"You're late."
Myles Darcy was propped up on his cot, arms folded, watching as a new guard stationed himself at the end of the mostly abandoned cell block in the Veritas Justice building. The rotation of personnel was meant to have changed hours ago, leaving Darcy to his fuming much longer than he expected. It was bad enough that they had left him to rot in this damp hole; now they weren't even keeping him in the loop. The young man he spoke to grunted in response.
"You're lucky we came back at all after how badly you and your team screwed up Ackerman's capture."
Darcy scoffed dismissively. "As if that was any fault of ours, Elliot. You didn't tell us the damn "Heroes of Humanity" were right behind them; that filthy rat and his little brats were supposed to be isolated."
The guard glanced around for a moment and then trudged down the hall, stopped in front of the iron rails that held Darcy.
"They were supposed to be isolated. We still have no idea why so many of them were in Cardend." Elliot shot back in a low voice. "Not only that, immediately after the raid they all fucking vanished. Not even one of our Regiment has any idea where they went, just that they aren't anywhere they are supposed to be and that we have lost contact with our informant."
Pushing himself up, Darcy looked at him with a frown.
"Do you think they have mobilized?"
Elliot shrugged. "Beats me, but the Council sure seems to think so. How could they not? There's no way they get wind of Historia Reiss's kidnapping and not do something about it."
He turned and side stepped away from the cell, feinting a rapt attention on the opposite wall as two men passed by the end of the hallway. Without moving, he tipped in chin back towards Darcy.
"Your "escape" is set for tomorrow morning during the next set of patrols. Despite their better judgement the Council is allowing you and your men to continue, though if Mr. Arlert's team is in fact on the move there isn't much we can do. Keep up with your reconnaissance, and if somehow they make it back from whatever suicide mission they are on, we can go from there."
Elliot made to move back towards his sentry position, but Darcy stood up and peaked through the bars at him as he went.
"That woman your Leader is looking for… what does she look like, again?"
"Ah, isn't she a beauty!" Oz cried as they picketed their exhausted horses and walked through the Kardif airbase towards what was indeed an incredible looking airship. Unlike the low flying plane they had used in their previous escape, this craft more closely resembled a blimp: massive in size, wings reaching out over their heads and a large air-filled canopy on top.
"The biggest difference between a regular Marlyean airship and this bad boy," Oz said as they made their approach, "is the prototype thrust engines. These suckers are powerful, but that's not even the best part. They can also be rotated, allowing us to have way more control over maneuverability." He pointed excitedly to the two large turbines that were located just forward of the plane's wings. "This will not only speed up our travel time drastically, it will also allow us to push the airship over the Northern peaks and fly higher than anyone ever has before!"
To Oz's disappointment, no one else seemed to be quite as excited at this revolutionary accomplishment. In fact, most of the group looked rather green around the gills at the prospect.
Pfft, killjoys. Oz thought, shaking his head. Taking off at a lope he headed over to the flight crew that was approaching from the hanger bay; folks who would certainly share in his enthusiasm. The rest of the group was met by Onyankapon, who had been charged with administering flight training to the to the new crew, and they all got to work.
It took most of the day for them to pack up their resources and transfer them to the interior of the plane, a task they took on in anxious silence. The days since they watched Arya being pulled out to sea had been long and strenuous, leaving little room for conversation. Though even if it hadn't, few of them had any words to share at all. As they travelled North, most of them had come to the same conclusion Armin had months prior: something big was happening now, something they weren't sure they would be able to stop.
As the day was drawing to an end, Connie huffed as he struggled one of the last boxes towards the open cabin doors, his thoughts dark. Slamming the crate down next to a stack of the same, he tried his best not to look around the interior, afraid of what he might see.
Sasha died on a plane like this.
He pressed his shaking hands against his temples, trying to drive out the image of Sasha's lifeless face from his mind. How many years had this final image of his best friend plagued his heart? He could still see her as plain as day, all the frantic and hilarious wit drained from her body as she asked, one last time, for something to eat.
Gabi stumbled into the plane behind him, dragging a medical crate behind her, grunting as she went.
No, not her. Not right now.
Seeing the crate at his feet, she set down her cargo along the wall and gave him a hesitant look.
"Need some help?"
"Not from you." He snapped, his broken voice a mere echo of the pain he felt. Turning away quickly, Connie headed deeper into the belly of the airship, leaving a frightened Gabi frozen in place.
By the time she had disappeared from view, shame was sneaking its way passed his sorrow. He knew true blame wasn't hers to bare. What was Gabi but another Eldian that was corrupted by hate? A child who had been taught to fear and loathe her own people. She had only been a tool for Marlyean wrath, nothing more.
But it was still her who pulled the trigger.
With a ragged breath Connie shook his head roughly and tried to think of the three women they aimed to save. Historia, Mikasa and Arya were waiting for them, and he would rather throw himself out of this metal monstrosity than leave them behind just because he couldn't get his head on straight. It was time to move. Back down the length of the ship he could hear his friend's voices as they all began to board.
"You okay, man?" Reiner clapped a strong hand onto Connie's back as he passed, heading towards the control room.
Connie composed himself quickly and gave Reiner's concerned face a smile. "Yeah man, I'm good. Let's do this."
The engines came to life with a deafening roar as then all converged on the bridge, Oz and the flight crew strapping themselves in behind the control panel as the rest buckled themselves into a row of seats that hung lengthwise along the hull. The floor beneath them shuddered, the landing gear below their feet beginning to turn, rolling the airship forward inch by inch towards the runway.
Falco's eyes were squeezed shut tightly; his knuckles white against the paddled grip handles beside him. Pieck was patting his leg comfortingly yet with a similar look of nervousness, and had the noise in the cabin not been so loud they could have heard the string of profanities issuing softly from Jean.
Against the odds, Armin's was one the few people aboard who's hands remained steady, his expression serious and concentrated. All their planning was coming to a head now; it was time to act. The fears and worries he might have had were pointless now that everything was in motion. All they could do now as the humongous plane lurched from the ground and pulled up into the sky was follow through and pray to whatever gods they could that their efforts would be enough. Their lives depended on it.
With a strained grunt Arya released the clasp holding the thick chain to the front of her boat with a clang. It tumbled off the bow and splashed into the water, pulling away from her quickly as one of the officers heaved on a large crank from the stern of their ship. Nodding solemnly as they wished her good luck, she seated herself at the controls and started up the engines. Veering away from them in the direction they had indicated, she sped off through the choppy waters to what she hoped was solid land.
I hope I never have to ride a boat ever again.
Arya was soaking wet and shivering, the cold wind cutting through the fabric of her clothes and all the way down to her bones with ease. The split skin along her cheek burned painfully, old blood still damp around the edge of the gash. Her premeditated injuries certainly felt authentic, but she couldn't be sure that her façade would be enough.
Before long the thin fog that hung gently to the surface of the water parted, and the hulking land mass that was Paradis came into view. A brief flash of relief was quickly replaced by a wave of panic. Had they been convincing enough years ago during their escape that they would accept her? Could she be convincing enough now, or would these be the last few hours of her life?
During the time it took for the Jaegerist port to come into view, Arya began to embody the role she was meant to play. Twisting her fear of being caught around in her mind, she poured that terror into something else: a battered and terrified refugee stolen from her lands, desperate to get home. She let her horror roam free, turning her facial features into a look of utter desperation.
She was so close now; The details of the main building becoming clearer as her boat heaved over the waves headed towards the coastline. A few minutes passed and she was close enough to see soldiers on the ground, running along the docks and between ships and out onto the piers that stuck out along the coast. She was even near enough to see the shiny glint of their weapons, every one of them armed to the teeth as they took their positions and aimed.
Arya's fear hit its boiling point, wrenching her from her seat. It was now or never. Leaping up and down waving her arms, she screamed at the top of her lungs.
"Please, don't shoot! My name is Arya Halbrand! Captain Halbrand of the Jaegerist Elites! I am a prisoner of war, captured by the enemy three years ago! I escaped; oh god please don't shoot me; I just want to go home! I just want to go home!"
Desperation rippled in her words, voice breaking as she pleaded. She held her trembling hands high in the air.
"I am unarmed! Please!"
The soldiers at the forefront looked between each other with doubtful frowns, the muzzles of their guns still trained on Arya. The boat was less than 25 yards from the closest pier, packed to the brim with unyielding enemies who appeared to have no intention of listening to her beg. Grasping onto her last chance, she cried out to them again.
"No, don't! I am the adopted daughter of General Caleb Loren! Please, PLEASE take me to him!"
At first it seemed that they hadn't heard her, but then a soldier leaned to another, saying something she couldn't make out. The man she spoke to grimaced and lowered his gun by a fraction, glaring at Arya threateningly. After a bit more back and forth between the two, the one who appeared to be of higher rank aimed back at her, positioning his crosshairs directly over her chest and Arya's heart sunk.
They're going to kill me.