Verity
I tried to hold the ends of my stolen cloak away as I wretched myself onto the dry dirt of the cavern's floor — realization of what I'd done only just hitting me.
I murdered someone.
Previous laughter was long gone, and my body could not stop shaking as I sat back on my heels, cold stones painfully digging into my bare skin. I rubbed at my mouth and slowly got up. My gaze instantly went to the few rays of moonlight falling through the hole in the cave's ceiling. I stared at the beams as though they held all the answers I desperately needed.
Did I just kill someone?
Is he really dead?
Only a few hours had passed since I escaped that place. Night's cold was already settling in, and I wrapped the cloak closer around me. The comfort it gave came not only from the little warmth it produced but also in the sole feel of it. Knowing it came from the world where overhead were endless blue skies instead of a chipping grey stone and the air that smelled of anything but piss and sweat — of freedom.
I lay down, trying to ignore how gravel and small stones were sticking into my side, and closed my eyes. The cloak was meant to cover half a grown man's body, but it reached almost to my mid-thigh thanks to my short height. If I curled into a ball, I could almost use it as a blanket.
My mind returned to the market and a team of Survey Corps soldiers. They looked so sure of themselves, so full of the annoying feeling of righteousness visibly spilling out of them, mixed with disgust of being in such a low-life place, filled with sewage water, dirt and death. No matter how far I stretched my imagination, I could not picture what they had to experience on their missions. What would the world outside look like? There were a few paintings back at the house. But I'd never seen clear sky outside of a little glance I could steal through the hole in this cave.
I sighed heavily, dwelling on the idea of going not just beyond the ground but outside the walls.
Something I could never have.
My fingers caressed the embroidered wings, marveling at the intricate needlework. I wanted to get out of that house, that life so much, yet when I finally did, I had no idea what to do with this small piece of freedom I'd obtained. I had no skills, money, or any idea how people survived in the Underground. I was always safely tucked away, locked in my cell, and used during his guest's visits, or rarely sent to visit the local market. So what was I to do now, that my… captor had been killed?
As if following that line of thought, my stomach grumbled, making me wince. I hadn't eaten today, had I? How long could I go without food?
The stony annoyed face of that Levi boy popped up in my head. The look of pure hatred and determination on his face made a stinging ball of jealousy curl inside my stomach. How I wished to be that strong, to have an opportunity to voice what I thought and act as I pleased. But my whole life showcased how a person would behave when they were stripped of choice and forced into submission.
Was it all because I looked differently? Was it because of my damned heritage?
Stinging pain pierced my heart when I remembered the look on my mom's face when she whispered into my ear, begging me to go along with whatever he did to us—everything in order to survive. To keep me, her daughter, living. It hurt to think about what she must have gone through to keep us both alive after my father was murdered during our capture. I was too young back then to understand. It didn't stop me from being terrified, though.
I sighed, willing thoughts of my parents away. It hurt too much to think of them. Instead, I focused on how that squad fought against the Survey Corps. The fire in that red-haired girl's eyes when she had writhed in soldiers' hands. There had been no way she could have escaped his hold, but that hadn't stopped her. She had fought until her comrade told her to stop, someone who must have cared for her very much.
That ball of jealousy inside my stomach only grew bigger at that thought. She had everything I had ever wanted! People who cared for her and now freedom and a clear sky above her head, and she was strong because of it. How was this fair?
I gritted my teeth against the image of Levi, a look of anguish crossing his face when he peeked at his friends being threatened with sharp blades. It stayed there for just a moment before anger overtook him again, and he accepted blondie's offer.
This face of his aggravated me; it made me want to slap him, even though I didn't even know the boy. Hate heated my blood, and I set up, clenching hands into fists. I was not going to die here! I was going to see the skies! I was going to go beyond the walls! I would prove it! To that squad, to my dead parents, to myself. I would get out, and I didn't need other people to care for me. I had myself, and that was enough.
As a new unknown determination made me jumpy, my brain switched into planning mode, trying to figure out how exactly I could accomplish this and live long enough to enjoy my wish coming true.
This is not going to work…
The smell of rot burned the back of my throat, and my hands and knees dug deep into the wet mud. I shivered from the cold coming from the ground but didn't allow myself to move, my eyes following a crooked frame of the merchant locking his small clothing shop for the night. Heavy metal bars closed on the windows, and the metal door of the entrance closed shut with a soul-wrenching screech, sending a new wave of chills down my back.
There was no way I could make it now. I was done for.
No! I refuse to give up!
I gritted my teeth and waited for a few more moments until he was long gone from the spacious dark street full of small businesses. A few lingering shady-looking men crossed the road disappearing into the dark lane. Their eyes moved around, looking for a threat, a dull gleam of metal slightly visible from their belts. I shuddered upon looking at them, unwillingly imagining how their blades would pierce my skin, spilling blood into the trash-covered street.
My blood chilled when I forced myself up from the hiding space behind shipping containers and hurriedly crossed the street, trying to ignore lingering pain in the joints from the too-long wait. I turned the corner into the dark side street of the shop and followed the wall. My fingers caressed slightly wet, uneven bricks, scraping the skin of my palm. There was barely any light, and the only indication that I'd reached my target was the change in texture under my touch. I stopped, moving my hand up and down the smooth surface. The metal handle of the back door chilled my hand, but the heatwave of excitement dulled the sting of cold. I fell to my knees, not even caring where I landed, my fingers finding a barely noticeable curve of the lock.
"I can do it," I whispered, trying to calm myself, as I reached for the two thin metal cords I'd picked up on my way here. I had some practice in opening locks before. I couldn't call myself a professional or even slightly good, but I knew some. I had to learn to survive in that freezing dungeon I'd called home for ten long years.
My hands shook as I bent the first piece of cord into an angled frame and inserted it into the lock as a lever. For the second piece, I only twisted at the very end, which would allow me to manipulate pins within the lock more comfortably. And then I set to work.
I couldn't tell how much time passed, but at one point, when I couldn't take it anymore, I threw the wretched pieces of metal to the side, a loud growl lingering on the edge of yelling escaping my lips before I could stop it. I knew I wouldn't be able to do it. Why the hell did I even attempt then? I was a worthless, stupid brat with no skills whatsoever!
But it's not true now, is it?
I hated myself that exact second when this thought popped into my head. I would not go back to what my father had made me do in the past. But I didn't have any other choices left, did I? Was I that desperate to return to what I was escaping in the first place?
But I needed to get inside this shop! I needed clothes! And not just any; I needed those that would look similar to what Survey Corps soldiers wear for my plan to work. If I managed to get something that looked like army attire from at least five meters away, then using my cloak, I could bypass as a Scout — giving if I had it in me to put on a good enough performance at the gates of the Underground. It was as good of a plan as any. Better than dreaming of making enough regiments to pay for my pass-through.
My eyes started to burn with unwanted tears, but I didn't let them spill, refusing to give in to the despair crawling its way up my spine, digging its long sharp claws deep into my skin. I had to do something! Try and find another shop? I doubted that any other had a white blouse that Survey Corps wears. After all, it wasn't a popular outfit in the Underground. Then what?! Try again with the lock? Steal enough money to buy the clothes? Yeah, like that was happening any time soon.
My knees started to shake from the anguish crashing into me with a newfound force every passing second. I was going to die here. Who was I kidding? I couldn't survive on my own. The moment I killed my captor, I'd doomed myself as well.
Burning in my eyes intensified, and I sniffled. My throat contracted, trying not to let out a sob.
I'm sorry, mom. Your death was for not…
A load bang made me jump in place, sending my heart instantly into a gallop. I jerked my head towards the direction of the noise, the main street I had crossed before my failed lockpicking attempt. A shadow was visible in the dim lighting. The person raised their hands above their head, and another load bang followed, making me cringe. A horrible screeching sound of metal and a few crashes later, everything quieted, shadow disappearing from the alley.
I slowly picked myself up and moved towards the corner of the building. Each step laid heavy on my heart, dampening my freezing skin with cold sweat. But I had to check. It could be either a miracle or my own death knocking on the door.
Holding my breath, I peeked from the corner of the building, fearing to see someone staring right back at me. But there was no one. Instead, the entrance door made from scraps of metal welded together in edgy patterns was caved in. I stared at it in disbelief. What kind of strength it had to take to break this thing in?
Inhuman.
I gulped, still standing frozen in place. I couldn't possibly follow that inside. I could only imagine what this kind of strength could do to a person — a small and weak one like me. But I needed to get in. Worrying my lower lip, I took an unsteady step toward the entry when a barely noticeable sound of ruffling hit my ears, making me freeze.
A grumbling, unmistakably manly voice sounded, and I flinched not so much at the worded curse but rather at the familiarity of the voice. Warning lights blazed in my head, fear swallowing me whole. I turned on my heels, readying myself to run as fast as my tired body would allow, when a hand landed on my shoulder, stopping me dead altogether. It squeezed painfully so, and I whimpered, not daring to glance at the person now holding me in place. The same man who broke into a metal door like it was no biggie. The same man who I previously saw at my father's house. The same man that my father offered to gift me to.
Kenny.
"Whatever you are doing here, little one?" his hot breath coated the back of my neck, making goosebumps break all over my skin. "I thought for sure you ended similarly to your father. What a surprise this is."
He forced me to turn, jerking hard on my shoulder. I stared at his boots, trying to force my previous cold determination to envelop me again, giving me the strength to face whatever he planned to do with me. But the fear coating my insides with ice was unrelenting, and the fleeting dust of power I'd felt back at the cavern was long gone.
Kenny hooked his finger under my chin, lifting my face and forcing my gaze to meet his. His eyes roamed over my features for a moment, and he frowned. "What are you even doing here at this time of the day?"
I swallowed the limp in my throat and forced my mouth open, but no words came out, my voice giving in to me. Kenny sighed heavily and released my face. My eyes dropped, and I only now noticed a bloody stain covering the upper half of his shirt, small holes littering all over the expensive fabric. He moved his shoulders back as though his back hurt from a long day of hard labor and stepped back from me, turning to face the shop entrance.
"Can you speak?" he asked, facing away. I gulped and tried to force words out.
"Yes," only a whisper came out.
He lifted his face towards the infamous stone ceiling of the Underground, stained with years of cinder from all the flames burned to hide sins or manufacture some sort of heat. Yet another heavy sigh left him, and he turned toward me again after a moment of silence. His face was a mixture of pity, annoyance, and something else that I couldn't quite pinpoint.
"Why should I help you? What can you do?"
I blinked stupidly, trying to process his question, which only made him roll his eyes at me and turn away. "Never mind my question. Obviously, nothing that could be useful to me." He stepped inside the shop again, and I couldn't help but stare at his retreating back. Suspicion and promise lingered in the air, fooling me into believing the unvoiced promise this man, an accomplice of my father, had brought up.
Before I could think over what I was doing, the words slipped out, barely a whisper.
"Lie."
Kenny waved his hand in the air as an acknowledgment that he had heard me but kept moving inside through the rows of hangers full of colorful and expensive — for the Underground — clothes.
"I can lie!" I almost screamed, feeling the unsaid opportunity slipping through my fingers like a handful of sand. Kenny laughed, his shoulders starting to shake first and his body following, a heavy rumbling sound breaking the quiet of the night.
"So?" he asked after a moment when his laughter subsided. I stared at him at a loss for words. What else could I offer?
"I learn fast. I can lockpick. Well, kind of… I know how to read and write. I can fool people, and I…." I trailed off, biting hard on my lower lip to stop the words about to come out of my mouth.
"You what?" Kenny faced me again, a poorly hidden interest lingering on his features.
"I can be loyal when I have something to be loyal for."
A considering look on his face gave me hope, which I shouldn't have felt. The slightest bit of a heavy weight that had been forcing my shoulders down since the moment I'd realized I was utterly alone in my survival lifted, and a deep breath stretched my lungs.
"You don't even know what I have in store for you."
I wouldn't allow these words of his to dim the self-enforced feeling of freedom.
"I know you don't live in the Underground. If you get me out of here and don't hurt me, I will be loyal to no end. I just want to see the sky. I want to be free of dirt walls and pissed streets. I want to breathe clean air. I want to see the Walls." My voice trailed off as I realized I'd been voicing my dreams out loud to a man my father had wanted to give me to. I glanced at Kenny's face fearing and hoping to see something that would recoil at my words. But his face only looked puzzled and heavy with memories.
"Yes, I saw that once before." He mumbled barely audible, and then a little louder: "I can get you out and take your loyalty in return. But I need to put it to good use; otherwise, there is no point in it altogether."
"I will do whatever. I will learn whatever," I promised, only half scared of the deal I was striking with the devil.
Kenny chuckled at that, making a few steps in my direction, and I forced myself not to recoil at his heavy presence.
"Do you know who I am?"
"Kenny," I whispered, looking down again.
"Kenny the Reaper. Ring a bell?"
My head jerked upwards, and I stared at him. He only smirked at my reaction.
"You join me; you join the Devil."
My throat instantly went dry. Yet again, on the same day, I had to ask myself if I was desperate enough to do something that scared the shit out of me.
And yet again, the answer was yes.
This thought brought the fire inside my chest to life. It burned through my bones, spreading wildly through my veins and heating my blood. I was going to get out. I had an opportunity. How much worse could it be than the option of dying from hunger or rape or plain murder in the Underground? I would see the sky! I would be free from the dirt of the ratches. I would be able to breathe again…
"Get me out, and I won't care if you are the Devil or the mother of Titans."