The two men crowded Petra into the room and slammed the door behind them. Petra tasted fear in the back of her throat, metallic as blood. Pulse racing, she tried to glance over her shoulder to where Karl would be circling now. Gregor stepped nearer, his hands held up cautiously; he knew from experience during their training days that Petra could be a nightmare to handle. She cursed to herself. If only she didn't have an opponent who knew how she moved in a fight.

"Get over here now," Karl snapped. She watched as the two MPs advanced on her. Petra let her arms float to her sides, and swayed back and forth. The two men straightened, obviously growing more confident in themselves.

Ah. Apparently Gregor didn't remember everything after all. Good.

Her ploy to appear helpless had worked. When the other, unknown man reached for her, Petra kicked high and struck him right in the stomach. His eyes bulged, and he leaned over slowly and crumpled to his knees. Gregor swore as Petra rushed at him, then darted around him when he reached for her. She raced for the door, free again, triumphant with Karl's roar of indignation behind her—

One of her traitorous heels slipped on the floor, and her ankle rolled. Screaming, Petra collapsed, landing hard on her side. Tears welling in her eyes, she flexed her foot and breathed out in shaky relief. Not broken, maybe not even sprained. But it hurt nonetheless. Scrambling, she got to her knees and crawled.

Gregor's foot came down on her voluminous skirt, pinning her. Frantic, Petra gave a scream and scrabbled forward; there was a high, ripping sound. Fuck. Nifa was going to kill her for ruining her dress.

Suddenly, having Nifa's fury as her biggest problem seemed the sweetest thing in the world.

Petra lunged forward, arm outstretched, grasping for that door handle. But she felt Gregor's hand on her shoulder, and knew it was too late.

The night air was cold on her naked back as her former comrade yanked her away, threw her to the floor, and put her in a chokehold. Petra gasped, straining for breath. Her hands slapped at Gregor's arm, trying to pry him off. It had to appear ludicrous to anyone watching. Spots danced in Petra's vision, and her grip on Gregor's arm slackened. She had graduated fifth in their training year because she was one of the best with the ODM equipment, her bladework was unparalleled, and she was a very good student in the classroom. But her weakest area, by far, had been hand to hand combat.

She had never been very good at fighting humans.

Petra slumped back into Gregor's arms, and began to dip into unconsciousness. As if through ears filled with cotton, she heard Karl speak.

"That's enough. On the bed."

Gregor eased his hold, and Petra choked and coughed. Her arms and legs were leaden; she could barely lift her head as Gregor picked her up as easily as if she were a doll. She mumbled and groaned as he carried her, then threw her down onto the bed. Springs squealed beneath her. Blinking, Petra watched patterns of moonlight warp on the silken canopy overhead.

If I don't move, he'll…

"One on each side. Grab her arm and leg. I don't want any more of this ridiculous fighting."

Petra felt rough hands encircle her wrists. She felt men gripping her ankles, and then she was pulled in two directions. Gasping, she looked to either side of her. Gregor was to her left, and kept his eyes averted. The other man, who'd regained his composure, glared at her from the right. Petra frantically tugged, but to no avail. They had her now.

Then, the mattress shifted as Karl climbed in from the foot of the bed. He loomed over her, a great black shape that swallowed up the moonlight on the canopy. Petra could still read the glinting mayhem in his eyes.

She was spread out entirely for him, unable to move her limbs in any way. As he bent his head, Petra's stomach roiled at the thought that he was going to kiss her.

Even though it would only mean more pain, she spat in his face. Karl jerked backwards, then calmly watched her with spit on his cheek, a slimy trail in the moonlight. He wiped it away with the back of his hand.

"That's very rude," he said nonchalantly. Then he slapped her hard across the face. The blistering sting of it snapped her head to the left. Her eyes sought Gregor's. Though he wouldn't look at her, he was now crying. Petra's cheek throbbed as Karl hunkered down over her, propped up on his elbows. Petra shut her eyes tight, and felt him lick her cheek in one long, searing line from her jaw to her temple. It made her think of touching mold, or fungus. Her whole body shuddered in revulsion. Karl put his lips to her ear and whispered, his breath stirring her hair. "This isn't anything so crude as lust. I want you to know that." Petra clenched her jaw as his right hand gripped her breast, and squeezed. Mercifully, she was still clothed, so she didn't have to feel his skin against hers.

Yet.

"What did the captain ever do to you?" she muttered. Petra kept her eyes squeezed shut, but whimpered as Karl pushed her skirts up to the tops of her thighs. A few inches more and he'd reveal her underwear. She jerked as his hands ghosted up and down her legs. Why, why was he prolonging this?

Because he was a beast that enjoyed playing with its quarry before the kill.

"Would you consider it incomprehensible if I said I envied you?"

Petra opened her eyes and looked at him. Karl was regarding her now with something more horrifying than desire or hatred; he appeared truly, deeply unsettled. Unhinged. As if it would take only one soft word and a sideways glance to send him skittering out of mental control.

"I would," she breathed.

"Hmmph. Fair enough. But it's true all the same." He circled the tip of his index finger around and around on the inside of her thigh. Petra wanted to scream. "You were born with the expectation of doing something. Granted, I'm certain your parents imagined you a wife and mother, perhaps a shopkeeper of some sort. Not a soldier. But still, you were supposed to do something. You probably looked around and asked yourself how to be useful. But that was never open to me. Never to me." He pinched a bit of Petra's flesh, and began to squeeze. Tears popped into her eyes, though she wouldn't let him see how it hurt. "I was born to the expectations of inheritance. When that is all you know, you forego more…conventional means of education. More conventional pleasures. You can't understand the burden of excessive privilege, can you?" He sighed then, and twisted her flesh. Petra bucked, and cried out in pain. "And you cannot imagine how frightening it is to be told that your expectations of nothing, and plenty of it, might be snatched away in an instant. When you have been trained to do nothing, be nothing, twenty-five is too late to think any other way. Do you understand?"

"No," she snarled.

"I thought not."

"That still doesn't make any sense. What does this have to do with Captain Levi?"

Karl gave a small snort of amusement. That tiny, inconsequential noise of his—like she was a child who'd asked a particularly cute question—made her want to scream. If he was looking to violate her body and her mind, he might as well not do it so damn lightly.

"He stands in the way of my beautiful dream." Karl hissed in a breath as he twisted her flesh harder. Petra wept with it, trying desperately to shake herself free from the men holding her. They gripped fast. None of this made sense. Petra began to realize that she was going to be dragged through hell, and she didn't even know why. All she knew was that it had something to do with the captain.

He tried to warn me, and I didn't take him seriously. Now look at me.

No. Petra's mind shut that down quickly. She would go into hell itself for her captain—for the man she loved, even if he didn't love her back. But she was not going to blame what was happening to her now in any way on herself. This was Karl and the MPs doing, not hers, and not Levi's.

"I must say, Miss Ral. You have the most exquisite skin." Karl finally released that bit of her thigh. Petra felt it throbbing. She began to shiver as Karl pulled at her sleeves, so that they slid further down her arms, baring the tops of her breasts. "The way you tense up beneath me, the ecstasy of your revulsion. Your loathing. Your fear." His voice trembled with the feeling of it all. "It makes me utterly hard."

Gregor gave a soft noise of disgust, which Karl either did not or chose not to hear. Petra hated Gregor more than the lord on top of her. Gregor knew what this was, knew it was wrong, and persisted…for what? For a career?

"You're trash," she snapped at him. His chin quivered.

"I want your hate, Miss Ral." Karl cupped her face and made her look at him. He gripped her tightly; she was sure he'd leave a pattern of bruises. "I want to feel you die a little when I enter you." The look in his eyes now was as tender as if they were the most committed lovers. He leaned down and, as softly as if giving a kiss, bit her right on the breast. Petra screamed as she felt him draw blood, and burst into frustrated tears. Stupid. Stupid! She was giving him exactly what he wanted. Karl gave a sigh.

"Your tears and screams excite me more than any moans could," he whispered, sounding urgent with longing. Petra grimaced as she heard the click of a belt buckle. In a second, he'd pull down her underwear and then…

Then it would be too late.

Petra began to feel herself leave her own body. Good. If this had to happen, it'd be merciful for her not to be aware of it.

This was worse than titans, she thought. At least out in the world beyond the walls, when faced with a fifteen meter or an abnormal, she never got the sense of malice. Titans wanted to eat you, and their actions were inherently cruel because of it. But they weren't cruel themselves. In a way, Petra could understand Hange's bizarre adoration of the creatures. They were like wild animals, if you really thought about it. They were simply acting according to their nature.

But this, this thing that Karl was doing to her…this was cruelty for the sake of cruelty. The men helping him were doing it out of greed, or cowardice. Petra felt her mind on the verge of collapse. Closing her eyes, she lay back and drifted into some kind of liminal state, somewhere between dream and reality.

Oi.

The captain.

"Oi, oi, oi. Why're you on the ground, Petra?"

She huffed in frustration and coughed the dust from her lungs. Sitting up, she swiped at her clothes. The captain hated when his officers weren't neat.

Only three days on his squad, and already she'd embarrassed herself in training. Flushed, she stood and surreptitiously wiped at her butt.

"S-Sir, I was on the ground because you knocked me down, sir. Because I hadn't prepared myself for a leg sweep."

"No." He stood before her, nearly her height but, to Petra at least, impossibly huge. His raven hair shadowed his eyes, which squinted as they appraised her lackluster performance. "You're on the ground because you think you deserve to be there."

"Sir?"

"You're a capable soldier, Ral. I wouldn't have picked you otherwise." He got in her face, wearing that imperious sneer. "But you're always waiting for us to realize that you're secretly shit. You're the smallest. The youngest." He cocked an eyebrow. "The girl? That's what you think, isn't it? That all those things make you any less dangerous than the rest of my men."

Petra squared her jaw. She could feel her temper rising. Papa called it her most famous personality trait. 'Beware of Pet's temper,' he'd chortle.

"That make you mad, Ral?"

"I don't think being the only girl means I'm less capable."

"I agree." He crossed his arms. "My point is you think it makes you less. That, and your height."

"I…" She huffed; he had her. "Yes."

"I know how it feels to be underestimated when you walk into a room." He lowered his voice then, and softened his tone. Petra looked up, blinking in surprise. This near, with his icy façade down, the captain was downright personable. "You're never gonna be a six foot tall bruiser with a swinging dick, Petra. Let that idea go right now. Let the idea that you have to be that swinging dick die, because it's bullshit."

"I…I can't be just like you, sir. You're." Petra fumbled for the words. Not human seemed like something he'd take the wrong way. "Too exceptional. You're special."

"Listen, Petra. If you wanna go through life waiting for people to give you permission to take up space, you're gonna end up dead real fast or disappointed for a long, long time. I know you know how to stay on your feet. Stop feeling embarrassed for what you are," he snapped.

Petra stared at his boots. For a man of so few words, and such a blunt demeanor, the captain had wormed his way to the heart of her fears. He was more perceptive than he let on. Maybe more than he himself knew.

"Sir…why do we have to practice hand to hand?" She dared to look up again. The captain appeared slightly shocked. "We fight titans, not people."

"You really think the world's full of such fucking angels that you don't need to worry about what's inside the walls?" He sounded almost disappointed.

"N-No! It just…if we were the MPs there'd be more, uh, practical uses, but—"

"But we focus on what's outside. No, I get it. I do." He sniffed, jerked his chin. "I learn a lot about a person when I fight them. People can bullshit you all day long when they talk, but their actions never lie. You feel inadequate because, physically, you're smaller and weaker and you always will be. Now you can either let that determine the whole course of your life, or." Here he paused, made sure she looked him right in the eye. "You can use it to your advantage."

"How?"

"When people look at you, they see a pretty little girl." Petra tried not to let her face flush at his use of the word 'pretty.' He couldn't mean anything by it. "No one expects a pretty little girl to be a badass."

"So…what does that mean?"

The corner of his mouth twitched; it was fast, but she almost thought it was a smile.

"It means they'll go in for a kiss, and that's when you go in for the kill."

That had been two years ago, but it seemed a lifetime and a half away. But as Petra opened her eyes, as she turned her head, she listened to the echo of those words reverberate through her skull. Yes. Yes, she understood.

The world was filled with people like Karl who did not know the wildness that nested alongside the kindness in her heart, a grim hawk beside a white dove.

Petra looked up at Karl, her mouth dropping open. Her eyes moistened with tears. The sight of it made him gasp.

"Beautiful girl," he whispered, and went, finally, to kiss her. Closer. And closer.

They had her by the arms and legs. But they hadn't restrained her neck.

At the exact right moment, Petra headbutted Karl. She heard the satisfying squelch of cartilage and bone as she broke his nose. The lord jerked backwards, hands over his face, blood flying, his howls obscene. Petra felt her captors on either side weaken their hold with shock.

That was all she needed.

Gregor's grip loosened, and she wrenched herself free. The other MP's eyes widened in comical surprise as Petra kicked him hard in the side of the head. He released her at once and collapsed, while she rolled onto her back and, aiming perfectly, struck Karl directly in his solar plexus. The lord doubled over, wheezing, and then slid off the bed as well. Petra got to her knees at once, and glared at Gregor. He had his hands up, and didn't even try to restrain her again.

"P-Please. I'm so sorry. W-We're paid, you see, to… Petra, I'm—"

Even though it opened up her knuckles further, she punched him square in the face. His lip split open. Breathing fire, her body sore and scraped and torn, Petra got off the bed and ran for the door. Her dress flapped open at the back, her face was swelling from where Karl had struck her, and she vainly tried to adjust her gown to cover her breasts again. She was fairly certain Karl had left a puckered bite mark that she wouldn't be able to hide completely.

But she was free.

You thought I was a pretty, helpless little girl. You fucker, she thought, and even though it hurt, she smiled grimly.

This time, mercifully, she got across the room. The men were still rolling around on the floor and groaning behind her. Petra gripped the handle, flung the door open—

And there was another man there, waiting.

"No!" Petra fell back into fighting stance with a scream, her body shaking. "Let me out! You bastard, let me—"

"Petra?"

The voice.

"Captain?" she whispered. Slowly, she dropped her hands. He stood in the doorway, pristine in his best clothes, unruffled. The sight of him was a drop of water on a parched day. Her lips trembled as she tried to smile, but all she could do was choke back a sob.

He'd found her.

"Petra." He said her name with relief. His eyes widened at the sight of her.

And then the dam burst, all the fear, all the misery, all the hatred, all the joy, it came rushing down over her like when she swam out to the deepest part of the river and let the current tug her along.

With a cry, she flung herself forward and into his arms.