Chapter 29

As bad as I feel for pushing Hitch away, her connection to Marlo assuages most of the guilt lingering around my conscience. She's like a star, constantly flickering in the sky, dazzling with her acrobatic prowess with the ODM gear and her mischievous, fickle personality. She sleeps late, snores loud, smiles wide. I hope, after my work here is done, that maybe she and I can be friends.

Until then, I make due with the tips she bequeathed to me that day in the forest. Just like I did when I first started to exercise routinely, I pay attention to my body. I was wrong to assume that when using the gear, I should just power through it. Hitch was right: the surest way to go about adjusting my tolerance to flight is to pay attention to my threshold. To my great dismay and ire, it is horrifically low. I can't say that I am surprised.

When I run just before the dawn, I wear my gear. The added weight takes a toll, but I adjust. I ease back when my body acts up; I go soft when I feel that familiar, soapy lung sickness trying to rob me of my breath. Every free day I have is spent dodging classes to push my threshold in the forest. Little by little, breath by agonizing breath, tree by willowing tree. My performance is not perfect, but for now, it earns me just a little over three marks. That is all I need.

I start simple. A ripple in a pond, so small the displacement in the water is unnoticeable. That, or a cup filled to the brim, with tiny droplets of moisture striking the surface and stretching out the meniscus. Drip by drip, one by one, marks begin to drop.

The week after Hitch teaches me how to fly, we have our second mental test. After my run, I weasel my way back into my bunk to grab my uniform. Girls whisper as I pass them on my way to the shower. I glance at Hitch's sleeping form as I pass by. Knocked out, dead to the world, with a bedhead that makes me want to laugh. I shake off the warmth in my cheeks and carry on.

I set my clothes out next to the shower and step in. The water runs hot for a moment, then sputters and the stream goes cold. I shiver and strain to set the temperature back right, but it doesn't budge. Frowning, I grit my teeth and bear it.

"These are her clothes, alright."

Rubbing the soap out from where it fell from my hair into my ear, I twist my head out of the water to hear better. "Hello?"

At first I think the voice vanishes. Only when I press myself against the door separating me from whoever is out there do I realize there's a chorus of people just outside the shower discussing something amongst themselves. "Should we steal and hide them? Or just tear them up?"

"Does it even matter? Just make some tears in unruly places. She must have ripped them fucking up against the walls of the cabins."

A smattering of laughter follows that remark. I roll my eyes. "She probably has splinters up there."

I debate stopping them from cutting up my clothes, only to think better of it at the last second. Their task is not to humiliate me, but to deter me. Otherwise they would steal or mar every outfit I own, not just the one I brought to the showers. I let them tear to their heart's content, rinsing my hair out and leaning up against the door, arms crossed. Only when I hear the first speaker say they should evacuate before I catch them do I carefully crack the door open soundlessly. Three girls flee the scene of the crime: a tall blond, and two stocky brunettes. Satisfied, I close the door again and stop the water.

Sure enough, there's a large enough rip in the crotch of my pants and the chest of my shirt to render both garments unusable today. Which is a shame, given how I felt the light blue shirt would've complimented the clear spring sky today. It's almost the same color as the hair ties that Mina used. Rather than attempt to cover up with my tawdry garments, I bundle them up under my arm and stroll nude back through the cabin. Eyes flock to me the entire way back: it's not exactly weird to see the flesh of the other female trainees, but there's enough modesty here to make sure it's covered by towels or undergarments, even when changing or coming to and from the showers.

I have a feeling my behavior will only feed into the rumor cited by the perpetrators. I can practically hear them debase me further, citing my unabashed display of nudity as yet another example of my shameless nature. I ignore every stare, every judgment passed down onto my person from the trainees that know absolutely nothing of me other than the fact that I am easy to ostracize. Pyxis granted me a high favor by pulling strings to get me back into the 107th; I suppose this is the way I am to balance out that great boon.

"She probably got the habit from her mother."

I stop dead in my tracks. Every side conversation in the cabin vanishes in an instant. Even those who feigned disinterest fail to do so now. Eyes from all angles are focused on me–me, and the woman who spoke out to my right. I glance over my shoulder to get a good look at her. She's got reddish brown hair and a haughty smile.

"Oh, sorry. Did you hear?"

"Not entirely. Care to repeat yourself?"

She's leaned back, every bit as nonchalant as someone who knows they're in control would be. She shrugs daintily. "I only mean to say that you must've learned such behavior somewhere unsavory." Her eyes rove over my nude form, lingering on the swell of my breasts. "I understand if it's commonplace to display yourself like that where you come from, but here, we different assets than just our tits–"

"Your name?"

My voice is calm, level. Perhaps that is why she wavers when I interrupt her. "Heidi."

I turn slowly, facing her in full. "Mm. Tell me again, Heidi, where you think I am from."

The girls nearest to her hunch closer together. In truth, I don't really understand why. All I've done is ask a question of the woman currently slandering me for her own amusement. I reach for the bundle of clothes tucked under my arm, dropping the ruined pants to the ground. I stretch the shirt out silently, waiting for Heidi to draw courage to finish her jests. She no longer looks as relaxed as before. Her face twitches and warps with disgust. "I think we all know where you're from."

"Ah." I drape one of the sleeves over my palm, bending my fingers down to hold it in place. I spend a moment studying my ring. "I come from my mother's womb."

Anger flickers between Heidi and I. "That's not what I meant. What kind of self respecting girl would walk around naked like it was normal? Anyone can see that your upbringing couldn't have been normal for you to act like that."

I wrap the blue fabric around my knuckles once, then twice, flexing my hand to test the tightness of the binding. My hair drips with every movement, tossing rivulets of shower water down my bare skin. I raise myself to my full height. This time, when I level my gaze at the redhead, she flinches. "What would you do, if you were cast out of the trainees today?"

Her eyes widen, then narrow. "So you're going to fight me? Is that it? Just because I made a few remarks about your mother?"

I step closer. The people nearest to Heidi have drifted away, given us room. They can sense the bloodlust in the air. They know who it belongs to. She balls her fist. "That's exactly what I'm going to do."

"Are you serious? You'll be the one who gets kicked out. Everyone here is a witness!"

I grin wickedly, stepping even closer, bundled fist rising. "No, Heidi, I won't. You said it yourself–your rules don't apply to me." My grin grows even wider, cutting into my cheeks. "All I need is one night to convince these officers to let me stay. But what about you? Can you lower yourself to my level just to keep your place here?"

She's visibly shaking now: not with fear, but with anger. Yet she won't draw. She's waiting for me to do it. I must deal the first blow, in order for her to have her way. I'm close enough now that I could lash out and rip her throat out. Close enough to notice the uncertainty flickering in the depths of her eyes. I laugh.

"Don't you get it, Heidi? Someone like you can never beat someone like me."

Her eyes widen, but it's too late. I've already swung.

My fist strikes hard against the wooden post just next to her head. I hear the delicious crack, the enlivened splintering of its frame. It's a damn good thing I watched Eren and Jean crack a post during one of their fights–these damn old bunks–otherwise I wouldn't dare test the wood in these camps like this. Heidi opens her eyes, scrunched up like a cornered mouse. I lean in and whisper one last warning, careful to keep it loud enough so that the nearest girls can still hear. What good is a threat if I have to repeat it?

"If you want to stay here, Heidi, you should learn to keep my mother's mention out of your fucking mouth."

Spare clothes changed into and mood officially soured, I grab the small pouch that I collected during my last venture into the woods and head over to the mess hall. It's easy to tell who witnessed the ordeal in the girl's cabin this morning versus who didn't based on the way they keep their heads down and their mouths shut as I approach. Were I a more petty person, the power trip would be entertaining to me, but it's not. I merely ignore them all and set my sights on the trio I remember so clearly from this morning. I grab breakfast and make my way over to their table, cheerily squeezing my way into a seat across from them.

"Good morning," I say, and pretend like I don't even notice when they let the greeting fall unreturned. Instead I busy myself with the meal's main course: oats topped with fruit, stirring the contents around, mixing it well. The three bowls across from me are still untouched. "You won't believe what happened to me this morning in the shower."

One of the girls narrows her eyes, silently telling me she couldn't care less. Another one starts to squirm in her seat. Only the tall blond stays civilly neutral.

I sigh, dipping my spoon into my bowl. "I can't even recall how it happened, but my clothes for today got ruined. So of course I had to get new ones. But I didn't want to throw my others out–such a waste, you know–so instead, I thought it might be nice to stitch the holes together and mend the garments. That was when I realized not only do I have no sewing expertise, but I also have no materials by which to do it…"

I talk their ears off, letting my story go off the rails until finally, one of the three girls groans and stands up. She grips her bowl and scans the mess for a different place to sit. The other two, as if waiting for an excuse of their own, grab theirs and turn as well.

Quick as a deer, I yank open the pouch I brought and dump its contents into their three bowls. I watch the little berries tumble out, one after another, piling onto the ones on top of their oats. It's enough to put them to sleep if they don't fight it; enough to make them severely sleep deprived if they do. I glance out the window; with the sun coming up, today's mental test will start in just a few minutes. The girls complete their retreat and I sit back to watch them go, resting my head on my chin, waving goodbye to them in more ways than one.

Two days later, the officer announces that the three of them did not pass.

I target Heidi next. The physical exam the following week is simple sparring, with each trainee getting a single partner to go up against. The officers reassure us that losing the match is only a five mark reduction; as long as the performance is still decent enough to earn a few marks, it won't automatically be enough to fail out. That reassurance makes many weak and overly reassured. A safety net the instructors ought to have kept secret.

I start first with tormenting her sleeping hours. When the cabin empties out for class five days before the next physical test, I cut open Heidi's mattress and place rocks inside of it. Her pillow gets small herbal bundles with dried rosemary stolen from the kitchens, along with rudimentary smelling salts snatched from the infirmary. In no time at all, restless bags form under her eyes. I take care to taunt her in passing whenever I see her, waving at her with the hand I used to punch the post. As the days go on, her temperament sours further and further, the anger I felt so keenly the day we clashed after my shower growing more and more pronounced.

It comes as no surprise when Heidi requests to be matched against me. I accept graciously, and as everyone else is too busy with their own matches to hover over our shoulders, our second confrontation occurs without a crowd. Our only witness is the instructor standing securely to the side, notepad in hand, disinterest on his face.

I almost feel bad for what I do to Heidi. But then she notices the way I hesitate to remove my mother's wedding band–notices the way I ask the instructor to watch it carefully, because it's an heirloom–and finally realizes that she struck a nerve with me last time we clashed.

I tune her out as best as I can. She insults me every way she knows how, combining leers and taunts that mix and mingle, matching up with everything she said to me before and then some. She looks for the words that weaken me the most. Hunts down the prods that strike deeply, the wounds I cannot repair.

But her own narcissism, her own belief that she understands me better than I do myself based on the rumors she absorbed prevents her from finding the things I am most ashamed of and sensitive to. It's entertaining, almost. She has all the tools to weaken her opponent, and she has discarded them because they were too heavy to carry.

She is exhausted, overconfident, conceited, and too concerned with her own image to ever stoop as low as someone like me. If she were anything like Annie or Mikasa I would stand no chance. But Heidi and I are on the bottom of the food chain; this bout will land in my favor.

Heidi loses marks for forfeiting the match to me.

She loses marks for inappropriate and uncalled for defamation of character.

And, finally, when I sweep her to the ground, the thin blade I palmed is transferred without notice onto her person and stumbles out onto the ground when she stands.

The marks that she loses for possession of weaponry in an unarmed fight is enough to send her score over the edge. Two days later, I wait for the list of names to rumble by, and when Heidi Forster is announced as a fail, the man standing next to her immediately glares my way.

Who knew she had a brother?

"You framed my sister," Floch growls, practically shouting across the 107th's ranks to be heard by me. "You bitch!"

I shrug. If he wanted to have me punished, he should've done it before I restitched up the mattress and removed the paraphernalia I'd planted in her bunk.

"I'm going to prove it," he vows. "You'll pay."

And I will, I'm sure. One day my debts will catch up to me. One day, my sins will weigh me down, drowning me like rocks placed on top of a body. But not yet, not now. There is far too much for me to do and far too much for me to witness before I can let my fate catch up to me. Death will follow me at an arm's length for now.

"Good luck," I say, and mean it.

No one can indict me. I am oil, slick and unsavory, fleeting and uncontainable. There is no proof of my malevolence. No witnesses, no evidence, no power strong enough to kick me out of here for nothing more than a few unsavory words. That does not stop Floch from trying. Even though I've made my mind up to leave him here, because I'm nervous to taint a potential future too deeply by forcing its hand, he and his goons refuse to let their failed trainees walk out unavenged. Only the stern warning of Becker keeps them just far enough in line to refrain from bombarding her and the other officers with baseless (though not exactly false) accusations against my person.

Throughout all of this, my whispered name becomes a chilled spell issued in the halls. An intonation paramount to a judicial sentence. The gaps between me and the rest of the eastern division grow wider, the berth granted to me whenever we mingle near-insurmountable. Whoever evokes my ire, they say, will then fail their next test. Whoever walks with me in their shadow keels over in the night. I am now, to these people, Aliva Moreau, The Grim Reaper of the Eastern 107th division.

But most of them just call me the Reaper.

A/N: Not me getting hyped up by my own chapter ending FEBSDBFCHEB