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Chapter 3: Year 834 | Mitras' Underground - Sixteen Years Ago

"What bloody man is that?"

- William Shakespeare [Macbeth]

It was strange to recognize a person by the blade they wielded—but you wouldn't have been able to tell he was the same boy from two years ago without it. Though still short and thin, there was not a speck of dirt on him, and his clothes, while worn and patched, were clean. It was hard to focus too much on his appearance, however, because the deadly knife he was polishing with a spotless handkerchief demanded your attention.

"What do you brats want," Gerard spat from beside you.

Your eyes flicked to him in concern. He was not the person you'd want to be stuck in this situation with. Out of all your fellow soldiers, he was the most brash and prone to temper. A recent addition to the MP's stationed in the Underground, he'd only managed to get on your nerves the past several weeks. As the pair of you were currently on your knees, hands bound behind your back, and knives at your throats, this situation seemed to call for some delicacy.

"Shut-up Private Gerard," you hissed at him.

"I'd listen to the girl if I were you, shitbag," the boy in front of you said coolly. His voice was deeper now than it had been on the night you first met. You could see other signs of adolescence in the teen from the patchy stubble on his chin to the muscle that had begun to fill out his thin frame. Maybe he had been older than you'd initially thought—it was hard to be sure due to his height.

"What are we gonna do with 'em, Levi," a boy's voice asked from behind you. There was an edge to the question—an anticipation that you didn't like.

The knife wielder—Levi—crouched in front of Gerard, his elbows resting casually on his knees while he stared at the man impassively.

"We're going to do to him exactly what he did to Lucy," he said, grabbing the man's jaw in a firm grip. "Oi, pig. You remember Lucy, don't you?"

"Gerard, who is Lucy," you asked your fellow MP, feeling dread course through your body. Gerard glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. Then he spat in the boy's face.

The look of enraged disgust that crossed Levi's face was swiftly followed by violent retaliation. Standing, Levi kicked Gerard hard across the face—you could hear the crunch of bones shattering over his cry of pain. The series of kicks that followed this one were no more gentle. You felt blood splatter your side when Gerard's nose snapped. You stared, transfixed, as Gerard fell onto his side and Levi continued to beat him to a bloody pulp, alternating between kicking and stomping on him. The snapping of bones and screams of pain filled the air. You could hear the shattering of shinbones and the cracking of ribs, the crunching of fingers.

"Yeah, Levi!"

"Give that bastard what he deserves!"

The teens who stood around you cheered him on. It wasn't long before Gerard's cries of pain were replaced by an ominous silence. You felt fear settle around you like a cloak. Was he dead?

Levi stood there, panting from the exertion of his repeated kicks. His hands clenched tightly at his side. He hadn't even used his knife.

"Tch. Got my shoes dirty," he complained, flicking his hair out of his eyes. Bending down, he wiped what blood he could off his patched shoes with his handkerchief before dropping the soiled rag on Gerard's face.

"He won't be able to hurt anyone ever again," the boy behind you said coolly.

What had Gerard done?

"What should we do with this one," he asked, the blade against your neck digging into your flesh and tilting your chin up.

Levi looked down at you—his eyes completely unreadable. You could feel sweat trickle down your back, but you stared straight back at the boy, determined not to show fear. There wasn't a damn thing you could do besides that.

"You three get out of here," he said. "I'll deal with her."

The air was filled with hesitancy. They were clearly uncomfortable leaving their leader alone with you. You didn't particularly want them to leave either. After all, if he could beat a man to death in front of them, what did he want to do to you that they couldn't see? Your whole body tensed when the boy holding the knife stepped back. With your hands bound, you didn't dare make your move yet.

"Be careful, Levi," one of them said before all three ran off.

The dark-haired boy stared down at you, knife held loosely in his hand. You noticed that he wasn't over gripping his weapon like amateurs were prone to doing. Clearly two years had made more of a difference for him than just a little growing up.

"So your name's Levi," you said, when the silence lengthened.

"What of it," he replied.

"Well I'd always wondered," you shrugged, trying to keep the anxiety out of your voice as he began circling you. "It's not like we properly introduced ourselves last time. My name's—"

"I know who you are," he cut you off.

"Oh," you replied lamely, your voice a bit higher this time as he walked behind you and out of your line of vision. You didn't like him being where you couldn't see him.

"We know the names of all Atwood's shitty thugs."

"I'm a thug," you repeated incredulously. "Funny thing to call someone else after beating a man to death."

You felt a hand grab a fistful of hair at the base of your skull and crane your head back. You looked up into steely gray eyes, swallowing dryly. His blade glinted in the corner of his eye, and you wondered if he was going to slit your throat.

"He deserved worse than I gave him," Levi told you in a dangerous tone of voice.

"And why is that? What did he do," you pressed, feeling your neck muscles beginning to cramp up from how far back he was pulling your head. You could feel the deadly strength in his grip that hadn't been there last time you'd encountered each other. Would you still be able to take him in a fight?

"The only thing worse than a shitty pig like him," he gestured to Gerard's prone form with his knife. "Is a foolish one like you."

You felt your face flush with anger at this statement.

"Easy to talk big when you're the one holding the knife," you snapped at him.

"Tch," he stared at you for several more seconds before releasing your hair. "You talk too much for someone who's so defenseless."

Your chin dropped forward, and you rolled your head from side to side, hearing a gentle pop in your vertebrae. At almost the same moment, there was a sudden swish of his knife, and your arms fell to your sides—your bonds cut. Rubbing your wrists, you looked up when Levi came back into view, knife tucked into his belt. Eyeing him, you wondered if you could pin him down before he'd be able to draw it if you attacked now. Was he still as fast as he was two years ago… faster?

"Don't push your luck," he said, and you deflated, lifting a hand to scratch the back of your head sheepishly.

"Heh, was I that obvious," you grinned. His nose wrinkled in disgust at your laughter.

"Do you always smile like an idiot when you're scared," he asked? Your smile faltered.

"Didn't realize there was anything here to be afraid of," you replied irritably, keenly aware of Gerard's broken body laying beside you.

"Tch," he breathed, heading towards the alleyway. "Foolish."

Dragging yourself to your feet, you were about to run after him, when a pained moan came from beside you.

"Gerard?!"

Levi walked down the alley as you went to your companion's aid. A noise of disgust passed his lips before he turned the corner and was gone from your sight.

His fingers opened and closed at his side; the feeling of your hair still lingering in his hand. When they'd planned to ambush Gerard on his next patrol, they hadn't factored you into it. It had been bad luck that you'd been partnered with him instead of someone else. He wondered if he'd made a mistake in letting you go unharmed. But the memory of you letting him escape two years ago was not one he could ignore. At least now whatever strange debt existed between the two of you was resolved, and he could finally put you out of his mind.

Because as little as you had thought about the raggedy pickpocket over the last two years, the same could not be said for Levi. He couldn't deny that he was curious about you. The feeling was easily enough explained. While you'd seen neither hide nor hair of him, he had seen quite a bit of you. It was always in the best interest of the residents of the Underground to be hyperaware of the MP's—usually for the purpose of avoiding them. As such, he had kept his eye out for you, and made sure to stay out of your sight.

He'd expected you to be gone by now. Most MPs weren't stationed in the Underground for more than a few months to a year at a time. Levi had heard enough grumbling from them in taverns to know that being sent here was typically a punishment; a strategy that predisposed the MPs to hate everything about the Underground before they even got here—including its residents. He wondered what you'd done to get stuck down here this long. You weren't much older than he was. How had you fucked up so badly so soon?

It didn't matter. Everyone left. He'd learned that when his mother had died, and the lesson had been reinforced when Kenny had left him too. Eventually you'd leave and return to the surface while the rest of them would remain stuck in this shithole in the ground. You were still a military pig just like the rest of them.

But that was the rub.

Levi had seen enough of you over the past two years to know that wasn't completely true. He'd seen you talking with residents of the Underground instead of shouting at them; he'd seen you offer first aid to addicts overdosing instead of ignoring them; he'd seen you in the church in your off time playing with the orphans there; he'd heard people speak well of you instead of cursing your name.

No, you weren't exactly like the rest of the MP's, but Levi didn't trust the things that made you different. Growing up in the Underground taught him that everyone had secrets and ulterior motives. It was only a matter of time before you showed your true colors. That smile you wore to hide your fear, the bravado you donned like armor, it was just evidence that you couldn't be trusted. But it was also one of the things that made him so curious about you.

…

…

You weren't surprised that Atwood had called you to his office. You imagined you'd be receiving a royal chewing out. Knocking on the door, you stepped back when it was thrown open, and you narrowed your eyes at the man on the other side.

"Corporal Smith," the tall blonde man smiled down at you. It irked you that he was well informed enough to have kept up with your promotions.

"Mr. Marino," you replied, giving him an uneasy smile. "Sorry to interrupt."

"I was just leaving," he answered, holding the door open for you. You didn't particularly like the idea of putting your back to the man but walked through regardless.

"Until next time, Walter," Marino said to Major Atwood before disappearing from the room. Your eyes snapped to your superior officer, and you saluted sarcastically.

"Have a nice chat, Walter," you asked? The gruff man looked up at you from behind his desk, his handlebar mustache twitching irritably.

"If ya don't want to get stuck on cleaning duty for a month, you can check that attitude, Smith," he replied, completely unphased. "Now sit your ass down."

Pulling out the chair in front of his desk, you dropped into it.

"Why are you having meetings with Marino," you asked.

"Who's the Major and who's the Corporal here?" he snapped back. "Just because you're the only consistent face I get to see in this shithole don't mean you get special treatment."

This was a lie, and you both knew it. But you settled back in your chair and shut up anyway.

"Now," he said, steepling his fingers. "Want to tell me how one of my best officers allowed herself and her partner to get ganged up on by a bunch a' children?"

"You read my report," you said grumpily. "I told you exactly how it happened. Gerard was fucking around; they ambushed us. It was fast, and it was professional. They knew what they were doing."

"You think they'd been trained by someone," he asked, raising his thick eyebrows.

"At least one of them had," you replied. Atwood shuffled through the pages of your report.

"This Levi, you mean," he asked. You nodded. "They're prob'ly with a gang."

"I didn't see any tattoos or any other indicators," you said. Atwood breathed out through his teeth.

"Don't matter anyway. Gerard will be sent up to a hospital—honorable discharge—prob'ly spend the rest a' his life having his ass wiped by a pretty nurse. This will be the last of it."

"You're not going to investigate further? After what they did to him," you asked, outrage creeping into your voice. Atwood watched you carefully for a moment. You could almost feel him measuring you.

"What do you think this looks like, Smith," he asked?

"What are you—"

"Use that pretty head of yours," he cut you off. "Two soldiers are attacked by a group of kids. One is beaten almost to death, the other walks away completely unscathed…."

"It looks like," you began, swallowing uncomfortably. "…it looks like the second soldier led the first one into a trap."

"Got it in one," he replied, picking up her report and holding it over the candle on his desk. You watched it go up in flames. He dropped it to the floor where it burned itself out, curling into a pile of ash.

"Now, listen to me," he said. "I called you in here to yell at ya for not getting your report in on time. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Make sure it's more convincing this time," he told you, his eyes lingering on your face. "A few bruises wouldn't hurt either."

"Understood, sir," you replied.

"Dismissed, Corporal."

"But Major—"

"Goddammit, Smith," he snapped. "What now?"

"I still don't understand why we aren't investigating. We know at least one of the kids' names. Why not go after them?" You pressed. Atwood sighed, and ran his hand through his graying hair.

"You ask too many damn questions for ya own good," he told you, pulling out another file from his desk drawer. Tossing it on his desk, he gestured for you to pick it up. You instantly recognized it as another report. One written by Gerard.

"You said the kids mentioned a Lucy," Atwood continued as you read. "Private Gerard submitted this report to me two days ago. Lucy Stiles found beaten to death in an alley. She was a tart—worked for one a' the western brothels—few years older than you."

Your fingers tightened on the paper as you read the description of Lucy's injuries.

"You think Gerard did this," you surmised, looking up at him. Atwood shrugged.

"He's the type to do it, and he was known to frequent that brothel. He got sent down here for getting too violent with the wrong women, but he's got enough pull to stay out a' jail," Atwood said. "The man got what he deserved if ya ask me."

"But you don't know for sure that it was him," you replied.

"The point is the man was a sick bastard. These kids either know or think they know that an MP was behind Miss Stiles' death. This lets them cool their anger, relieve some tension, and helps us get rid a' a bad egg who woulda caused us more trouble than he's worth. Two birds, one stone. Follow me?"

You nodded, still unsure how you felt about it.

"Look," he sighed your name. "You're a nice girl, but the Underground isn't made for nice people. My job is to keep the peace down here as best I can. Sometimes we crack a few eggs to make an omelet."

"Is that why you're meeting with Boss Marino," you asked, narrowing your eyes. "To keep the peace?"

Atwood frowned at you, but you didn't look away.

"I don't like it either," he said finally. "But with Axiom on top, the other gangs are kept in check, we have someone we can negotiate with, and order prevails. You weren't here for the days a' Kenny the Ripper. It was chaos. MPs dropping like flies, people dying, gang wars breaking out all over the goddamn place. Trust me, this is better."

You frowned but didn't protest.

"Now get the hell out a' my office Smith, I'm tired a' looking at your face," he said. Standing, you saluted and headed for the door. "And Smith…."

"Yes, sir?"

"Don't forget the bruises."

"Yes, sir."

…

…

Levi watched from an alley as you read to the children. The group was crowded around several wooden tables that had been set out by the priest and nun. Most of the kids were eating ravenously but several had become so caught up in your story that they had paused with spoonful's of stew part way to their mouths. You were wearing civilian clothes rather than your military uniform. It made you look your age rather than several years older and a lot more vulnerable.

He didn't like being here—so close to the church. Before Father Micah had come it hadn't been the safe haven it was now. Levi's memories of it and the people who attended were poor, and he usually avoided the place. It was only after their dinner was over and dishes were being collected that he was able to catch the attention of the person he'd come there to see. Catching the eye of the young redhead, he drew back farther into the alleyway when she came running over.

"Levi," the girl greeted enthusiastically, wrapping her small arms around his waist. Levi stiffened at the sudden contact but patted the girl's head awkwardly.

"We got him, Stevie," he told her, feeling her arms tighten at his words. "He won't be able to hurt anyone ever again."

He couldn't see her face because she'd buried it in his stomach, but he could feel her tears seeping through his shirt.

"Where will I go," she asked. Levi felt his stomach clench, he remembered wondering the same thing when his mother had died.

"Stay here with the priest," he replied. "They'll take care of you."

She nodded into his stomach but didn't release her grip on him. Levi wished he had a better answer for her, but there weren't many options down here. He didn't have the means to take care of a kid who couldn't yet take care of herself. The small group he'd gathered still went hungry more often than not.

"Stevie," a voice called.

Levi looked up to see that you had spotted them. Your eyes were watching him cautiously. The redhead released her grip on him and ran over to you. Levi watched while you crouched in front of the young girl and wiped her tears with the hem of your sleeve. You said something to her that he couldn't hear, a sad smile crossing your face. Standing back up, you placed a hand on her back, gently pushing her back towards the center area and the other children. Then you turned a chilly gaze back on him and began to stride towards him with purposeful steps.

He knew that if he ran now, there was no chance you'd be able to catch him—especially not in the long skirt you were wearing. But he wasn't about to run from a pig, and anyways, he was curious to see how this would play out. Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned back against the stone wall and waited. As you drew closer, he was surprised to see a dark bruise that had bloomed across the side of your face, a small bandage covering a cut on your forehead.

"Walk into a wall?" he asked when you stopped in front of him. He had to tilt his head back to meet your eyes now that you were this close. He didn't particularly like that. He much preferred you on your knees looking up at him.

"Something like that," you grinned ruefully.

There was that smile again. The one that hid your anxiety. Your eyes flicked back towards the children and lingered on the redhead before returning to his own.

"Was she Stevie's sister," you asked? Levi raised his eyebrows at you, surprised at the direction the conversation had taken. Maybe you were less empty-headed than he'd thought.

"Her mother," Levi replied impassively. He could see the surprise in your face at the answer.

"I found out about what he did to her," you replied.

"What do you want, a fucking medal?" He watched your nose wrinkle in irritation at his response. He found it satisfying to know he was pissing you off too.

"He's never going to walk again, may not be able to talk either," you told him.

"Good," Levi said darkly. You leaned back against the wall opposite him and looked down at your feet.

"Yeah," you agreed, missing the look of surprise that crossed his face.

"Miss," one of the children shouted your name from the middle of the square. "You have to tell us the rest of the story!"

"Be there in a sec," you shouted back.

"Better get back to those brats," he said, straightening up to leave.

"You could stay, I think there's more soup," you said, your eyes moving across his thin frame.

"Tch. I don't need any handouts," Levi snapped, annoyed when your lips twitched in amusement. "Besides, I don't have time to listen to your shitty ass story."

"It's a good story," you replied. "It's about a boy who could fly."

"People can't fly."

"Sure they can," you smiled smugly. "I do it all the time."

...

...

Later that night, you sat at the small reading desk in your room, looking over a letter to your brother.

Dear Erwin,

I was so relieved to hear of your safe return from your most recent expedition. Nile told me you've been promoted as well—so congratulations Captain. I know dad would be proud.

Things are going well down here... as far as they can anyway. It's hard to describe what it's like to work down here. You talk about being trapped within the walls. Imagine being trapped in a cave, only, the people keeping you there aren't monsters but other human beings. I've been here for two years now and can hardly believe a place like this exists. Whenever I go above ground for training or leave, I feel so exposed and out of place.

Sometimes I forget what it feels like to have a cool breeze in your hair or the sun on your face. I miss trees and grass the most. Nothing grows down here. That's not to say there aren't surprisingly beautiful things about the Underground. The remote caverns are covered in crystals and rock formations that are like nothing you've ever seen. In some places sunlight even breaks through. They're almost impossible to get to without 3DMG though so most people never see them. If you're ever crazy enough to come visit, maybe I can show them to you.

I was talking to my senior officer today, Major Atwood—no commanders down here, they don't waste positions like that on people who work in the Underground. You'd like Atwood. He's rough around the edges but really clever. One of the few people I sincerely like. I don't know what I'd do without him here to look out for me. But anyways, he said something that reminded me of you. That sometimes to make an omelet you have to break some eggs... I can see the logic in it. I really can. But it's still something that I struggle with. I mean, after all, isn't that what happened to dad? If we start cracking eggs too, what makes us any different than the people who killed him? This situation felt different. This egg deserved what it got. Not like dad...

I'm sorry to ramble, and to bring him up. The anniversary of his death is coming up again. I guess I'm just missing him. I'm missing you too. Please stay safe and whole. Please keep coming home.

All my love,

Running a hand through your hair, you signed your name at the bottom. You felt so tired today.