"Hey, you need to stop already! You could get court-martialed for that!"

"I'd rather be court-martialed than bored," Celine said. A leather strip on the table before her held an array of tools gleaming in the sunlight. She frowned at the bundle for a moment as her fingers roved over a selection of screwdrivers.

The tool kit had been recovered from her office alongside the ODM gear. It would've been worth the risk on its own; Celine found the kit considerably more useful than a majority of the Engineering Corps members.

"If they want to stick me with a crappy job after everything I did," Celine said, glancing at Isabell. "Then I have an excuse to act like a passive-aggressive little shit."

The canister in Isabell's hands let out a 'clunk' to indicate it was at max capacity. She unhooked the valve from the tube connected to the large refill tank, the canister hissing until she adjusted the stopper.

"It's not so bad," Isabell said. She made some final adjustments to the stopper before placing it in the remaining empty slot of a crate holding eleven other canisters. She handed the box to a waiting soldier with a nod. "At least we get to be together."

"I guess so," Celine said with a shrug.

"You're a lucky charm," Isabell said, blue eyes regarding Celine with glee. "The rest of us agreed on that when we made it back here to Wall Rose."

Celine had a hard time expressing how she'd felt when she'd walked into the Trost warehouse a few hours past to discover not only had the Titans been gone, but Norman, Ray, Emma, and Isabell had still been in one piece. She'd been shocked enough not to fight back when Emma nearly knocked her to the ground in a sobbing embrace.

It turned out the group trapped in Headquarters had only needed to keep the Titans occupied for a short time before reinforcements arrived. The skill of the top cadets in Marco's class was nothing to scoff at – it apparently took less than five minutes for the terrifying girl Mikasa Ackermann and her less terrifying (but still intimidating) classmate Reiner Braun to zip across the basement using their ODM gear and kill the dozen or so Titans which had been roaming around. After patrols combing the building had ensured any members of the Cadet or Engineering Corps in hiding had been recovered, close to sixty people had buzzed about in the dim light of the Headquarters warehouse as they refilled canisters and replaced broken blades.

Being the only Captain present, Norman had given his approval on the retreat formation proposal suggested by Marco's classmate, Jean:

Squads of more combat experienced soldiers had been selected to shape the outer circle of the formation. Within the circle had been Celine along with other less experienced soldiers who carried backup supplies such as gas canisters, blades, grappling hooks, and any functioning ODM gear which had been recovered. Everyone had received their assignments and were ready within the hour … save for a few.

Celine had questioned Marco when it became clear a handful of his classmates wouldn't be joining them on the trip back to the wall. She listened with a solemn expression when he had explained the plan for Mikasa, Reiner, and a few others to break away from the formation to check up on the abnormal Titan. It had seemed illogical to allow so many of the best soldiers to withdraw from protecting the rest of the group, but no one would have been able to stop them even if they tried. Celine also hadn't been able to blame their motivation; a bit of a soft spot, and a lot of curiosity, had developed for the creature which had cleared the hostile TItans from the area along with saving her and Marco's life. She vowed never to admit this feeling to Hange, knowing she'd never hear the end of it.

Marco, Celine, and fifty-six other soldiers had taken flight from the Engineering Headquarters of Trost with Norman and Jean giving direction from the front and rear. They'd headed northeast – their target the closest portion of Wall Rose within reach. An order had been passed not to engage the Titans unless completely necessary.

Six Titans had been encountered on the journey, the majority being dodged without incident since they'd had all the fuel they needed to make quick escapes. A seven-meter near the wall had caused the most problems, with one unit losing two members when an unlucky cadet was snatched by the leg and another attempted a rescue. A second would-be rescuer had been saved from a gruesome fate when Emma snatched him by the cuff and drug him behind her as she scaled the wall. When all was settled, a head count confirmed fifty-six soldiers had made it safely atop Wall Rose.

A yellow distress flare had been fired into the sky, the group looking north with bated breath. A responding flare in yellow would've meant they should collect themselves and rush to provide aid. Green would've meant help would be sent their way, and red would've indicated it wasn't safe to leave their position. The worst would have been no signal at all, indicating the post had been abandoned due to another breach. That had been the main concern as the seconds ticked by with no response.

When a bright flash of light trailing a column of green smoke appeared in the sky, the last surviving soldiers of Trost had erupted in cheerful shouts and uncontrollable weeping.

Celine had asked to be put to work the second her feet touched the dirt on the opposite side of Wall Rose. Her peers found this admirable. In reality it had been because Celine knew she'd have a breakdown the second she was alone with her thoughts. She dreaded the idea of going to sleep that night and reliving her encounter with Titans in the warehouse almost as much as actually dying.

This had led to Celine being assigned to fill and distribute gas canisters, Isabell volunteering to stay at her side. Celine had almost immediately lost interest in the task, instead taking up a more engaging side project based on the conversations she'd picked up from passing soldiers.

Celine was currently facing her third client of the day. The term "client" was a bit loose — she wasn't charging for any services she provided, nor was she authorized to be conducting said services in the first place. Isabell's previous statement about being court-martialed was far from unfounded. Celine simply couldn't find it in herself to care.

Celine produced a magnifying glass with an accompanying stand from her tool kit. She unscrewed the outer casing on the ODM gear, followed by pulling out the coils of wire and setting them aside. Celine removed a number of screws and lifted out a row of tubes for closer inspection under the magnifying glass.

Two Garrison soldiers stood on the other end of the table. The one with scruffy brown hair and narrowed eyes stayed silent; his companion, and the owner of the gear, had a crew-cut and an annoyed expression.

"You're not even doing anything," the gear's owner said. "Why call me over and say you can fix the problem? I told you – I already took it apart for basic maintenance. The issue is–"

"The inner chamber," Celine said. She'd moved on from the tubes when everything seemed satisfactory, now using a small flathead screwdriver to pop open the casing of said chamber. "I agree – it looks like someone forced it open."

The soldier went pale. He looked Celine up and down. "Are you … a member of the Tech Department? Without the jacket, I can't–"

"Isabell mentioned earlier someone could get court-martialed for tampering with the inner chamber," Celine said, ignoring the inquiry entirely. She placed the tweezers aside and tilted the gear to allow light to hit the inner compartments. "The damaged coil looked an awful lot like someone had bent it on purpose. This coil is usually pretty well protected – it's critical in maintaining the internal temperature of the gear so it doesn't overheat. If it was damaged on purpose … I'm sure whoever did that was only looking for something easy to bend which would result in the gear refusing to function. They're lucky the motor shut down due to overheating before it caught fire."

Celine raised her eyes to hit the crew-cut soldier with a steady expression. "I can't imagine a soldier would do anything that astoundingly stupid. It would also imply they'd be making an attempt to abandon their post. Worst of all, it would be a complete insult to this meticulously designed piece of machinery which by all accounts is more valuable than they are by a long shot."

A standoff occurred as the soldier under Celine's gaze went wide-eyed, his complexion growing pale.

Celine put on a cheerful smile. "But you don't seem like that type to me," she said, slotting and screwing pieces of equipment back into place in a deft manner. "Besides, this one would've easily passed inspection before crapping out on you mid-flight … we can only imagine what would've happened after that."

The outer casing of the ODM gear slotted into place with a satisfying snap. Celine tightened the remaining screws before standing and picking up the gear controls. She tapped the buttons and nodded in a satisfied manner. "It's not a permanent fix, but it'll hold out for a bit until the coil can be replaced."

"Th-thank you," the crew-cut soldier said, accepting the gear being handed back to him. He recalled who he thought he was speaking to, placing his fist over his heart in a salute. "Thank you, ma'am! I promise to use this gear to serve humanity to the best of my ability!"

Celine's brow furrowed. "Eh?"

"Let's go, Gris," the crew-cut soldier's companion said. The scruffy looking man who'd approached Celine alongside Gris had watched the entire exchange without saying a word. He put a hand on Gris's shoulder and encouraged the rattled soldier into a walk.

"Spare ODM gear is hard to come by," the man said, hanging back as Gris stepped away. "And you were right about the captains sending us to the front line if our gear is malfunctioning; as long as it flies, it passes." His frown deepened. The man shook his head and began to walk away. "I know some people I'll send your way. Oh–"

The soldier stopped to turn back to Celine. "The look on your friend's face gives me the impression you're doing something you shouldn't. I'll do you the favor of not alerting the higher ups, if you do me the favor of forgetting anything about Gris and how his gear was damaged."

Celine tilted her head with a smile. "Oh? I admire your negotiating skills, but here's something for you: my name is Celine Bodt. I don't give a shit who you tell; I take pride in my handiwork."

"Celine!" Isabell hissed. "Stop it!"

"However," Celine said. "That friend of yours is already insignificant enough for me to have forgotten all about him. A plain guy like yourself has a pretty forgettable face, too. Within an hour I wouldn't be able to identify either one of you if I tried."

The man smirked. He turned with a shrug and walked away without another word.

"Are you serious?" Isabell said. "You're going to get arrested!"

Celine circled the table and plopped down on her stool. She slid her tools into corresponding pockets before rolling up her kit. "For what? Increasing our chance of survival against the Titans? They've got more important shit to worry about." Her eyes narrowed. "I also have a reason to get the attention of those assholes in the Tech Department. I want to show them they're not half as special as they think they are."

Isabell clasped her hands and looked on in apprehension as Celine picked up an empty canister and got back to her previous task. Celine may've been a lucky charm, but it was debatable how far that luck would go.

"Oh! Today really is my lucky day."

Celine raised her eyes as ODM gear with a very notable dent was placed on the table before her. A few hours had passed since the last soldier sought her out for an off-the-books ODM repair. The break in her monotonous routine was welcome, but she couldn't say she was in anywhere as good of a mood as the man now standing over her.

"Is that so?" Celine said, leaning her head into her hand. "I wouldn't think anyone would pin today of all days to be a lucky one."

"That's a matter of perspective," the soldier said. He was older – old enough Celine wondered why the man with a gray mustache and rows of crow's feet hadn't seen it fit to retire some time ago. The fact he was wearing a farmer's hat to protect his bald head while in uniform denoted an air of casualness. His Garrison outfit disclosed he wasn't anyone of a particular rank, either. This meant one of two things: either this man's service consisted solely of brown-nosing into low-risk assignments, or he was a rare recruit who joined later in life. The straight-backed posture and level of assurance behind his golden-brown eyes was an indication it wasn't the latter.

"You see," the older man said. "When a pretty girl gets to look at herself in the mirror every day, she wouldn't perceive such a common occurrence as luck. I, on the other hand, consider myself very lucky any time I have an excuse to interact with such a beauty."

Celine lifted her head to sit up straight. She was alone, Isabell having left their little stall some time ago to get an update on their orders. There was also the very real possibility Isabell wanted to be associated with Celine as little as possible since word-of-mouth was quickly spreading about the woman doing unsanctioned ODM repairs.

"Let me tell you something about me, grandpa," Celine said. "I never tire of hearing such flattery, so if you were looking to butter me up in order for me to give your gear an inspection, you've succeeded wholeheartedly."

The old man smiled as he leaned on the table. "I do like the sound of you giving my gear a thorough inspection."

"The only thing I'll be inspecting is this right here," Celine said, giving the ODM gear a tap with her screwdriver before she turned to remove the casing. "Considering your age, any other sort of inspection would need to be done by a coroner."

The man threw his head back with a laugh. He wiped his eyes and watched with an amused expression as Celine made quick work accessing the inner compartments of the gear.

"I was quite unsure if what I heard was true," the old man said. "A few of my peers claimed there was a member of the Technical Department who'd come down from the Interior. I thought it unlikely such a person would choose to station themselves so close to the front line."

"You thought correctly," Celine said. She snatched a grease-stained cloth from the end of the table and used it to lift up a bent spring. "The turbine got cracked in two … What the hell happened to this, anyway? I'm assuming it isn't yours."

The man raised a brow. "Oh?"

"This is calibrated for someone heavier," Celine said.

"I was unaware there was a difference."

"There are three weight categories," Celine said. "This one has a modification to the output valve, here. You see? That tube was replaced to allow more gas flow. Someone of your frame using this gear would have a hard time maintaining control."

A line formed between the old man's brows. "Is that so? I find it interesting you have no reservations telling me what it is you're looking at."

"Why would I?" Celine said. "Someone's life depends on this thing; there's nothing wrong with knowing how it works."

The old man nodded. "I can understand the value in that." The lighthearted nature behind his eyes dimmed. "I can imagine you wouldn't advise putting your faith behind something unknown."

Celine hummed. She pulled two objects from the inner workings of the device which looked like a pair of gears; at some point they'd been connected together with a metal shaft. She drummed her fingers on the table. "What's the nature of this being repaired as opposed to your colleague finding a replacement?"

The question was met with a stern expression. "Can you not fix it?"

"Of course I can fix it," Celine said. She spent a moment rummaging through a box under the table to produce an oil lamp. Removing the glass and wire casing before lighting the gas left the flame open for easy access. Celine adjusted the flame to the highest setting and reached for a gray stick from her tool kit that she held above the flame.

"This'll stick the turbine back together, and I can alter the cushioning spring as much as possible based on the tools at my disposal," Celine said, rubbing the melted end of the gray stick on one half of the broken turbine before quickly sticking the two halves together. "How long the adhesive will hold up is the variable." Her eyes tracked up to regard the old man with a cool expression. "Isn't that the nature of what faith is? Putting stock in something unknown? I think in situations like this, we're not left with much choice. I personally wouldn't make a habit of it."

The soft nature behind the old man's eyes returned. "I take it you're not much of a gambler."

Celine grinned. "I dabble," she said. "But I hedge my bets."

"So, what would you do to hedge your bets concerning the plan with Eren Jaeger?"

Rosewall had been thrown into a panic at the sound of cannon fire around three hours prior. Isabell had still been with Celine at the time, the two women remaining still as stone as others kicked up clouds of dirt and loudly proclaimed the defenses had been broken.

"A misfire?" Isabell had asked.

"Must be," Celine had said.

There were over fifty cannons lining the wall between Rosewall and Trost. Only one cannon had fired. To members of the Engineering Corps who were well aware each of the fifty or so cannons at hand possessed easy access to grape rounds, explosive artillery, and barrels of ignition powder, a single instance of cannon fire couldn't be anything significant.

At least that's what they'd thought until a wave of soldiers on horseback had come barreling down the street in the direction of the wall. There hadn't been enough time to get a good look at the group, but Celine had caught a glimpse of the Garrison insignia on the backs of the riders' jackets.

"Oh," Celine had said. "Someone's in deep shit."

Every member of humanity was in deep shit, but as it turned out, Eren Jaeger had successfully sunk to the bottom.

The various side repair projects had left Celine running behind on her quota to fill gas canisters. She'd been provided permission to miss the briefing called by the commander of the Garrison, Dot Pyxis, due to the urgent nature of her assignment. A very emotional retelling of the meeting later from Isabell left her floored: Eren Jaeger, some nobody kid from the Cadets, was the product of a top-secret experiment to turn humans into Titans. An emergency test run of this experiment had been conducted in Trost only earlier that day.

Celine was never going to forget the force of the shockwave which had nearly knocked her from the perch she'd had on Marco's back. The muscular Titan's arm had washed them in radiating heat; so close Celine could have reached out and placed her palm against the tanned flesh. Their savior had stopped the efforts of a Titan which had Marco and Celine as its target. Only seconds before, Celine had figured they were done for – the muscular Titan's green eyes regarding the world around it with a fury that left her chilled to the bone … up until there was a gleam of intelligence when the humans in its presence were in danger.

It knew him … It– 'he' … He knew Marco. Eren Jaeger recognized Marco.

"I'm biased," Celine said, correcting a bent spring with a small pair of tweezers. "I think he'll do it. Eren Jaeger will plug the hole in Trost's wall, so no need to worry about a backup."

The old man began to laugh. It took him much longer than Celine thought necessary to compose himself. She rolled her eyes and was on the task of closing up the inner workings of the ODM gear by the time the old man spoke again.

"For the sake of humanity's future hanging in the balance, that's the most shortsighted, idiotic reasoning behind a decision someone could make."

Celine looked up with a frown. "I'm not above kicking the ass of an old bag like you."

"Forgive me," the old man said, smiling. "You just remind me of myself."

The man's smile was reflected as Celine popped out the dent of the gear's casing with a mallet. "I'm not sure how to take that," she said. "I liked it better when you were complimenting me on my looks – that I could fully understand."

The ODM gear looked like it was on its last leg, but the device was responsive when Celine stood and tested out the controls. The old man gave an approving nod as it was handed back to him.

"You have my thanks, Miss," he said. "I have nothing on me as payment, so I hope you'll accept another observation on your remarkable loveliness. Never have I encountered a woman so fair and full of womanly charm."

Celine raised a brow. "If you wanted to make your statement seem sincere, you should've stopped at the 'loveliness' part. I'll let your sarcasm slide considering everything you said is technically true."

The old man offered his hand. Celine took it and returned the firm shake. She watched the man make his way down the crowded street for a moment before sitting and tidying up the table.

. . .

The old man gifted Celine with a final glance over his shoulder. He noted her preoccupation with organizing her tools made her miss the look entirely, her form disappearing from sight as he stepped around a corner.

"Satisfied?"

"Very," the old man said. He'd entered a small alley to find a Garrison soldier with broad shoulders and shoulder-length brown hair leaning against a wall. The newcomer's expression revealed he wasn't nearly as amused as his companion.

"It would be a lie to say speaking with her didn't make me wish I was forty years younger," the old man continued. The wide-brimmed hat on his bald head was removed and flung to the dirt. He scratched the back of his scalp. "On the other hand, she seems like the type who'd set my house aflame if she ever felt slighted. Her mother had the wit, but not the temper."

"I hope quelling your curiosity was worth you taking a hammer to this spare," the soldier said as he accepted the ODM gear being handed to him. "It wasn't working anyway, but that seemed like overkill."

"I wanted to test the validity of the rumors," the old man said. He removed his jacket and tossed it over the ODM gear. He accepted another jacket from the soldier's outstretched hand. This one had an array of patches in various colors stitched above the left breast pocket.

The old man put on the jacket, his ensemble finished with a bolo-tie sporting a large, purple gem. He adjusted the tie's fit around his collar as he began to walk, the soldier matching his stride.

"Have the ODM gear inspected," the old man said. "I'd like a copy of the report from the Technical Department analyzing the acceptability of the repair."

"Yes, Commander," the soldier said. "Shall I submit a copy of the report to the Military Police as evidence?"

The two men exited the other end of the alley. The bustling nature around them paused as soldiers lifted their chins and pounded their fists over their hearts in a salute.

The old man, more commonly known as Commander Pyxis of the Garrison Regiment, provided a nod in greeting as an indication for the soldiers to get back to their preparations.

"No need; I'm sure a copy will find a way into their hands when they get around to building a case," Pyxis said. He smiled. "If they get around to building a case. I hope Celine Bodt's optimism concerning our success isn't unfounded. Let's get back to the matter at hand, but keep me informed on any upcoming developments concerning Private Bodt if we live through this."

"Yes, Commander."