

"You're telling me."

"Listen, Linnet… I think I can get you out of this, but you're not going to like it."

"...how much am I not going to like it?"

"I can probably convince Zackly to station you in the Underground for your punishment."

"I think I'd prefer the firing squad."

"Don't joke about that."

"…sorry... and thanks… I know you don't have to stick your neck out for me."

"Like hell I don't, I promised your brother I'd look after you…. Goddammit. I knew Harris was a pervert but to think he'd go after a fifteen-year-old kid."

"I'm not a kid."

"Erwin's going to lose his shit when he finds out what happened."

"Keep my brother out of this."

"Why? He sure as hell isn't going to sit around quietly."

"Please, Nile. You've got to keep him out of this. He can't jeopardize his rankings with the Scouts over his stupid baby sister. You have to promise me you won't tell him what happened."

"…"

"Promise me, Nile."

"Fuck."

...

...

Mitras' Underground

"Welcome to hell, Private," Major Atwood told you as you descended the stairs into the Underground. The first thing you noticed was the stench. Unable to help it, your hand flew to your nose to try to block it out.

"You get used to it," Atwood told you gruffly.

Slowly lowering your hand, you squinted your eyes in the semidarkness, blinking when the world took on the orange hue of lantern light. You passed two guards at the bottom of the stairs. One was lounging against a chair drinking, the other was talking in hushed undertones to a scantily clad woman. Neither straightened up when you and the Major walked by. You frowned.

"Now, I don't tolerate disrespect from my men," Atwood said while you walked, his words a clear contradiction to what you'd just seen. "So if ya get any ideas about doing to me what you did to Captain Harris, you can shove those thoughts right up your ass."

"Only if you try to rape me too," you said bluntly. You were sick of men acting like you'd done something wrong by defending herself against that asshole. Atwood eyed you stoically.

"Yeah, well… best be on the watch for that down here as well. Only difference is, I ain't gonna yell at ya for breaking some fingers."

You smiled hesitantly up at him. Maybe Atwood was a better man than you'd initially given him credit for. He returned the smile with a nod.

"Best to get your sense of direction figured out fast. It's easy to get lost down here, and you don't want to get caught alone by a gang. Your uniform is a goddamn bullseye on your chest—don't forget that. Being a cute girl ain't gonna help none. Might even make things worse."

This statement sobered you up fast enough, and you glanced around at the people you passed. No one smiled at you. Most didn't even look your way.

"The church is in the middle, it's the tallest building, best thing to look for if ya get lost," he pointed. "We've got four staircases—north, south, east, and west. Barracks are in the southeast, the market is between the barracks and the church, gang territory is… well… pretty much everywhere else. Stick to the main streets on patrols and don't let anyone get within arm's reach a' you. Hey, watch it—"

You felt the tug from your back pocket at almost the same time Atwood shouted his warning. Your hand shot out and grabbed the pickpocket's wrist before he could pull your coin purse free. Spinning around to face him, you had just enough time to dodge a swipe from his knife. It grazed your forearm, and you winced in pain as blood welled up and stained your shirt sleeve.

"Watch it, some a' these little bastards are deadly," Atwood instructed unhelpfully, not taking a step to assist you.

The pickpocket struck out with his knife again, and you barely managed to dodge in time. Shit, he's fast. Just managing to clamp down on his wrist, you twisted his arm hard, spinning him around and slamming him face first into the side of a building.

"Drop the knife," you said, and the pickpocket spat a mixture of blood and saliva on the ground, still struggling. You yanked his arm farther up his back. "I said drop the knife!"

Cold gray eyes glared at you from beneath dirty black hair. You felt his hand loosen, and the knife fell to the ground.

"Not bad, Smith," Atwood said, stepping forward and picking it up.

"God… he's just a kid," you muttered, noticing that fact for the first time. The filthy boy had to be a year or two younger than you were, and though he had proven to be quick and agile, his small, thin frame told the story of years of neglect and malnourishment.

"Who are you calling a kid you fucking pig," he snarled at you.

"Pretty ballsy to try an' pickpocket a soldier," Atwood said to the boy. "One a' your boss's put you up to it?"

The boy glowered at the Major silently over his shoulder.

"Not talkin' eh? Well, don't matter. You'll regret it soon enough. You know what we do to thieves down here," Atwood said coldly. You saw a flicker of fear cross the boy's face for the first time, and he started struggling again. "Maybe losing a hand will learn ya."

You were shocked at this statement. Your shock must have shown on your face because the boy's eyes met yours. They were still proud, still fiery, still defiant. Your grip on his arm loosened, and he didn't need more of an invitation than that. Wrenching his arm from your grasp, the boy ran down an alley and out of sight.

"That's the kinda softhearted bullshit that will get ya killed down here," Atwood told you seriously, offering you the knife he'd picked up. Swallowing, you accepted the weapon and nodded your understanding.

"Would you really have cut off that kid's hand," you asked quietly, your eyes wandering back to the alley the boy had disappeared into.

"Nah. Not one that young, not for a first offense," he replied, a smirk crossing his face for the first time. "But it scared the little bastard, didn' it?"

...

...

You sat on your bed, detangling your hair, and trying to quell the nervous tightening of your stomach. You'd barely been able to eat anything at dinner. One look around the mess hall had told you that you didn't belong here. For one, you were the youngest soldier stationed here by a good five years. For another, you were the only woman. Sighing, you set your comb down and blew out the candle, pulling your covers up to your chin. The one good thing about being the only woman was that you had a room to yourself—a rare luxury for low ranked soldiers.

It was strange to get used to. This world of darkness. Your sense of time felt warped. There was no change in light between day and night, the soft orange glow of lanternlight continued flooding in through your window regardless of the hour. You felt suddenly alone in this dark, stinky hole in the ground. Though Nile had been able to see you off, Erwin—stationed inside Wall Rose, hadn't. Sadness and fear threatened to well up inside you. Were you really going to be able to make it down here?

'Don't you dare cry,' you told yourself sternly, but could feel the tears welling up all the same. Sniffling, you squeezed your eyes shut. If Captain Harris was hoping you'd come crawling back and beg him to get you out of here, he had another thing coming.

When you blinked your eyes open again, you were startled to see a dark silhouette at your window. Freezing, you watched two pale hands slide the pane up so that the figure could slip into the dark room. The intruder didn't look particularly large, you thought you could probably take them. With a sudden movement, you threw back your covers and flung yourself at the person, grabbing for their wrists. The two of you went down hard, and though they spun to land on top of you, you were quickly able to flip them over, using your superior size and strength to pin them down.

"You," you gasped, feeling a sense of déjà vu when orange light from the window fell across his face to reveal familiar gray eyes and dirty hair. "Ungrateful runt, I should have let Atwood cut off your hand."

"Get off me, damn pig," he snapped back.

"Didn't your parents teach you any manners?"

"Don't got any parents," he said through clenched teeth.

You looked down at the boy with cold eyes. He stared back up at you defiantly, his jaw set. And then you slowly sat back on your heels, releasing the boy's wrists. He scrambled out from under you and into the shadows, his cold eyes staring mistrustfully. The two of you examined each other for a long moment.

"Me either," you said quietly.

"What," he snapped?

"My parents are dead too," you said. There was a long silence.

"Tch," he clicked his tongue irritably, looking away from you. "Don't expect me to give a shit."

You wrinkled your nose at the crude boy and sniffed derisively.

"What was your plan, kid? Sneak in while I was sleeping and slit my throat?"

"Don't call me a kid. You're just a kid too."

"I'm not a kid. I'm a soldier."

"That makes you less than shit."

Standing up, you brushed away the dirt he'd gotten on your nightdress before putting your hands on your hips. You grinned at him.

"Well that still makes me a whole lot better than you," you said. "Now, as much fun as this chat is, are you going to tell me what you want?"

The boy blinked at you before the frown returned to his face.

"I want my knife back."

"As if I'm gonna hand you a weapon."

"It's important to me," he said fiercely, his eyes sharp as obsidian.

"Hmm," you said, slowly. "If I give it back to you… are you going to attack me?"

"Tch." He looked away from you.

"Well?"

"Why would you believe anything I tell you?"

"I won't. I'll only believe you if you tell me the truth," you said, lifting your chin.

"Idiot," he said quietly before giving his answer. "No. I won't attack you."

You held his gaze for a several seconds before nodding. Walking to your bed, you reached under the pillow and pulled out the knife. Flipping it around, you offered the hilt to him. The boy stared up at you in obvious surprise. He could see the cut on your bare forearm, red from where he'd sliced you earlier. Eyes narrowing, he snatched the knife from your hand and scrambled for the window. Hopping up onto the sill, he gave you one last appraising look before disappearing into the night.

Letting out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding, you moved to the window and closed it firmly, making sure to lock it this time.

...

...

Despite your initial fears, you found herself adapting to life in the Underground fairly quickly. Maybe it was due to your youth or a drive to prove yourself to the military brass so you could get out of this shit hole, but as the months flew by, you settled into an uneasy routine. This was certainly made easier by the fact that your arrival in the Underground seemed to coincide with the disappearance of Kenny the Ripper. Your male colleagues always relished the opportunity to tell you that had he still been slitting throats of MPs, you wouldn't have lasted a week—Kenny loved killing beautiful young women.

"This is the world's most boring job," you complained, picking some lint off the cuff of your jacket and flicking it into the air.

"Boring is good down here," Sergeant Bashir replied, leaning against his rifle.

You two had been guarding the bottom of the northern staircase for the past several hours and nothing even remotely interesting had happened. It was one of the least used because of its narrowness and how old the hoist for transporting supplies was.

"This wasn't exactly what I expected to do when I signed up for the Military Police," you said irritably.

"No one expects to get sent to the Underground," he replied. "At least the deployment's usually short. I'll be surprised if they don't rotate you out in another few months."

"Hn," you breathed through your nose noncommittally. You weren't so sure about that. With as much as you'd pissed off Harris and his groupies, you were sure to be down here for a good while. He had a lot of pull with the senior brass due to his wealthy family, and you'd knocked out several of his teeth and broken five of his fingers.

The sound of shuffling feet pulled you out of your thoughts, and your eyes snapped to the left, your hand going automatically to the rifle on your back. You were a bit embarrassed when you saw a thin pair of kids peering at you from around the side of a nearby building. They drew back in fear at your sudden movement. You lowered your hand and gave them a reassuring smile.

"Scram, brats," Bashir snarled at the pair, and they scampered off.

"You didn't have to do that," you told your fellow officer irritably. "They just came for some sunlight."

The scant rays of sunlight that trickled down from above were one of the only good things about staircase duty—that and the occasional breeze that would waft in to disturb the normally stagnant air.

"Those kids are like cockroaches—if you let one around, soon there'll be a whole swarm," he said coldly.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

"You're such an ass," you said, shifting your weight to your other foot. Bashir shrugged.

"You won't feel too sorry for them in another few months. Most of them work for gangs and peddle drugs," he warned you. "They should just learn to stay by the church and not cause trouble."

"Sounds about as boring as staircase duty," you replied dryly. You were surprised to see kids out this far though. The church in the center of the Underground did what it could for the orphans and the children whose parents couldn't care for them—which wasn't usually a lot—but at least they had a safe place to sleep and some meager food in return for stomaching the religiosity. The outskirts of the city were where gangs thrived. It became very dangerous very quickly.

"Ah, Sergeant Bashir," a friendly voice made you both look up. A man with pale skin and white-blonde hair was strolling up to you—a few grubby looking men carrying large boxes behind him. The man stood out because of how well dressed he was. Glittering jewels adorned rings on each finger. It was a rarity to see signs of wealth in the Underground and even more so to see it flaunted the way this man was doing. Wealth was best kept hidden here, or it would quickly find a new owner.

"Mr. Marino," Bashir replied, snapping into a much more attentive posture. The men carrying the crates walked past to set them into the ancient hoist. Marino flashed a staircase pass at the two of you with one hand and held his other out to shake Bashir's. Your gaze was immediately drawn to his hand because of the large "X" that looked like it had been burned onto his skin. Because of this, you were paying close enough attention that you thought you saw the rustle of bills exchange hands.

"Just have some deliveries for the surface," he smiled easily. "Thought I'd make these personally. Important clientele."

"O-of course, go right ahead," Bashir replied instantly, and you frowned at him. Just as the man put a foot on the first step, you held out a hand to stop him.

"I'm sorry sir, but we're supposed to inspect all goods coming in or going out," you said. Marino looked down at you, pale eyes meeting your own curiously. You were suddenly aware of how tall he was.

"You must be Atwood's new girl—Private Smith was it?" He asked, his calm demeanor never fluctuating.

"That's right," you said, a small frown gracing your face. How did he know your name? In contrast to Marino's easy manner, Bashir looked absolutely panicked.

"Please excuse her, sir," he said, stepping between you and shoving your hand out of the way. "Go right ahead."

Marino nodded at him, his eyes passing over you one last time before he continued up the stairs, and the hoist behind you began to move on squeaking pulleys. Bashir rounded on you immediately.

"The fuck is your problem?"

"My problem, I'm just trying to do our job."

"Trying to get us killed more like."

"Who was that man? Why did you let him go up without us inspecting his things? He could have been smuggling anything in those crates," you snapped at him.

"Listen, Smith. You wanna survive the next few months? Shut-up, keep your head down, and be a good girl," he told you condescendingly. "And if you see Mr. Marino or anyone with a mark like that on their hand, you just listen to whatever they tell you to do."

You opened your mouth to protest, but Bashir wasn't having it. Snapping open his pocket watch, he glared at its face as though it had insulted him personally.

"Four thirty, close enough. Get out of here, Private. I'll be fine on my own for half an hour."

"But—"

"Get going," he snapped testily. "I don't want to deal with your bitching."

You glared at him before saluting.

"Yes, Sergeant."

Your mind was whirling as you walked back towards the barracks. You weren't stupid. You'd known about the Military Police's reputation for corruption before joining, but seeing it so casually shoved in your face was like a punch to the gut. After your father had died—or, if you believed Erwin's theory—been killed by the government, you'd decided to join the Military Police to help keep people safe and work to reform it from within. It had always been a huge point of contention with your brother who'd joined the Scouts to try to prove your father's theories, and you'd worked your ass off to get here. But now that you were here, were you really going to be able to change anything?

"AH—"

"Shit—"

You jumped when a man nearly crashed into you upon turning out of a narrow alley. You recognized him at once.

"Father Micah, I'm so sorry," you said. The young priest was clutching one hand to his heart, having clearly been startled. A small girl was holding his other hand, peeking out from behind his leg. She had vibrant red hair and freckles splattered across her nose.

"You gave us quite a start, my child," he replied good-naturedly, his hand moving from his chest to slide his wire-framed spectacles back up his nose.

"I can imagine," you replied, looking down at the girl who quickly darted behind the priest. "It's not very safe over here. Can I ask why you're out this far?"

"Just rounding up some hungry mouths for supper," he said, and you realized that the redhead was not the only child hiding behind him. Turning his head, he smiled kindly down at the group. "No need to fear. Private Smith is a very nice girl."

You might have protested being called a girl in any other circumstance, but you let it slide since it was Father Micah. You hadn't had good experiences with Wallists in the past but based on what you'd seen over the past few months he seemed decent enough. You supposed he had to be a decent person to be willing to work down here. Crouching down, you smiled at the girl who still clung to his cassock.

"Hi there," you introduced yourself. "What's your name?"

The girl's large green eyes observed you with a curious mistrust. She glanced up at Micah who gave her a reassuring smile and nodded.

"Stevie," the girl replied quietly.

"That's a very pretty name, Stevie," You told her. "I really like your hair."

Stevie smiled cautiously at this, and two other kids poked their heads around to look at you. You grinned at them too before standing up and looking back at the priest.

"Would you like an escort to the church, I have some free time," you offered, knowing that even for a priest, this area could still be dangerous. He adjusted his spectacles and gave you a relieved look, his brown eyes warming further.

"That would be wonderful," he replied.

"Well, let's go then," you said, smiling at the kids again. "Can't be late for dinner."

"You seem to be settling in down here," he said as you walked.

"As well as can be expected," you replied.

"I don't think I've seen you at any of our services yet," he mused, and you scratched your cheek awkwardly.

"Ahh… no, no you haven't." He just smiled at you in understanding.

"Not to worry, my dear, I'm not trying for a conversion. Just know our doors are always open to you," he said chuckling. You relaxed and smiled. You were surprised when a small hand tentatively took yours and looked down to see Stevie staring resolutely ahead. Biting your cheek to keep from grinning, you followed Stevie's lead and didn't say anything but squeezed her hand all the same.

"It's nice to see a soldier who cares for them," Father Micah said quietly.

"I'm sorry there aren't more of us," you replied soberly. Micah just returned this statement with a sad smile. You thought the man might be in his late twenties, but he looked nearly forty with that weary expression on his face.

"How long have you been down here," you asked curiously.

"I've served at this parish almost two years now," he replied. "I'm not sure how much help I've been, but one must respond to God's call wherever it leads."

"I'm sure you've been a very big help," you reassured him, nodding to the children. "Especially to them."

"I hope so," he replied, the weary smile back on his face. "I pray for it every day."

"Father…" you said as they entered the town square, the children running ahead to where Sister Margaret was setting out a long serving table. "Do you know of a man by the name Marino?"

"My dear girl," he replied, his face paling. "Don't tell me you've had dealings with him?"

"Not personally," you replied, watching while he nervously adjusted his spectacles.

"Boss Marino is the leader of Axiom," he said quietly, his eyes shifting side to side. "You need to be very careful around them and any of their members."

You swallowed and nodded in understanding. Axiom was the largest gang in the Underground and known for their brutality.

"Thanks for the advice, I will."