Not This Time

by Rowboat Girlyman 1

When Armin and Mikasa are given the chance to fix the mistakes of the past they will do everything they can to save their friends. Even if they need to abandon their very humanity to do it.

38. Old Wounds

Old Wounds

Hello.

Um, this is kinda awkward. I am alive, and I have no excuses as to why this has taken so damn long. All I can say is I'm very sorry!

I'm probably massively out of practice so please excuse the varying level of quality in this chapter, some sections I wrote literally years ago now...

Anyway I hope you enjoy and bit of a warning we are still covering some dark topics and implications with the underground.

---

Scout Safe House/Levi's Home

Underground City

'133,'

'134,'

'135,'

'136,'

Mikasa counted in her head as she lowered herself to the floor at a slow and steady pace. When her nose came within an inch of the hard wooden panels, she stopped and held that position for a moment before slowly pushing herself back up, completing another rep.

"You know, most people do push-ups with both arms." The cross-legged Armin quipped as he was lifted up for the 137th time in a row. "And without someone sitting on their back."

Exercise had always been one of Mikasa's go-to's when she was looking to pass the time. It was a great way to chase away boredom while also keeping herself in shape. The only problem was that normal exercises simply didn't cut it for her anymore (and hadn't in a very long time), so Armin and the others often found themselves being conscripted into the exercise to make it more of a challenge for her. Hence Armin's current position on her back.

"Sounds boring." Mikasa breathed out, lowering herself to complete the next rep.

Armin let out a faint snort and shook his head as he flipped to the next page in his book. Her back was straight as a board and her steady uniform movements allowed Armin to continue reading with minimal difficulty. They both had plenty of practice doing this after all.

Usually, Mikasa would ask Armin to read aloud when they did this, finding his voice immensely soothing. Once he got into the zone of storytelling, she could just close her eyes and become fully immersed in whatever it was he was talking about, picturing it clearly in her head as if seeing it with her own eyes.

This time, however, she hadn't asked him to do so. Not because she didn't want to hear him of course, but because due to the ad-hoc nature of this whole operation, the only books they had on hand were the ones Hanji had brought with her, crammed into the depths of her rucksack.

While Armin was more than happy to read anything that put ink to paper, the books Hanji liked and the ones Mikasa liked couldn't be further apart.

Armin's talent for storytelling might be second to none, but not even he could make 'Kaleth Foundry Town and the Economy of Scale' sound interesting to her. She'd rather pull her own teeth out to be brutally honest.

"How long has it been now?" Mikasa spoke up once she reached the 200 mark, taking the opportunity to ask while she switched to her other arm.

Peering over the top of his book, Armin looked towards the kitchen table, where alongside her bundled scarf and their shedded cloaks, was one of the still burning candles that lit the room. They had found them not long after Hanji and Levi had left, stashed away in the back of a kitchen cupboard. Not exactly the best candles but they did the job.

"At least four hours," Armin guesstimated, judging by how close the wick was to being submerged in the pool of liquified wax. "Probably closer to five."

Mikasa let out another huff from between her gritted teeth. Hours? It felt like they had been waiting for years .

"They should be back by now. Something must have happened." She said aloud, taking care not to lose count of her reps.

"It's a big place out there, Mikasa, and we don't even know what the Captain has planned. They could be out all night." Came Armin's gentle reply, accompanied with the ruffling of paper as he turned another page.

"Levi said they'd only be a few hours." Mikasa quickly countered, hoping it didn't come across as sulky or petulant. Truthfully she knew that plans change all the time, especially when out in the field, but the thought of waiting here all night for Levi's return was a bitter pill to swallow. Inaction didn't sit well with her.

Neither did it for Armin, who let out a weary sigh from her back. "I know, I know. I don't like it either, but there's nothing we can do about it now. We just have to trust them."

Mikasa pursed her lips in frustration at their current predicament and quickly decided to redirect that nervous energy of hers into something more productive. Doubling the number of pushups sounded like a good start.

The silence that fell between them wasn't an uncomfortable one - it rarely was between them - but Mikasa still wished for something to break it.

She got her wish a minute later when the silence was abruptly and definitively broken; not by words or some unexpected movement, but from the loud rumbling of an empty stomach.

Mikasa paused her movements mid-rep, and turned her head to glance up at Armin out of the corner of her eye.

"Sorry about that. I forgot to eat earlier." He apologised, face reddening slightly in embarrassment. Snapping the book shut and letting it rest in his lap, Armin gingerly rubbed at his stomach, trying to settle it. "Can you pass me my bag? There's a ration bar in there with my name on it."

With a small quirk of her lips, Mikasa nodded and looked to her left. Fortunately, Armin had left his rucksack within touching distance of her free arm, so Mikasa was able to reach out and grab it without breaking her stance or losing her balance.

The bag was heavier than it looked thanks to how packed it was, but Mikasa had been prepared for that. The two of them had packed their bags together that morning, so she already knew what it contained; some spare clothes, rolls of bandages, emergency medical supplies, a stack of note-filled paper that Hanji had palmed off onto him, a modest pouch containing their joint wages and perhaps most importantly, hidden behind a secret flap he had stitched into the bags innards, one of the small bottles of spinal fluid they had acquired from Historia's father.

They had originally brought it as a precaution, to be used after capturing Reiner. It would have been part of their offering to Erwin, partial proof of their story and a way of transferring the Armoured Titan to someone else.

That wasn't going to happen now obviously, but they had kept the vial with them, despite the admittedly slim chance of it being discovered if someone other than themselves or Historia went rifling through Armin's bag. They told themselves that each vial was simply too valuable to just throw away and that it was too risky to dispose of it now.

That's the excuse they had silently agreed on, but they both knew it was a lie.

The true reason for keeping it, the reason which neither of them had dared to give voice to, was if the absolute worst case scenario came to pass and they needed to… reclaim the Founding Titan from Rod.

Mikasa banished that particular nightmare with a hard blink as Armin took the weighty bag from her hand with a soft thank you. It was just a precaution, nothing more. Rod was too much of a coward to inflict the curse upon himself. Especially while Historia still drew breath.

Eren would be fine.

"Come on… I know you're in here." Armin muttered aloud as he searched through the densely packed contents of the bag.

Ah-ha! There they are." He exclaimed after a few more moments of searching and pulled out two paper-wrapped ration bars. "You want one?"

Mikasa was about to decline when she was betrayed by her own grumbling stomach. It wasn't as striking as Armin's had been, but in the otherwise silent living room it was still painfully loud.

'Traitor.' She thought with an inaudible sigh and shifted into a plank position. This could count as her rest time.

"Sure."

"Do you want me to get off first?" Armin started to unfold his legs but Mikasa quickly shook her head. She still had several sets left to do once they finished their quick break.

"It's fine. I can eat like this."

"Alright then. Here you go." With a tug of his fingers, Armin tore open the first bar of concentrated protein and carbs and passed it down to her before opening his own and taking a large bite out of it to appease his empty stomach and sate its hunger.

With her own belly threatening to complain again, Mikasa raised the bar to her mouth and bit off a somewhat smaller morsel, choosing not to dwell on the ever unpleasant texture of the consolidated lump of food.

These ration bars were not meant to be tasty or appealing. They were made to be filling, stuffed with enough calories to keep a soldier going in the field for days at a time if need be.

Mikasa had eaten enough of them over the years to know they were perfect for that. Still, they really could have done without the sawdust-like aftertaste. Bleugh.

They chatted about idle topics as they ate; swallowing down mouthfuls of food in between snippets of gossip about their sleeping friends upstairs or Armin telling her about some factoid he read in Hanji's book. Eventually they drifted onto the topic of the safehouse and its true nature. They were both in agreement that it wasn't just a random house in the underground, but a home. Levi's home to be precise.

There had always been rumours surrounding Levi's origins, and his unorthodox entry into the corp. They had both heard the underground being mentioned before in these tales, but hadn't taken it as gospel. After all, for every tale featuring the underground there was one that talked about some wayward son of a noble family or a feral child found beyond the walls.

But now they were certain the rumours about the underground were the right ones.

It was the only explanation for how he had successfully led them through this labyrinth of a city without getting lost or having to double back once, and knew of a hidden key stashed away in the wall. And if that hadn't been enough to convince them that this was once Levi's home, then the cupboard full of cleaning products and broomsticks was a dead giveaway.

Mikasa now realised why Levi had been acting so strangely before. He had basically reopened an old chapter in his life, likely a painful one knowing the luck of their bloodline, and invited them all in to poke around and explore. It can't have been easy for him. It certainly wouldn't be for her.

Would she be able to do the same? To bring a whole group of people to her old home, up in the mountains? The same one she had never returned to, even after Wall Maria was restored?

The icy fist that clenched around her heart at that thought was answer enough.

Maybe she should cut Levi a bit of slack.

Pushing aside all further thought of her past and its unsettling similarities to Levi's own, Mikasa idly fiddled with a piece of dangling wrapper as she chewed down yet another chunk of the ration bar.

Not long later, as Mikasa gulped down the last piece of concentrated calories then wetted her dried out lips with a swipe of her tongue, an familiar open hand reached down into her peripheral vision, an empty wrapper resting in the palm.

"Finished?" Armin asked.

Mikasa deposited her own empty wrapper in his hand. "Thank you."

Lifting his hand back up Armin scrunched the wrappers into a small ball, then with his tongue poking out between his teeth and one eye closed, leaned back to get an angle and tossed the ball across the room towards the bucket they had repurposed as a bin. It wasn't the cleanest throw by any standards with the ball bouncing on the bucket rim before landing inside. Regardless, Armin gave himself a fist pump and a muted cheer, clearly proud of himself.

Mikasa smiled at the antics and gave a good natured eye roll, deciding to refrain from making a teasing comment about the throw. She'd let him have that one.

"You ready to continue?" She asked, shifting back into position for more push-ups. Normally continuing to exercise immediately after eating was a bad idea, and could cause painful cramps and general discomfort as Sasha often found out, Mikasa was - quite literally - made of sterner stuff than her ever hungry friend and a simple ration bar wouldn't impact her workout in the slightest. She had been holding the plank position for the last few minutes while eating anyway.

She'd be fine.

Armin looked down at her with a soft hum. "Hmm? Oh, yeah, just let me just..."

Before Mikasa really had time to process what Armin had said, she felt him gently cup his left hand against neck and then started running his fingers through the back of her hair, brushing away a small quantity of crumbs that had fallen into her black locks.

It was a perfectly innocent gesture, a simple nicety of cleaning up after himself. It didn't mean anything, yet whenever his slender fingers filtered through her hair and lightly grazed over her neck, Mikasa felt her skin grow warm and tingly at the touch.

It was a surprisingly pleasant sensation, and one that forced Mikasa to keep her face pointing straight down so as to not reveal the effect the unintentional caress was having on her. It would have been difficult to explain the red glow currently forming on her cheeks.

As nice as the feeling was, however, it didn't last long as it only took Armin a few brushes to collect the last of the fallen crumbs into his palm then deposited the small mound onto the nearby end table.

"There," Armin said as he wiped his hands clean. "All gone."

While the touch was gone, the tingle remained causing Mikasa to let out a thankfully inaudible exhale as she nodded her head in acknowledgement. She didn't fully trust her voice to come out in its normal even tone and was acutely aware that any sort of upwards inflection or, walls forbid, a stammer would be instantly picked up by the man currently sitting on her back.

Mikasa decided it was best to play it safe and avoid any awkward questions by staying silent. And for good measure she started doing her push ups again.

But while Mikasa may have decided that in this case discretion was the better part of valour, she missed the curious expression that passed over Armin's face as he looked at his fingers then down at her reddening neck, wondering if the sight was just a trick of the light.

To save himself the disappointment that believing otherwise would inevitably entail, Armin convinced himself he was merely seeing things and that he should stop dreaming and be realistic. It was warm in the room and Mikasa was exercising. The redness had nothing to do with him.

Dismissing the errant thought, the saddened Armin allowed his hand to drop without comment and reached for the book still resting on his lap, deciding it was best for him to stay in his lane. Afterall there was the faintest possibility that one day him knowing about the Heptrick smelting process could benefit them in some as-of-yet unknown capacity.

The same could not be said of his silly fantasies.

Just as Armin's fingers clasped the hard back book, something happened that broke through their little bubble (and his private moping), bringing the real world back into sharp focus.

Crunch .

Mikasa froze mid-rep at the sound of glass being crushed under foot. With an almost eerie synchrony, the heads of the two young scouts whipped round to face the front door, the air catching in both their throats.

The sound alone was enough to put them on edge, knowing that someone must be outside outside their safehouse, standing in that little unkept square. But as they continued to hold their breath and strained their ears, Armin and Mikasa could just make out the muted murmur of conversation, and then, worst of all, footsteps. Ascending footsteps.

Someone was climbing their stairs.

It had only a few seconds since the sound of the broken glass had reached them, but thats all it took for Armin and Mikasa to register and assess the situation. They both knew instinctively what needed to be done.

In a heartbeat, the two young adults who were whittling away the time and dancing around private thoughts and feelings were gone, and in their place the two battle-hardened, lifelong soldiers they truly were sprung into action.

In a blink, Armin had thrown himself from Mikasa's back, sending the abandoned book flying across the room as he rolled towards the sofa's end table and the loaded pistol that lay there.

As soon as Armin's weight was lifted from her back, Mikasa made her own move. With her one arm already have bent at the elbow, Mikasa pushed down with all her might, cracking and bending the old wooden panels that lined the floor, as she was sent rocketing back up onto her feet. While most would have been left at least briefly lightheaded from such a rapid change of position, Mikasa was already sweeping forwards to take up a defensive position near the door, slowing just enough to yank out a sword from one of the sets of discarded gear lining the wall.

Feeling the comforting weight of the borrowed blade in her palm (Ymir's it turned out to be to her mild vexation), Mikasa sent Armin a simple hand gesture, instructing him to cover her from his spot behind the armchair. He gave a quick nod back, toggling the safety pin on his pistol and taking aim down the sights.

If they were lucky, the footsteps outside belonged to their absentee officers, Hanji and Levi, returning at long last. But if it wasn't them…

Mikasa tightened her grip on the hilt.

If they weren't lucky, and those footfalls which had just stopped outside their door belonged to someone like Kenny or some other member of the interior squad then they needed to act quickly and decisively, especially with their unarmed friends sleeping upstairs.

They couldn't afford to lose the initiative.

So, with that in mind, Mikasa waited until the door handle started to rattle then slowly turn before making her move. Like a bullet from a rifle, her free hand shot out and grabbed the turning handle, and with an almighty tug, she yanked the door open hoping to pull the person on the other side off balance as she spun round, sword poised to strike.

If it was Kenny - or anyone wearing a hat for that matter - she fully intended to cut the head off the interior squad snake right then and there (and with where her strike would land that wasn't just a figure of speech either). Anyone else though, like some random underground dweller looking for a place to stay the night, Mikasa would settle for merely holding the blade to the intruder's throat and putting the fear of god into them.

That was her plan anyway, but as the old military saying goes, no plan survives contact with the enemy.

That adage proved just as true then as it always had, as despite her blade becoming a silver blur as it sliced through the air, the swordtip never made it past the door frame, let alone to the intruder's throat before a sharp, jarring sensation shot up Mikasa's arm and into her shoulder.

With a ear-splitting metallic shriek, Mikasa's swinging sword and been caught by the edge of a knife.

Alarmed, Mikasa strained against a strength equal to her own, before she was unceremoniously shoved back further into the house, stumbling back towards Armin and the sofa.

"Nice try." A man's voice rang out. "But I heard you moving into position from outside."

Mikasa narrowed her eyes and steadied herself, but did not surge forward to resume the struggle. There was no need.

Captain Levi stepped through the open door, the knife he had used to block her strike still held in his hand. "Don't be so loud next time. If I had been Kenny or one of his goons-"

"I would have shot you," Armin affirmed, boldly cutting Levi off as he fully stood up from his crouched position behind the armchair, the pistol still held tightly in hand. "Captain . " He added on after a beat.

Something almost akin to surprise flickered across Levi's face as his eyes darted towards Armin and the gun. Mikasa wasn't sure if it was because he hadn't seen Armin at first, more focused on the blade slashing towards his head, or because he didn't expect to have such a blunt, almost threatening remark thrown his way. Eitherway she would savour that memory for a while.

A brief staring match formed between the three of them in the wake of Armin's comment, with neither party wanted to admit or acknowledge the fact the other had got the drop on them. Ultimately the silent standoff didn't last long as standing a few feet behind Levi, an unusually pale-faced Hanji coughed into her fist, drawing their attention.

"Permission to enter the armoury?" She asked, observing the standoff and the array of weaponry on display. It was obviously meant as a joke but it came out sounding forced and hollow, devoid of any real humour.

The older woman didn't wait for a response as she stepped into the building and closed the door behind her with a muted sigh. She had a distant look in her eye which left her looking tired and worned out.

The sound of the latch broke the spell in the room and the weapons were quickly put away. Mikasa returned the borrowed sword as Armin placed his pistol back down on the end table.

"Where are the others?" Levi asked, also slotting away his knife. His eyes critically surveyed the room, darted from place to place as he visibly inspected their cleaning work. He made no comment about it as his gaze finally snapped back to the two of them, meaning he found the condition acceptable.

"They're upstairs, sleeping." Mikasa answered, subtly rolling her shoulder to work out the kink Levi's block had put in it. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

It was directed at both officers, probing for news and information. Since they hadn't told them what it was they went looking for, Armin and herself had only theories and guess work, but they both assumed it involved either looking for Eren directly or looking for something that would make their search easier.

"Mostly. We have a lead on Yeager, but there's a catch." Levi replied, putting the worst of their fears to bed. Something was better than nothing.

"What is it?" Armin asked with a tilt of his head.

"The person who knows where Eren is wont tell us unless we do something for him first." Hanji answered, as she walked past Levi and Mikasa, before slumping down heavily in the armchair Armin was standing beside.

"Do what?" Mikasa asked, wrinkling her nose slightly as Hanji passed, picking up on the scent of smoke and booze that clung to the woman's cloak.

"A heist." Was Levi's blunt response. "Someone stole a ledger from him and he wants us to steal it back."

Mikasa permitted herself a slow blink, the unsavoury smell forgotten. She was no stranger to unusual missions and orders, but that was a new one. She had never been formally ordered to steal something before… someone , yes, if the kidnapping of an MP counted as stealing, but certainly not a ledger.

Armin was similarly surprised by the order but they both managed to take it relatively in stride. If that's what it took to get Eren back, then stealing a ledger is what they'll do.

"Okay," The blond slowly nodded. "What's the plan? Should I go wake up the others?"

Again it was an open question to both officers, but Hanji said nothing as she looked pointedly at Levi. It was a heavy look, the sort of thing that made Mikasa feel like the two of them had already discussed this. Argued about it even.

"That depends on you two," Levi replied, ignoring Hanji's look as he stared right at them.

"Captain?"

Levi gave a shallow nod towards the stairs. "We can wake the others up if you want. Sit them all down and explain everything, taking the time to answer all their stupid questions about what we're doing and why, and then when we finally get out there, you two spend half your time and energy mothering them rather than doing your job." The Captain concluded, letting the fact he had been acutely aware of their actions during the walk through the city sink in.

However, if he had been expecting them to feel guilty or ashamed of what they had done, then he had another thing coming. Their friends meant everything to the two of them, and they would do everything in their power to protect them.

Refusing to wilt under Levi's piercing gaze, Mikasa stood tall, head held high, and defiant.

"Or?" She prompted.

"Or you two can just grab your gear and follow me, and we'll get this done tonight." Levi said, glancing over at the sets of gear then back at them. "And before you ask, Hanji will be staying here to watch over the brats. So, what's it gonna be?"

Mikasa didn't even need to look Armin's way to know they were in complete agreement. They'd had enough waiting.

If she had looked his way, however, she might have caught the pained look that briefly flashed across Hanji's face. Had she seen that, then perhaps the next words out of her mouth wouldn't have been so eager.

"Lets go."

Less than five minutes later they were gone, and on the kitchen table still lay the bundled red scarf, forgotten and left behind in their haste.

---

When Mikasa had first laid eyes on the Underground city and walked down its broken cobbled streets she had, perhaps naively, assumed that there couldn't be a 'bad side of town' in the Underground. After all, when every street she had walked down seemed to be teetering on the edge of total societal collapse from the rampant crime, poverty and sickness it was hard to imagine there could be places even worse off.

Now though, as she followed Levi down these narrow, foul smelling streets to their destination, stepping over broken glass, dried blood and what was almost certainly human excrement, Mikasa found herself reassessing that assumption. The places they had walked through before were downright posh compared to this. Hell, it even made the refugee camps they had stayed in as children look clean and orderly.

Numerous times during their journey they had been approached by shady figures trying to sell them drugs and other illegal black market products. The first few times Levi had just glared at the dealer and shoved past them, garnering only a few grumbled curses being thrown at his back, but then one of the dealers made the mistake of trying to grab Levi's arm as he passed.

Given the clear lack of medical care available in the Underground, Mikasa did wonder what the would-be dealer was going to do about his newly broken wrist and nose.

"Violence is the only thing some of these people understand." Levi muttered darkly, speaking to them for the first time since leaving the safehouse as he wiped the man's blood from his knuckles. "We won't be bothered by them again."

While Mikasa had barely blinked at the display, long since desensitised to such things, she was more than a little sceptical of Levi's claim about them being left alone from now on, even as they stepped over the wailing man. How was the - admittedly vicious - beat down of a single drug dealer in some random, dingy alleyway going to stop the others from approaching them?

Despite her doubts however, Levi was right and from that point onwards any dealer they came across operating out of shadowy alcoves or dilapidated doorways gave them a wide berth, or outright fled at the sight of them.

Clearly news travelled fast in the Underground and Mikasa wasn't sure if she should be impressed or disturbed by the speed. The wary expression on Armin's face and the way he tugged at his hood, pulling it further over his face, made his thoughts on the matter quite clear.

After a while of trekking through the back alleys the trio of scouts found themselves back on the busier main streets and rejoining the mass of people who were all heading in the same direction, a busy open plaza which was surrounded on all sides by large multistory buildings.

In the heart of the square stood a long since dried up fountain, its stone basin and once proud statue lay cracked and broken beyond repair and the rubble simply left where it fell. A lifetime ago the statue had been a stone dove, its meticulously carved wings outspread as if frozen in mid-flight. But now those wings had long since been clipped and the dove itself defaced and despoiled with the denizens of the underground seeming to take great enjoyment in tossing cigarette butts into the open beak.

Dotted around the fountain were several food stalls, which wouldn't have looked too out of place above ground, in the busy market towns of Wall Rose and Maria, if not for the types of produce on sale. While above ground market stalls would have held fruits, vegetables, milk, bread and eggs, and in some cases, small quantity of prime meats, these stalls had skewered rats being cooked over a fire, roasted bugs glazed in honey next to boxes of colourful mushrooms and other edible fungus that grew in the dark. A few were offering slabs of a steamed mystery meat that was neither chicken, nor beef, nor bacon.

Between two such food stalls, stood up on a wooden box, was a man wearing the ostentatious and gaudy robes of a Wall cult priest. The three golden chains he wore around his neck stood out like a sore thumb in the ocean of poverty that was the underground. His pudgy face was bright red with fervent passion as he preached aloud from the holy book in his arms, oblivious to the longing looks his shiny jewellery was attracting.

Oblivious or perhaps simply uncaring, as he had no less than four cult acolytes assigned to defend him, standing in a line before him each brandishing a heavy iron club in their hands.

Most people in the square ignored the preacher or moved on after spotting the acolytes, but a small crowd had formed in front of the man. Some were genuinely listening to his words, while others were merely there to jeer and mock.

There must have been hundreds of people in total massing in the square, men and women of all types just standing around, smoking or conversing, or going from stall to stall and building to building, as all the while the incomprehensible mix of countless voices and sounds filled the stale air with a booming cacophony of noise.

"Woah." Armin breathed out as his keen eyes swept back and forth, clearly taken aback by the bizarre mix of sights, sounds and smells before them. It reminded Mikasa a bit like their time in Marley; familiar in some ways, yet utterly alien in others.

"This is Red Door Square, it's one of the busiest places in the city." Levi said, clinically, as if he were a doctor diagnosing some sickness. Then he pointed towards the roof of the six story building on the opposite side of the square which loomed over the area as the tallest structure around. "We need to get on that roof. There's a gated alleyway to the side where we can use our gear. We'll meet back there. Remember what I told you, just keep your heads down and walk straight."

'Red Door?' Mikasa turned her head towards the building Levi had pointed at, then down and around at the constantly opening and closing doors that lined the square. Some were indeed painted red, or had been once upon a time. The relentless march of time and heavy use had left the paintwork faded and flakey. It seemed strange to name a whole square after a few doors, especially as the door must have come after the square was built. Maybe it was an unofficial name, like Drinkers Row back in Shiganshina, named for the number of pubs that were set up there.

At that moment one such red-painted door, the closest one to them in fact, was thrown open with a bang and a scraggly, underdressed man, his face all bloodied and bruised, was tossed out onto the street like a pile of fetid rubbish by a significantly burlier looking man with a deep scowl etched onto his face. The bouncer - perhaps an overly generous title considering the number and type of roles he played in the establishment he monitored - stood over the cowering shirtless man, fists clenched and pausing only briefly to toss a raggedy shirt at the man's feet then spitting on the ground beside him. A handful of words were uttered between them, none of which could be heard over the noise of the square but from the bouncer's expression, each was clearly threatening and final.

As the guard turned back and slammed the blood-coloured door behind him, and the beaten man unsteadily rose to his feet and hastily re-donned his shirt to the jeering comments of some of the crowd, Mikasa found her attention being pulled to the dangling sign that hung over the doorway.

'Fountain of silk,' she read. 'Drinks, Dancing, and Private Rooms. Our boys and girls can satisfy your every urge.'

Mikasa's eye shot wide in realisation and noticing similar signs all across the square she turned to give Levi an incredulous look.

"They're-"

"Yes," Levi cut her off, his voice stone cold. "They're all brothels. Now let's move."

Before she could muster the presence of thought to reply, Levi had strode forward into the mass of people filling the square and thanks to his small statue even compared to the malnourished standards of the underground, he was quickly swallowed up by the sea of bodies and vanished from their sight.

Incredulous, Mikasa turned on Armin, her piercing look an unspoken request for him to tell her she just misheard Levi (and mis-saw the signs), but the look of discomfort she got in reply put such naive wishes to bed.

"Well, I guess that explains why it's so busy…" Armin commented, trying to put some light on the situation.

That might be true, but it didn't make her feel any better. As such, Mikasa let out a huff and shook her head. "Let's just get this over with."

"Alright. I'm right behind you."

She figured that the easiest way through this mess was to skirt round the square, half-way between the statue and stalls, and the brothel frontages where the crowd should be marginally thinner.

That was the plan, and for about half the journey across the square it worked. They were able to maintain their two person column, with Mikasa taking the lead guiding them through and stepping around or simply pushing aside and obstruction, and Armin following up the rear doing his best to stay in Mikasa's slipstream.

They made it approximately halfway across the square without incident, but as they entered earshot of the preacher and the crowd that had formed around him, the fickle fates of the underground started to turn.

"...-but there is salvation, my brothers and sisters. Salvation and forgiveness for your sins and debauchery. There is a better life for you, a life of fulfilment, righteousness and godliness. A life without sin or suffering!" The preacher cried aloud, gesturing wildly with his free hand as he read another passage from his book. "This new life and all its wonders can be yours if you but open your heart to the Lord and his holy Walls, and devote yourself fully to him. Then, and only then, you will be lifted from this filth and squalor and be brought up in his loving arms!"

Despite trying to block out the nonsense the fat priest was spewing, Mikasa found herself rolling her eyes at his words. She had heard the exact same speech more times than she could count in the refugee camp. The Wall cult always preyed on the poorest and most desperate parts of society, promising all sorts of things in the hope of creating faithful converts.

The act of being the champions of the poor might have been a bit more convincing if they didn't insist on wearing all their golden chains whilst doing it.

And judging by the reaction to the sermon, her disdain for the man and his cult was one was widely shared by the crowd of unenthused, uncaring onlookers.

"Is he still going on?" One bored spectator asked, glancing up from her chipped and dirty fingernails.

"He's been here for hours." Another answered, taking a long drag from a green glass bottle before shouting back at the preacher. "Piss off, Wall-fucker!"

This mocking remark drew a third voice from the crowd, loud and grating. "Open my heart? I'm here to open some legs!"

This interjection drew more baying laughter from the others and caused the priest's eye to twitch in frustration. However, despite the mockery and insults, the man would not be deterred and instead continued his pontification with increased fervour.

"Do not allow the petty desires of the flesh to dictate your life, my brother. Think not of the body, but of your immortal soul. And only a soul cleansed of sin may enter our Lord's heaven. Come, my brothers and sisters, join me. Join me in prayer and your soul can yet be saved, as mine once was." The preacher cried, raising his arms in prayer as the devotion in his voice reached new heights. "Praise the Walls!"

If the man was expecting any of the quickly souring crowd to join him he was sorely disappointed. In fact, the response he got for his call for prayer was the slurred voice of a random drunkard.

"Praise this!"

A brown bottle came hurtling from the crowd, spinning towards its target with astonishing accuracy. The holy man had neither the time nor the reflexes to avoid the projectile, which shattered against his head in a spray of broken glass, cheap beer and blood.

There were gasps, shouts and cheers from the crowd as the priest was knocked off his box and sent tumbling to the ground, his skull bouncing off the jagged stones with a sickening crack. Horrified, one of the armed zealots tasked with guarding their holy father rushed to his leader's side to assess the damage and help him back on feet, but quickly fell to his knees in the rapidly growing pool of blood at the sight of the priest's twitching, but otherwise unresponsive body.

The other three zealots, seeing the look of despair on their comrade's face and the blood on the floor, were thrown into a furious rage and lifted their clubs. With a bellowing cry, they charged forth into the baying crowd and swung wildly, aiming to deliver their righteous fury upon the bottle throwing heathen and everyone else whom they deemed guilty by proximity.

This of course led to many in the crowd fighting back. Fists were thrown, clubs were swung and shivs were drawn, turning the public sermon into a bloody brawl.

The screams, the body and the spilt blood barely turned an eye from the rest of the square.

As she watched the debacle unfold, Mikasa had unintentionally slowed to a crawl. She was no stranger to death or cruelty, but the callousness of the underground was something else. Human life held no value whatsoever, and it seemed like the denizens of the city had not only accepted that notion whole-heartedly, but many seemed to revel in it, throwing themselves head first into whatever depravity they could find. Sex, drugs, violence and death.

Some, she presumed, indulged in it as a form of escapism, to distract themselves from the hopeless situation they found themselves in, but that didn't make her feel any less sick to her stomach at what she had witnessed so far in this below-ground metropolis.

Turning away from the sight, she found Armin had also been watching the murder and subsequent brawl unfold with a look of grim despondence. He must have felt her eyes on him because he too turned his head away from the deplorable sight and met her gaze. There wasn't much that could be said or done about it, nothing that would make a blind bit of difference anyway. Instead they shuffled closer together, closing the already small gap between them. As they drew close, Mikasa quickly took hold of Armin's hand, interlacing their fingers and held on tight. There would be no chance of separation now.

With that small comfort secured, they did the only thing they could do, and moved on, trying to block out the screaming as they went.

As they finally approached the building Levi had directed them to, Mikasa found the old iron gate to the back passage had been left slightly ajar, with bits of the broken lock littering the ground around it. Trusting that Levi had easily beaten them here and was the one to break it, she didn't think twice about slipping through the gate into the alleyway with Armin still firmly in hand. She heard the gate groan shut behind them, thanks to the backwards push Armin gave it with his foot. With a metal clunk the square and everyone in it was sealed off and left behind.

With the gate shut and the noise of the square fading as they made their way down the near pitch black passageway, it was perhaps the closest thing they'd had to some privacy since leaving the safehouse. There were no passersby, no Captain, and thanks to the two sheer brick walls either side of this narrow passage, no one who could jump out at them from the shadows. The fact that said moment of privacy was only found between two brothels was not lost on Mikasa and even if she could have ignored that, she didn't have time to relax even one iota, for as they reached the end of the passage that led to the space behind the brothel, raised voices could be heard. At first the voices were muffled and inaudible, but grew louder and clearer with every step they took, until they were close enough to hear exactly what was being said.

"Just stay calm." Levi's gruff voice was unmistakable. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The voice that replied was younger and higher, a woman's voice, heavy and shaking with fear. "T-This is about my brother, isn't it? I already told you people I don't know where he is, alright? I haven't seen him in months, so whatever he's done, whatever he stole from you, it's got nothing to do with me! So just leave me alone!"

Mikasa pushed herself flat up against the wall, tugging Armin with her, keeping them both out of sight. They had no way of knowing how many others could be there with Levi and the woman. It could just be the two of them or there could be a dozen more waiting just out of sight.

Either way she trusted Levi had everything in hand and wouldn't need them to rush to his aid. That being said however, Mikasa decided it couldn't hurt to see what they were dealing with. So, with her free hand Mikasa brought a finger to her lips and directed the gesture at Armin, an instinctive yet ultimately unnecessary request for him to remain silent, before turning back and covertly peering round the corner.

Levi had his back to them, standing partially illuminated by a faint light that was emanating from around the brothel's back door, which cast a long ominous shadow up the wall to his side. Beyond him, standing just in front of a bench that occupied the far side of the space, was a skinny, pale-faced woman wearing a thin, threadbare dressing gown and not much else. A half finished cigarette lay abandoned at her slippered feet, still smouldering with wisps of smoke curling upwards.

Her face was the very picture of fear; frantic green eyes darting this way and that, wobbly pink lips and beads of sweat on her brow. Her overly done makeup was a mess, with black smudges around her eyes and half dried tear tracks running down her powdered cheeks.

One of her hands was nervously clutching the long brown ponytail she had hanging over her shoulder which reached all the way down to her navel; slender fingers with painted nails tugging at loose strands and split ends.

That was the part that stuck out to Mikasa the most, causing an uncomfortable pang in her chest as she watched the nervous tick that was so distressingly familiar to what Sasha sometimes did when she was afraid.

Peeling her eyes away, Mikasa completed the rest of her visual sweep, seeing nothing else of note apart from a few overly full bins being feasted upon by a swarm of buzzing flies. It was hardly the nicest place to have a smoke-break and a private cry, but at least it meant the woman was alone.

All this information was relayed to the unseeing Armin by simple touch through their joined hands. First she extended and tapped her forefinger against the back of his hand. One person. Then slid it across, in a quick short line. Unarmed.

Mikasa felt his grip briefly tighten before going slack again, indicating the message was received and understood. The situation was still in flux and could go either way, but the likelihood of a fight breaking out or an ambush occuring had been drastically diminished. Still, Mikasa decided to keep watching from the shadows to see how Levi handled this.

She wasn't quite sure how he'd been spotted in the first place, but Mikasa knew all too well that just because of the power in their shared blood, that didn't mean they were immune to lapses of judgments, silly mistakes or just plain bad luck.

Levi calmly raised his hands as he took a small but purposeful step towards the trembling woman. "I don't know anything about that. That's not why I'm here."

"B-Bullshit! And stay back or I'll… I'll…"

Even from the darkness Mikasa could see the woman glancing between the slowly encroaching Levi and the brothel's back door, a desperate mental calculation formulating in her mind. It didn't take a genius to figure out what she was planning and the danger that would pose to them if she raised the alarm with those inside.

Levi knew it as well and stopped moving.

"Don't."

It was a both a warning and a appeal, but whatever the situation was with her brother and those trying to find him, it seemed she wasn't willing to take a chance with the hooded stranger she found herself with.

The woman tensed, then darted for the back door.

She was quick, moving notably faster than her thin legs would suggest or slipper clad feet might allow, likely the result of years of practice fleeing from danger. But as fast she was, Levi was faster still. In the time it had taken her to complete a handful of steps, Levi had sprung forwards, closing the distance between them in a blur of movement, and seized the woman's outstretched arm, stopping her flight and holding her firmly in place.

Terror filled her eyes at the iron grip and likely fearing the worst, she opened her mouth to scream for help, but before any sound could be made Levi had pulled her round to face him, yanked her arm down and pressed something into her open hand.

More on fearful impulse than anything else, the young woman looked down at her hand and froze. Her eyes, already wide from fright, nearly bulge out of their sockets at the seven glistening golden coins now resting in her palm - A small fortune by underground standards and easily the most money she'd ever held.

It seemed like any thought of running or screaming had ground to a halt as she stared, dumbfounded, at the newfound wealth in her hand, refusing to even blink as if fearing it might vanish like waking from a dream. Slowly though, like melting ice, her stunned disbelief gave way to bufflement and confusion and she managed to raise her unblinking eyes from the coins to the face of the man who had given her such riches.

"I'm not going to hurt you." Levi repeated himself, something he rarely did, then inclined his head towards the coins. "For your troubles."

The poor woman looked even more confused, as the wheels in her head slowly started to turn. The answer she eventually came to was not at all irrational, seeing where they were, who she was, and the value of wealth being offered. With all that in play, no one could blame her for thinking what she did.

Her eyes trailed down, from Levi's face, to her hand, then down further, before snapping back up.

"I-I don't… I'm not sure…" She started in a quiet stammer, trying to swallow the lump in her throat as she struggled to think what this man could possibly want from her to give her this much money. Having heard many tales from the other, more experienced working girls, she wasn't sure she wanted to find out, but equally she wasn't sure she could afford to say no.

The coins began to rattle from the growing tremble in her hand. It was a rational conclusion, all things considered. But it was the wrong one.

"That's not why I'm here." With a shake of his head, and an uncharacteristic tenderness, Levi took his free hand and closed the woman's own, purposefully folding her fingers around the coins.

"Take it," He said softly, cautiously releasing the hold on her arm. "And forget you saw me. I want you to go back inside and not breathe a word of this to anyone. Can you do that?"

The young woman's mouth dropped open and moved soundlessly, her voice having failed her completely. Once more her eyes grew wet with tears, only this time they were not ones born of grief or pain or suffering , but of joy. Of relief. Relief that all this man wanted was her silence and nothing else.

Floored as she was, the heavy expecting stare being levelled at her as he awaited an answer finally broke through her speechlessness for fear the offer may be rescinded.

"Y-Yes! I can, I will!" She squeaked out, tightening her hold on the coins and cradling them to her chest. "I swear."

For a long moment Levi was silent and unmoving, staring into the woman's green eyes, assessing her sincerity and trustworthiness. He wasn't a man to trust strangers without good cause, but whatever it was he saw in those green orbs, the Captain of Special Operations squad seemed content with the promise and inclined his head in a affirming nod.

"Good. Now go, and get yourself something to eat as well, you look hungry." Levi advised, having felt what little lay between the woman's pasty skin and the bones beneath. The way her stomach audibly rumbled at the mere mention of food only reinforced his words.

A look of embarrassment flashed across the woman's face as she pressed her free hand down on the grumbling, empty belly.

Levi pretended not to notice as he took a step back, fully removing himself from her personal space. His hands slipped back into the folds of his cloak and out of sight, making him seem far smaller and less threatening than he had appeared only moments ago. Then he spoke again.

"I can't help you with your brother, or those trying to find him." Was the blunt opening. "But if you need a way out there used to be a place in the northern district on Holders Street, called Michael's. Looked like a shoe shop from the outside. They help people get out of places like this, if that's what you want. No questions asked. If they're still there, find the woman with an eye patch and tell her Cisco sent you. She'll take care of you."

Overwhelmed by the kindness and generosity being shown to her by this stranger, the brunette choked back tears as she nodded to his words. For a moment it looked like she was about to hug Levi, and Mikasa found herself holding her breath in the dark, squeezing Armin's hand, wondering what the Captain would do if she did.

In the end however, the woman decided against it and settled for a tearful thank you before she slipped past Levi and headed back into the brothel. As she pulled the back door open, the light from inside bathed the back space in a yellowish glow, clearly revealing Levi's face to her. He made no effort to hide it, despite what he had told them minutes ago, instead merely holding her gaze as she quietly pulled the door shut behind her with another final parting word of thanks. Then everything turned dark again.

Ducking back out of sight Mikasa let out the breath she was holding, and from her side heard Armin faintly exhaling as well.

'That was… interesting.' Mikasa thought to herself, not entirely sure what to make of it. It had been an immensely kind act, there was no doubt about that, but Mikasa couldn't help but feel there was something more to it, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"You can come out now."

Even with his gaze still fixed on the back door, Mikasa knew Levi was talking to them. Pulled from her thoughts she spared a quick glance over at Armin who gave her a helpless shrug. Of course Levi knew they were there.

Stepping fully out of the shadows they stood side by side before the Captain, awaiting his orders like good soldiers. They made no mention of the exchange they had witnessed knowing that Levi was unlikely to answer any questions they might have, and in return Levi made no mention of their silent prying. It was an arrangement that suited both parties.

"Captain," Armin greeted for both of them.

"You're late." As Levi turned to face them his dark eyes briefly dipped towards their still interlaced hand before blinking back up to their faces, one brow quirked marginally higher than the other. Oddly embarrassed by the look and lacking a good enough excuse not to, Mikasa finally let go of Armin's hand, allowing it to fall into the small gap between their nearly touching shoulders.

"There was a fight in the square." She retorted, deciding it was best to side step any awkwardness by powering on. "What now?"

Levi let out a huff before pointing up.

'Oh right, the roof.' Mikasa followed the direction of his finger, craning her head up at their target towering above them. There was no ladder leading up to it or any form of guttering or drainage pipes they could clamber up to reach the top. It was just a sheer brick wall from the bottom to the top. As Levi had stated on the other side of the square, they'd need their gear to get up there.

With her eyes still fixed above her and the instinctive calculation regarding the angle and distance she needed to reach it already forming in her mind, Mikasa pulled back her cloak so it no longer covered her body and started to loosen some of the many straps the criss crossed her torso with well-practised ease. With a dull thud, her hip boxes fell from their stored vertical position to their usable horizontal one, causing the back of her cloak to lift up, making it seem like she had a green woollen tail.

Thud, went Levi's hip boxes just after hers. Thud, went Armin's, moments later. And with that they were ready to fly.

Levi took off first, as was his right and duty as Captain. His hooks shot up, and with a short sharp hiss of pressurised gas and reeling cables he was gone.

Mikasa took off next. With razor focus her eyes followed her hook as they bit deep into the crumbling brickwork just beneath the roof's lip, each spurting out a puff of powdered mortar. With a squeeze of the triggers and the habitual tug around her waist, Mikasa took flight. Her hood was thrown back by the rushing air that roared in her ears as she ascended several stories with blistering speed causing her hair to whip wildly behind. Mikasa would belatedly realise that brief rush of air was the closest thing she'd felt to wind on her face since they'd entered the underground. It was a sensation she had quickly come to miss.

Reaching the top, Mikasa pulled herself up onto that flat roof with one hand and fully retracted her hooks from the aged brickwork with the other. Standing tall she took in the view the brothel roof afforded them. The impossibly thick stone pillars that held up the cavern roof, the innumerable pointed church spires jutting up like knives, a winding underground river snaking its way through the city far to the north. Now she truly understood why Levi had chosen this place to scout from. She could see most of the underground from here.

Her musings were interrupted by a crash and the sound of air being driven from a pair of lungs.

"Gah! Dammit… Mika, little help please?"

Mikasa turned back to the ledge to find Armin halfway up the ledge with one hand outstretched towards her. Only his upper body was visible as his other hand clung onto the ledge, holding himself there but not quite able to find the leverage or grip to pull himself up. His anchors had embedded themselves into the brickwork below her's and Levi's so didn't quite have the height to pull himself up and over as easily or gracefully as they had.

Reaching out, Mikasa grabbed Armin's hand and hauled him up.

"Thanks." He smiled at her as he brushed brick dust from his front.

She smiled back, "Don't mention it."

By the time Armin was standing on his own two feet Levi had already crossed the rooftop and was crouching down by a chimney breast on the easternmost edge of the building. Or, at least what she assumed was the east. It wasn't easy keeping track of directions without the sun or a compass.

Together they quickly strode over to the Captain and squatted down beside him as he pulled out a small spyglass from an hidden inner pocket somewhere in his cloak and passed it to Armin.

"Two o'clock, 500 yards. The walled complex. You see it?"

With the demand for haste heavily infused in Levi's voice, Armin quickly extended the telescope and lifted it to his eye. It took him a moment to zero in on the target, with so many of the buildings in between their location and the target haphazardly stacked together with no rhythm or reason.

"I've got it." Armin breathed out as he fiddled with the telescope's eyepiece to improve the focus.

Mikasa squinted in the vague direction of the complex. While she couldn't make out much from this distance, she could see the large three story building in the middle of a walled off square, flanked by a modest warehouse-like structure. It all looked fairly innocuous.

If only she knew...

"Good," Levi said with a nod. "Our contact says the ledger should be in a safe on the top floor, so we'll need to buy some time first. Call it, Arlert."

"Sir?" Armin questioned, lowering the glass from his eye.

Levi turned and gave Armin a pointed look. "You helped Erwin and Hanji come up with a plan for the cave, now I want to see what you can do on your own. You were on squad assessments before all this shit kicked off, so consider it a test."

"I-..." Armin hesitated, briefly lost for words at what Levi had said.

Despite all they had achieved, there were still times when Armin doubted his own skills and his place in the corp. These moments were increasingly rare, and while Mikasa could easily point out any of the innumerous examples of when he had led them to success, but over the many years they had been together she knew a much quicker and simpler way to banish those moments of unwarranted self-doubt.

Reaching out, she placed a hand on Armin's shoulder and gave an assuring squeeze. 'You've got this.' She conveyed with a nod.

Armin gave her a brief smile and after blowing out a shallow breath, peered back through the spyglass and started to break the situation down. He spoke aloud for their sake, granting them a glimpse into his inner thought process.

"Three-story building with what looks like a cellar door on the right. So at least four possible levels, more depending on how deep the basement goes. Two men guarding the outer gate, one more at the main door. There's light coming from some of the windows but not all, so it's safe to assume there's several more inside. Hard to tell how many there could be from this angle, but if we assume they rotate the guards every few hours like we do, there could be at least nine more in the building."

"We won't be able to easily search for the safe with that many people around." Armin let out a thoughtful hum, before shifting the looking glass towards the separate warehouse in the compound. "Do we know what they use that building for?"

As Levi went to answer, Mikasa carried out her own quick assessment of the situation based on what Armin had said. Twelve hostiles minimum, all spread out across the compound on multiple floors and in numerous rooms, likely armed with close range weaponry and some small firearms. Potentially dangerous but it's unlikely the gang had any form of combat training beyond the occasional street brawl or bar fight.

They wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight against the three of them, not with her and Levi leading the charge. Mikasa was confident that she could march into the complex alone and deal with the whole gang if need be. It would be loud, and bloody, but more than doable.

But, while she could do it, Mikasa doubted Armin's plan would be 'Charge headfirst through the front door and worry about the rest later'. That just wasn't his style, and she doubted Levi would be impressed by that plan.

"Years ago it was used for storage. The Rats were smugglers and bootleggers on the side . " Levi muttered, shifting his weight from foot to foot in his crouched position. "And that's unlikely to have changed." He finished, darkly.

'On the side?' Mikasa found herself being drawn to that particular remark. She wasn't quite sure why, but there was just something about the way Levi had said it that caused a curious sense of unease to settle upon her. If smuggling was this gang's side job, then what was their main racket?

"I see…" Armin said to himself, falling quiet for a moment. They didn't have to wait much longer as Armin nodded to himself and lowered the glass from his eye with a muttered remark. "Yeah, that could work."

Momentarily breaking line of sight with the complex, Armin offered the looking glass to her in case she wanted to have a closer look or double check anything he had said, but Mikasa declined with a shake of her head. She trusted his judgement.

"Let's hear it then." Levi prompted, leaning back against the chimney to listen.

Armin, of course, complied with the request, quickly explaining his plan to the awaiting Captain. However, judging by the look on Levi's face when Armin had finished speaking, it wasn't the sort of plan he was expecting.

"A bomb." Levi slowly repeated, his eyes fractionally wider than usual. "You want to plant a bomb in the warehouse? Do you have any idea how dangerous fires are down here?"

"That's sort of the point, Captain." Armin defended, somewhat bashfully. "A large fire would force the whole gang to come out and fight it or risk losing the whole complex. That would give us free rein to search the inside of the building. An explosion just hurries the whole process along."

Levi blinked, twice. "...And where do you suppose we'd get this 'bomb' from?"

Armin rapped his knuckles against one of his gas canisters with a metal ting. "If we weaken the valve seal and tie a makeshift fuze around one of our canisters, the pressurised gas inside will ignite and the canister will detonate."

Incidentally, that's exactly what Hanji did as a proof of concept for her prototype Thunderspears. Erwin had been very impressed by the results of that early morning test. The rest of the corp, who had been sleeping at the time, were less so.

"One should be enough to set the warehouse on fire. We don't want to blow the whole structure up or the fire might spread to the main building or over the wall into the city." Armin warned as he finished his plan on how to convert one of their gas canisters into an improvised explosive device.

There was a long pause which bordered on being awkward as the Captain stared unabashedly at Armin, before he let out a huff and shook his head. "You're as mad as foureyes..."

To others, such a remark might have been taken as rude and disparaging, a stark refusal of the plan, but Mikasa knew better. Levi trusted Hanji like she trusted Armin and he wouldn't make that comparison lightly. No, that remark was simply Levi's way of expressing his begrudging respect and approval.

Mikasa was proven right seconds later when Levi let out an almost imperceptible sigh. "Alright fine, we'll do that then. I'll leave this... distraction to you two, and I'll find the ledger. Don't hang about once it goes off. Come back here and wait for me. Got it?"

"Yes sir!" They echoed resolutely, rising from their crouched positions.

"Good. You can use your gear, but don't let anyone see you, civvie or otherwise. We don't need that kind of rumours flying about." Levi commanded as he rose to his feet. "Arlert, this is your show, so take point."

"Aye, Captain." Head now firmly in the game, Armin gave a quick nod as he gave his gear a quick once over as he marched over to the edge of the building, forming a quick mental map of the best and most covert route to the complex. With that map in place, Armin took a deep breath, held his handles tight and jumped off the roof, heading towards the complex with well-timed hooks and swings.

Mikasa, eager to get this over and done with, was only a few steps behind Armin, striding purposefully towards the ledge, when Levi abruptly spoke up and called to her to stop.

"Ackerman, wait."

Unprepared for such a request, Mikasa almost stumbled at the command, her body jerking to a halt on the very precipice of the building, one foot already half hovering over the sheer drop below. Mikasa continued to track Armin's movements as she pulled her dangling foot back to more stable ground, her grey eyes following his shrinking form like a hawk as he flew further and further away. Away from her.

Gritting her teeth in frustration and with a heavy frown lining her face, Mikasa managed to tear her gaze away and turned to express her silent displeasure at the Captain, wondering what was so important as to prevent her from following Armin to complete their mission. If it was mission critical information - in Mikasa's mind that was the only thing important enough to warrant a delay - then surely Levi would have spoken up before Armin left and told the both of them.

To send Armin away without telling him everything that could affect this mission would be the height of negligence, an almost criminal dereliction of duty.

"What, Captain?" She bit out, the rank coming out far more sharply than she originally intended. But if Levi didn't pick up on her annoyance from her tone then surely the scowl would express it clear as day.

However that scowl vanished like morning dew when Mikasa saw Levi's own laidbare expression. Forehead creased, lips pinched together in a thin downward line, shoulders drawn up tight and his familial dark eyes not quite meeting her own.

He almost looked… ashamed?

Shocked, Mikasa found her mouth opening of its own accord, a question of what was wrong half-formed in her throat. It never made it out as Levi suddenly closed his eyes and let out a muted sigh. At his side the loose fist his hand had curled into relaxed, his calloused fingers splaying out against his thigh.

"Mikasa," He said suddenly, eyes snapping open and intently locking onto hers.

It wasn't just hearing her name from his lips that stunned her silent, but the way he said it. It wasn't his usual cold firmness or curt annoyance that she had come to know and begrudgingly respect. It wasn't even that crude, sarcastic bemusement occasionally directed at Hanji, Connie or Sasha.

It was soft, gentle even.

It almost sounded like an apology.

"Before you go down there, there's something you should know."

---

The Rat's Complex

When Armin touched down on the warehouse roof, he was surprised to find himself standing alone. He had expected Mikasa to be right on his tail, or even overtaking him during their flight. That had not happened through, which while unusual was not cause for concern.

After all, he had glanced over his shoulder mid-flight, and spotted her outline still loitering on the rooftop with Levi, probably discussing some last minute detail or a contingency plan in case his scheme failed. He didn't take offense at the notion, it was smart to have a backup plan, and smartest had a backup for their backup plan.

He knew Mikasa would relay any important tactical information to him when she arrived.

In the meantime however, Armin couldn't afford to wait around. Even if he crouched down and made himself as small as possible, he was precariously exposed on the flat roofed warehouse. For while it is true people rarely look up, they do have an annoying tendency to look out of windows, and if anyone on the second floor of the main building did so, they would spot him clear as day.

'Well maybe not clear as day.' Armin mused, seeing how dark it was in the underground, and how the idea of 'day' and 'night' were foreign concepts to the underground. Still, ill-suited idioms aside, he needed to get out of sight as soon as possible.

Fortunately, when surveying the complex through the looking glass he had seen what looked like a hatch door in the far corner of the rooftop. Now he was here in person he could confirm his eyes hadn't deceived him and quickly made his way over to the hatch, stepping over long discarded cigarette butts and empty bottles, clear signs that this rooftop was accessed at least once before.

That was perhaps why the hatch was not locked or secured from the inside, allowing Armin to open it with ease and gaze down at the iron rungs hammered into the wall forming a crude ladder down into the gloomy warehouse. He spied a rat skittering away from the dull shaft of light illuminating the floor through the open hatch, seeking shelter from the reflected light of the countless twinkling crystals embedded into the cavern roof high above.

It was the only movement to be seen below.

Armin considered waiting for Mikasa before climbing down, but knew the chance of being spotted through a window increased with every moment he delayed. She might be alarmed at first to arrive on a deserted rooftop but would quickly spot the open hatch and figure out he'd gone ahead.

Grabbing the first rung, Armin manoeuvred himself onto the ladder to descend, only to wince as his bulky gear smacked against the narrow opening. It wasn't overly loud but when you're trying to sneak around even the faintest noises sounds like a cannonball being dropped. No alarm was raised at the noise however, so with a faint sigh of relief Armin continued climbing down into the bowels of the warehouse, past shelves stacked high with boxes, barrels and other large containers.

Plenty of firewood, his inner Hanji said as the cold iron rungs chilled his hands.

As he reached the bottom and stepped off the ladder a thick layer of dust swirled around Armin's feet. It stung his eyes and tightened his throat as the collective build up of months, maybe even years worth of the stuff was kicked up by his movements. Obviously the closest this warehouse ever came to being cleaned was the once in a blue moon disturbance whenever some wanted to access the roof.

Armin waved a hand in front of his face, trying to disperse the worst of the dust before he started coughing, silently commenting to himself that it was a good thing they had split up, or the Captain would've had a heart attack in here.

As the threat of a coughing fit passed and the dust had resettled elsewhere, Armin decided to busy himself while waiting for Mikasa by searching for a suitable place to set up his improvised explosive. It needed to be close to the ladder so that once the fuze was lit, they could quickly exfiltrate and escape the blast radius. He didn't want to be stumbling around in the dark looking for an exit with a live bomb at their back. A place nearby would also have the added advantage of a shorter fuse, perhaps as little as thirty seconds, which meant far less chance of the bomb being discovered before it goes off.

With a critical eye Armin inspected the shelves around him, looking for the ideal spot. It needed to be accessible for him to work, so that ruled out the higher shelves, and didn't want the bomb to be nestled too tightly within the boxes and crates, fearing it might act as a buffer to the explosion, preventing them from achieving the desired level of destruction needed to draw out the gang.

In the end he found several suitable locations, yet was drawn to one spot in particular due to a long rectangular crate lying on a chest height shelf just off to his right. The box itself would have been as inconspicuous as any other had it not been for the mark branded onto its side.

An eight sided cog beneath a three pointed crown.

It was the logo of the Royal Arsenal - the largest weapon's manufacturer in Paradise. Every soldier knew their mark, for the Royal Arsenal produced everything from hand-held pistols and replacement blades, to the lumbering heavy cannons mounted upon the Walls.

What was a crate like this doing in the Underground?

Partially out of curiosity and partially to make sure whatever was inside wouldn't hamper or enhance the effects of the explosion, Armin decided to lift the lid of the crate and look inside. To his surprise - and alarm - he found a dozen rifles stacked together, barrel to stock, resting on a bed of hay. They weren't just any old rifles either, but the modern (by Paradise's standards) P29 Mitras, the model favoured and jealously hoarded by the most senior MPs who guarded the palace and the estates of the most powerful nobles.

This wasn't the sort of thing a criminal gang just stumbles upon, not without having some very high level contacts in the MPs or the Arsenal.

After sifting through some of the hay to check there were no bullets, Armin quietly closed the lid with a frown as Levi's words from the rooftop echoed in his mind. A smuggling operation indeed…

Suddenly the small hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as the low light seeping in through the open hatch dimmed and a shadow was cast over him. Without conscious thought, Armin reached towards his hip boxes and the blades within, fingers brushing against the handles as he spun round only to relax as he saw the silhouette haloed in the dull light crouching at the open hatch and gazing down upon him.

Armin smiled in greeting, wordlessly beckoning the familiar silhouette to join him. As always he was happy to see Mikasa, and happier still to have her at his side, but as he continued to watch her his smile started to fall.

Something wasn't right. He could see it in the way she moved. Her normally fluid and graceful movements were nowhere to be seen. Instead Mikasa was hesitant and reluctant, stiffly taking hold of the top rung and manoeuvring herself onto the ladder with all the eagerness of a condemned man walking to the gallows.

The sight was more shocking to him than the smuggled rifles, and Armin found himself staring at her back as she descended, his mind racing at how each step down was more averse and begrudging than the last.

When she finally reached the bottom after what felt like an age, she wasn't quick to turn about, keeping her back to him and the rest of the warehouse, hiding her face in shadows. One hand was still gripping the rung, knuckles prominent and white, the muscles in her forearm still tense.

Then, with an explosive exhale, she let go of the rung, took a step back from the ladder and turned to face him, a distant look in her eyes.

"Mikasa," Armin whispered, his concern dripping from every letter. The name to cut through the stillness between like a breath of wind. For a moment, Armin nearly asked if she was alright, his lips already moving to form the words before he stopped himself with a sharp mental kick for even thinking to ask such an idiotic question. Of course she wasn't alright. Even someone who barely knew Mikasa would be able to see that plainly, so to him she might as well be waving a giant red flag that screamed 'rattled' while fighting back tears.

"What's wrong?" He settled for instead, taking a step forward and reaching out a hand, as if closing the distance between them would provide some sense of comfort. "Did Levi say something?"

That had to be it. The Captain must have said or done something to upset Mikasa on the rooftop, but what? Armin knew the two of them had never been close in their last life, and weren't much closer now, but they weren't enemies. Not then and definitely not now.

For as rough as Levi could be around the edges, he had never angered or upset Mikasa without good reason, and with only one notable exception on a rooftop in Shigashina, Mikasa had always confided in Eren and himself later that Levi had been right to do or say what he did, even if she didn't like admitting it.

Mikasa did not answer at first and seemed to be looking deep into the dark void over Armin's shoulder. She was taking slow, deep breaths and while his hand was outstretched toward her she didn't move to take, but nor did she recoil from it when it finally came to rest on her forearm. That was something at least. Armin didn't know what he would do if she had shy away from his touch.

"Mikasa." He pleaded, watching as her free hand came up to her bare neck with grasping fingers only for it to stop short as if she suddenly recalled that her scarf wasn't there. As worrisome as the gesture was, it seemed to jog Mikasa out of her daze and her hand snapped back down to her side, curling into a fist.

Swallowing thickly, Mikasa tore her gaze away from the darkness beyond them and focused on him. When she spoke her voice was nearly unrecognisable from how hoarse and scratchy it was.

"It's nothing. Nothing's wrong." She murmured. That was a lie of course, and Armin wouldn't have fallen for it in a million years. He was more concerned about why Mikasa felt the need to lie to him of all people in the first place. The concern he felt was growing exponentially.

He gave her forearm a hopefully reassuring squeeze. It felt like he was squeezing stone. "I know that's not true, Mikasa. And you know it too. So please, talk to me."

'Let me help. Let me in.'

Shame flashed in Mikasa's eyes and she averted her gaze. She swallowed once more, dry tongue darting out to run over drier lips.

"I-...I can't." She finally whispered in a strangled voice. "Not here. Not now."

Armin's frown deepened, more confused and concerned than ever. "But-"

Mikasa pulled her arm free. It was a gentle movement, a backwards slide of the arm as smooth as silk. He wasn't even pulled off balance by the act, yet the sharp sting of rejection struck deep in his chest.

"Please Armin. We'll talk… later. I promise. Just… do what you need to do." There was a sense of desperation in Mikasa's words, a plea of her own which struck a chord within him deeper than even the stab of rejection.

Part of him wanted to push back, to stand his ground and get to the bottom of what was wrong, and find out what manner of thing Levi had said to Mikasa. But with the boundless care he had for Mikasa, he simply could not bring himself to force the issue realising how delicate the situation was and how obviously distressed Mikasa was even if she couldn't (or wouldn't) tell him why.

Armin allowed his still hovering hand to dip. He cared too much and so chose the lesser of two evils.

"...Okay. Later then." He relented, speaking softly but not without reluctance.

Mikasa gave a weak, fragile smile. Or at least that's what the pained-looking grimace she managed was supposed to be. "Thank you."

Armin didn't feel like he deserved her thanks for allowing her to continue suffering alone and in silence, but briefly closed his eyes, let out a muted breath and gave a solitary nod. They would talk later, that he swore to himself. They would talk and he would find out what was wrong, even if he had to confront Levi directly and demand an explanation.

And the sooner he got this bomb planted, the sooner he would get the answer he sought.

"I need a canister."

It took a particularly skilled user of 3DM gear to operate with only one canister. The severe loss of range and propulsion notwithstanding, there was also the subtle but still detrimental effect it had on balance. It might only be half a degree worth of difference, but when you are cutting through the air at over 50mph with only split seconds to react, that half a degree can be the difference between a safe landing or careening at breakneck speed into a brick wall or a tree, or straight into a Titan's mouth.

Fortunately there was someone who was particularly skilled and thus would be able to manage just fine until they got back to the safehouse and requisitioned one of their limited spares.

Reaching down Mikasa gripped the canister on her left box, and twisted hard. There was a sound of yielding metal as the locking mechanism was forced open, immediately followed by a short, faint hiss as the last residue of gas in the now detached tubing escaped into the stale air. Then with a final wrench Mikasa pulled it free, dredging some of the empty tubes out with it, letting them dangle around her waist like rubbery intestines.

Oblivious to the morbid visage she had unintentionally created, Mikasa jutted out her hand, holding the freed canister out to him like a sacrificial offering in some pagan ritual.

Armin eyed it, then Mikasa in quick succession. She still didn't fully meet his eyes.

"Are you sure?" He asked even as he reached out to accept it.

Mikasa nodded as the canister was taken from her outstretched hand, then asked, "How long?"

Armin held the canister in his arms as he pondered the answer to Mikasa's question, absently tapping a fingernail against the metal shell and letting the sound it made in response inform him of just how much of the compressed gas remained. About two thirds full he reckoned, noting the slightly hint of an echo. It was roughly what he expected, seeing how she'd been using this canister since the aborted 'squad trials' and them dealing with Bertholdt.

Walls, that felt like a lifetime ago now. Back when it was just their mission, their plan.

Back in the tent…

"I'm not sure." Came his honest reply after shoving that memory back into its box and forcing himself to refocus on the task at hand. Bomb making was not the sort of thing you rushed unless you absolutely had to. "Could be several minutes at least. But I'll be as quick as I can."

Mikasa looked away into the dark and made a noise in the back of her throat. It was an acknowledgement of his words and in the moment Armin took it as little else.

As he turned to begin the fraught and delicate work, Armin had no way of knowing that his open-ended answer of several minutes had just settled an internal, shame-filled debate that had been raging within Mikasa, setting in motion everything that was to come.

---

It took six minutes in the end. Six minutes and seventeen seconds. No time at all in the grand scheme of things, yet as countless soldiers knew a life can be saved, ended or irrevocably changed in that time, even if it wasn't immediately apparent.

The consequence of that six minutes and seventeen seconds wasn't apparent to Armin, not at first. But it would be soon enough.

Firstly he had carefully weakened the valve of Mikasa's canister with his knife, piercing the tough rubber ring at the connection point until he heard the faintest hiss of escaping gas, as the odourless fumes leaked into the stale air. Next, he'd knelt down and quickly untied and removed the string lace from his left boot, trusting the boot would stay on until he had a chance to replace the missing lace with a spare. But before he could even consider tying it around the leaking valve, Armin first had to cut it down to size. Too short and it might explode in their faces, too long and it might take an age for the bomb to finally go off.

Fortunately, due to countless hours burning the midnight oil with Hanji during the development of the 3rd generation Thunderspears, Armin had plenty of experience with this kind of educated guess work.

With a quick slice, the lace was cut down and soon tied around the valve, preventing the gas from escaping so readily and bringing an end to the hissing sound. He had left the string long enough for several inches to dangle over the edge of shelf, long enough for them to escape as the flame worked its way up.

Finally, as a way to ensure the canister's detonation, Armin took out a bullet from his pistol's magazine and broke it apart, extracting the small quantity of gunpowder contained within and sprinkled a pinch of the extremely combustible substance around the valve. Some might say it was excessive. Hanji would say its being thorough.

In this case, Armin agreed with the latter.

With the tip of his tongue sticking out from between his teeth, Armin put the final finishing touches on his makeshift bomb, and pulled out a small box of matches from his pocket as he stepped back to inspect his work.

With a satisfied nod, Armin wiped the few beads of sweat from his brow. It was time to get out of here.

"It's ready," He said, pulling out a single match. "Once I light the fuze we should have about thirty seconds to get clear so let's not hang… about… Mikasa?"

During his brief explanation, Armin had turned to look over his shoulder at Mikasa and make sure she was ready to go before he struck the match and lit the fuze. He had been expecting her to still be standing there, that distant look in her eyes even as she watched their backs, but what he saw instead was empty space and a quick glance round confirmed it. He was alone.

Mikasa was gone.

The sense of unease that had afflicted him at Mikasa's strange behaviour multiplied tenfold, slamming into him like a brick wall and overpowering any other conscious thought. The solitary shaft of dull light that pierced down through the open hatch felt even weaker than before, making the encroaching void around him appear darker than ever. Every one of his hairs stood on end as Armin's fingers twitched instinctively towards his pistol as the unlit match slipped from his grasp and hit the ground with a muted clatter.

He look around again, searching more desperately this time, hoping beyond hope he was experiencing a moment of madness, of temporary localised blindness and that by blinking hard Mikasa would suddenly reappear.

She did not.

The fearful panic was still there, but as the worst of the initial shock of this unwelcome discovery wore off, Armin's mind stepped back and started to break down the situation and rationalise it into the plausible and implausible. Without a second thought he dismissed the idea she had been dragged off by some unknown assailant; for even if someone had the strength or ability to do that (and there were only two others who could conceivably do it), Armin steadfast refused to believe it could have been done without him noticing, even with his attention locked on the bomb. If nothing else they would have dragged him off as well, not just leave him there preparing a bomb for goodness sake!

No, enemy action was ruled out. It just wasn't possible.

That left the possibility that Mikasa had left willingly and without telling him.

Where she could have gone was also determined by the process of elimination. Climbing the ladder or using her gear would have caught his attention no matter how focused or deep in thought he was. The way her body would have blocked the light and cast shadows as she climbed or the dull clangs of boots on iron rungs would have given any such movement away almost immediately.

No, the only real possibility was moving deeper into the warehouse.

'Shit.' Armin mentally cursed, wondering what on earth Mikasa was thinking to just leave unannounced. Even if she had seen or heard something while he was working she should have alerted him. A simple tap on the shoulder would have been enough.

...The Captain. Whatever this was, Levi had something to do with it, Armin was sure of it. Something he must have said to her on the roof, the thing she wasn't willing to share with him. Was it some secret order or request? Had the Captain told Mikasa to leave him and go looking for something in this smuggler's warehouse?

Armin wouldn't put it past him. He wouldn't even blame him. Sometimes secrecy was a necessary evil for the greater good of all, a notion Armin was intimately familiar with. But he never expected that Mikasa would keep him in the dark as well.

But whatever her reasoning was, Mikasa's departure had left Armin in a bind. He obviously couldn't set off the bomb while Mikasa was still in the warehouse, and leaving the primed device unattended was a bad idea. Equally though without knowing what she was up to or how long she'd be, Armin couldn't just sit around and wait for Mikasa to return. What if there was an accident and she needed his help?

Biting his lip, Armin ran a clammy hand through his long hair, tugging on some of the knots. He knew what he should do in this situation, to follow what his brain told him and wait for her return, but when it came to Mikasa logic increasingly took a back seat for Armin, surrendering to gut feelings and emotion more and more.

'Damn it all,' Armin pulled his hand from his hair and quickly tucked the dangling fuze out of sight. With the bomb hidden as much as possible, Armin turned his back on the dim light afforded by the open hatch and followed his wayward partner into the dark.

---

Armin cautiously made his way through the near pitch black warehouse, heart beating hard in chest from a mix of uncertainty and determination. His eyes were straining hard, trying desperately to adjust to the miniscule amount of light that seeped in through thin cracks in the old walls and rooftop. If he stuck his arm out in front of him, he could just about see the tips of his fingers but little else beyond.

There was a musty scent that hung heavy in the air, the smell of advanced age and dust and solitude, and the only sound that broke the eerie all-encompassing silence was the faint echo of his own footsteps.

Armin's eyes darted from shadow to shadow, searching for any sign of Mikasa, sweeping over the tall shelves either side, seeing yet more crates and barrels and other miscellaneous items. His mind was racing, piecing together plans and contingencies, all the while picturing the dangers Mikasa could be facing alone in this forsaken place.

He keeps walking, step by cautious step, plunging deeper into the void until…

Squelch.

Armin froze and looked#s down, wide eyed at the sticky red puddle his boot has just landed in. His first thought is blood, Mikasa's or someone else's, but the way it drips like water from his foot as he raised it out of the puddle made him reassess. He's been around enough blood in his life times to know how it behaves and this is not it. It's not viscous enough.

He followed the puddle back to its source, along a thin red stream from further up the aisle, which eventually led to an old leaking wine barrel, its precious payload seeping out around the cork stopper which had clearly been nibbled and chewed down by rats until it no longer a perfect seal.

A tense smile briefly flitted across Armin's face, a nervous impulse from jumping at shadows. He shook his head, as if the movement would physically shake the nerves from him and leave him in a more calm and serene state of mind. What it served to do instead was to bring something into his peripheral vision that he could just about make out in the darkness.

It was a large waist height crate. That in itself was hardly a big surprise, he was surrounded by crates after all. But what made this one stand out was the fact it was not stored on the racks and shelves like all the others, but was instead left on the floor and just pushed to the side. Its lid had been removed and was propped up at an angle against its side, with the dense net of spiderwebs stringing between them indicating the lid had not been moved in some time.

A chill ran down his spine.

There was something… uncanny about it. Armin couldn't put his finger on it, but there was just something wrong about the sight of it and he felt a peculiar pull towards it. It was a ridiculous thought of course, it was just another box in a building full of boxes. So what if this one was open and not stashed away? He didn't have time to mess about investigating every minor thing that caught his eye. He needed to find Mikasa.

Still, before he knew it, Armin had already walked over to it, drawn like a dog on a lead. And as he drew closer, two words could be made out crudely painted on the box's side.

'To Burn'

Armin could feel his fingers twitching as he went to peer inside. He wasn't sure exactly what he would find but Armin expected to see all manner of incriminating things that a criminal organisation would want destroyed but what he found baffled him.

Clothes.

The box was full of clothes.

Shirts, trousers, dresses, socks, skirts, jumpers. It was all in there, an eclectic mix of different styles, colours and sizes, all dumped in together awaiting destruction. The only aspect the diverse collection of clothing seemed to have in common was its condition. They weren't old per say, although some pieces did look aged, but they were all worn out. Threadbare and thinning, fraying at edges.

It was the sort of clothing worn by the vulnerable refugees of Wall Maria; by the poor and the destitute; the homeless and the outcasts. It was the clothing of people who had nothing else to wear. The sort of people who so easily slipped between the cracks in society, falling out of sight and out of mind. Unseen and forgotten about. Left alone in the dark.

To say Armin was weirded out by the discovery was an understatement. It was an unexpected find, both bizarre and just plain creepy. Surrounded by smuggled military grade weapons, copious amounts of blackmarket alcohol and Walls knows what else, this box of ratty discarded clothes stuck out like a sore thumb. Why was it here? What was its purpose?

Gut feeling was screaming at Armin to move on, to leave this box behind and not look back, but his legs remained firmly rooted to the spot, unmoving as he continued to stare down into the crate. And then he noticed it.

On the rim of the box where the lid would have sat, there were two deep grooves in the wood, a splintered canyon each the width of a human hand.

With the same sense of detached control Armin had felt moving over the box, he lifted his hand and lightly traced his fingertips over one of the indents, taking care to avoid the many razor sharp splinters that were jutting out like knives. It was warm to touch, alarmingly so for a lump of long dead wood, almost as if it had been exposed to an open flame or something else smolderingly hot. A burst of steam perhaps…

Armin jerked his hand back. Beyond just the heat, his tactile inspection of the damage had led him to two startling conclusions. Firstly that the marks weren't just hand sized , they were hand shaped as well. And secondly, he knew exactly who's hands had done this.

Mikasa had gripped this box, and crushed it beneath her fingers. She had squeezed down so hard it drove the needle-like splinters into her own palms, allowing the billowing steam of her healing to sear the spalling wood.

Whenever Armin looked back on this moment, he knew that he should have figured it out then and there. If he had thought about it, really thought about it, and connected all the dots and context clues that had been all but waved in front of his face, it would have all clicked into place. That terrible realisation of what this was that would have shaken him to his core yet explained so much. Had he figured it out at that moment his next moves would have been obvious. To hell with subtly. To hell with staying quiet. He would have shouted out Mikasa's name, demanding she tell him where she was. He would have stormed over to her, grabbed her by the hand and, if he had to, physically dragged her out of this place, means and ability be damned. Anything to get her out of this place.

But in the present, standing alone in that cursed warehouse, just as his mind was starting to draw those connections that would have led to one undeniable conclusion, something fell onto the floor from further in the warehouse, with an hard echoey clatter of metal.

Armin jumped back from the box, stumbling as a frightful noise escaped the back of his throat in a wheezing gasp. His stiff hands fumbled awkwardly for his pistol, taking several painfully slow seconds to properly yank it out from his belt and hold it out before him. He pointed it towards the shadow where the bang had come from, breathing hard to stop the minute tremble which was throwing off his aim, not that there was anything to aim at.

Heart pounding, Armin opened his mouth to speak, paused, then swallowed hard to wet his desert dry throat. That was either the skittering vermin he had spied from the rooftop hatch, Mikasa, or someone else entirely.

"Mikasa?" He whispered into the void and immediately winced at how loud it sounded.

Silence.

Biting his tongue to stop himself speaking again, Armin kept his pistol fixed forward but his finger off the trigger. In this darkness if something emerged from the shadows in front of him he'd have a split second to determine if it was friend or foe, and he certainly didn't want to fire on Mikasa by mistake.

Armin spared a sideways glance at the unnerving box, the unanswered questions still circling in his brain like carrion birds, the thick knot of discomfort still heavy in his throat. If nothing else the box had at least told him he was on the right track, following Mikasa's path, and the noise from ahead meant something was still in the warehouse with him. For better or for worse he wasn't alone.

Armin moved on, leaving faint wine-red footprints behind.

---

He walked on for another minute or so, creeping around in the dark. More shelves with more boxes, more crates and more barrels. Armin was starting to wonder if he was going round in circles, or if he was trapped in some kind of nightmare - an endless labyrinth, almost alone but not quite.

The pistol in his hand gave him little comfort, the cold metal chilling his palm as much as this place was chilling his soul. He considered putting it away and exchanging it for a match, if not for the light then at least the faint bubble of warmth it would provide, but every time the temptation arose something seemed to creak in the dark ahead of him. Or beside him. Or behind him.

The pistol stayed out and it would remain out until he found Mikasa or until he had to use it.

Eventually though after what felt like an age, Armin found himself walking under a precariously teetering shelf that appeared to be held up only by the sheer mass of cobwebs clinging to it. A stiff breeze would have been enough to send it toppling over, bringing the other shelves it was leaning against with it, so Armin moved with utmost caution, squeezing himself and his bulky gear through the narrowing gap until he broke out into what appeared to be the central nexus of the warehouse.

More rows and aisles split off from the nexus like spider legs. There were four in front of him and three more behind, not including the one he had just come from. To his left there was the back wall, old stone smattered with moss or mould, crawling up like green snakes.

To his right however there was a door with tiny slits of dull light seeping in through the gaps in the frame. It must have been the main entrance into the warehouse from the complex. It was closed, thankfully, but the circular arch of dust free floor by its base told Armin it had been opened very recently.

Armin frowned, the weight of his pistol growing heavier in his hand. Was it possible that Mikasa had left the warehouse completely? He wanted to say no, of course she wouldn't do that, she'd be exposing herself to the gang and throwing the whole plan into chaos. But whatever it was that was troubling Mikasa she clearly wasn't in the right state of mind right now. She was unsettled, uncertain, afraid. She had lied to him, shut him out when he had pressed and then left without a word.

Perhaps that metallic sound he had heard was a bolt being slid open or lock giving way. And in absence of any other sign of her, Armin had to assume there was a least a chance Mikasa had left the building and all that entailed.

Ignoring the knot in his throat, Armin started cautiously moving towards the door. It was a decision that would leave him fully in the open and painfully exposed. If he was wrong - and Armin hoped he was - and he opened that door he would be the one to break their cover, but he had to check even if it was just to see whether the door was locked or not. If it was then at least he knew Mikasa was still in the warehouse somewhere, and if it wasn't… well if Mikasa was out there, then he would follow. There was no other option available.

As Armin neared the door and reached out for the narrow bronze handle, he froze, body going stock still. His already elevated heartbeat increased further, the vital organ pounding hard in chest, pumping blood into his extremities as his body prepared itself for the worse, as if already anticipating a bloody brawl occurring outside between Mikasa and the gang that he would have to rush into. His left hand came up, clammy and itchy, joining the right in holding the pistol, steadying his aim and bracing for the recoil.

He found it disconcerting that his body's fight or flight mechanisms had already changed gear, kicking into overdrive for a threat that may not even exist.

However, what Armin didn't realise, consciously anyway, was that this bodily response was not born of new-found fear or the expectation of what he would find outside, but from something else entirely. It was a subconscious awareness, a thing of animalistic instinct hard wired into every human being from when our early primitive ancestors had not yet clawed its way to the top of the food chain and were hunted and preyed upon.

It was the feeling and the fear of being watched.

Then one of the surrounding shadows lunged at him.

Armin had no time to react. One moment everything was still and quiet except for the heavy beating of his heart, the next he was being set upon from behind. Hands grasped him. One reached round and clamped down over his mouth, silencing him in an iron grip, preventing him from crying out. Another hand grabbed the barrel of his pistol and wrestled it away from him.

Armin tried to hold on to it but as the pistol was pulled away, his fingers were being bent backwards against the joints until the pain forced him to let go. The second his grip slackened the pistol was torn free with enough force to send it spinning into the shadows, out of reach and out of sight.

Robbed of his weapon, Armin could feel himself being dragged back from the door, manhandled away by the hand at his mouth. The ambush had taken him by surprise but there was still hope. If he could break out of the hold, he'd only need a few seconds to reach for the swords sheathed in his hip boxes and pull them free, then he could turn and face his attacker, rearmed and ready for a fight.

With a sense of desperation, Armin attempted to employ the hand-to-hand combat techniques that had been drilled into his head by both Shadis and Levi over the years. Drive the elbow back, hit them in the stomach or the side, knock the wind out of them. Use heavy boots to stomp down hard on their feet - heel on toes for maximum pain and damage, best chance to loosen grip. Throw head back - reverse headbutt - hope for the nose. Pivot, back step, shove them away.

However, this plan of attack and its admittedly meagre chances of success would never materialise as just before his elbow strike could land his assailant spoke. It was a hoarse, dry whisper, tight with suppressed emotion.

"Stop, it's me." Mikasa instructed, her breath tickling the back of Armin's neck as she dragged him aside, hauling him down one of the eight walkways and away from the door. "They're coming. We have to hide."

Like a switch had been flipped in his head, Armin stopped his desperate struggle for freedom and went limp in obedient compliance even as a storm of different emotions raged in his head. The immense relief and joy he felt at finally finding Mikasa had sent his heart soaring while the dark frustration and anger he felt at having to go look for her in the first place tried to drag it back down to earth. And above all, the dread at what she had said.

"They're coming."

The gang. She must be referring to the gang.

Armin wasn't sure how Mikasa knew that, but even if he didn't believe her, with the hand still firmly over his mouth he was in no position to ask. He filed it away as another question for the serious talk they'd be having later.

With single minded purpose Mikasa managed to squeeze the both of them and their boxy gear into a tiny nook of a space between a structural pillar and an ornate wardrobe of some kind, forcing them to backstep through a veritable wall of spiderwebs, letting the broken pieces fall onto their heads and drape over their shoulders like veils. As unpleasant as it was, this hidden alcove that would render them almost completely invisible unless someone peered directly into the tiny space.

Mikasa's timing was impeccable for mere seconds after squeezing the pair of them into their hiding spot the door was thrown open with a bang, kicking up a cloud of dust as three men strode into the warehouse.

The first to enter was a short, younger man, barely an adult in the eyes of the law, with a long pointed face and large sticking out ears. His hair was dark black and cut short, with the uneven patchiness of it suggesting he'd cut it himself. Combined with his overly thin frame and ill-fitting clothes the young man was hardly gangster material except for the vicious looking knife he had openly tucked into his belt.

In his right hand, held aloft above his head was a burning torch, the flickering flames casting back the shadows of the warehouse with a bright orange glow. In a place as dark as this warehouse that torch might as well have been the sun itself.

As he passed fully through the doorway the man waved the torch back and forth through the cobwebs that dangled just above his head, burning them away in an instant and sending numerous spiders plummeting to the ground in flames.

"Fucking spiders," He spat, stomping on one of the writhing eight legged creatures with callous disregard.

He moved to burn another cluster of webs before him, only to be stop by the man behind him smacking him the head and snatching the torch away.

"Watch it dumbass." The new torch holder warned in a rough, nasally voice that grated on the ears. "This place is a bloody tinderbox, and the boss would have your head if you set it on fire."

This man was older than the first, significantly so. Probably in his mid to late forties, if the slight grey streaks in his hair were anything to go by. Broad shouldered, thick armed, sharp jaw and with keen eyes, this man - much unlike his younger companion - might have been considered fairly handsome once upon a time, but those times had long since passed.

Life in the underground was hard, cruel and violent, and it had left its mark on this man's face, with a jagged scar going from cheek to ear and a badly crooked nose that had obviously been broken one too many times before.

He wasn't visibly armed like the younger man was, but from the size of the fist clenching the newly claimed torch it's unlikely he needed any more protection.

The third and final man to enter the warehouse was the oldest of the lot, and looked every year of his age. With deep wrinkles, crows-feet, receding grey hair and pot-belly he was well past his prime. One eye was milky white and useless, leaving the man half blind be it by age, injury or illness. And over his right shoulder rested a heavy truncheon, a simple metal pipe with nuts and bolts jutting out of it near the top. It was a crude, homemade instrument to be sure, but no less dangerous. A hard hit with that could cave in a person's skull.

He didn't speak like the other two, too busy slowly chewing on a mouthful of tobacco as he limped in, his dodgy leg dragging slightly behind.

Of course from their hiding spot Armin could see none of this. He had no idea who they were, what they looked like or why they were here. He didn't even know for sure how many there were at first. All he could see beyond the shadowy confines of their hidden nook was the sudden brightening of the warehouse from the torch light (and subsequent juttering and resurgence as it was passed from one man to another) and all he could hear was the voices of two men, footsteps and Mikasa's jittery breathing at his back.

Infact Armin only realised it was three men who had entered the warehouse when the otherwise silently chewing man let out a loud grunt in response to the second man's statement. A grunt who's meaning was clearly understood by the second man, who let out a barking laugh.

"Ha! Yeah, you're right, he'd throw the kid in the fire instead. Remember what happened to Dav? Poor bastard…"

While the paling of the youngest gangster's face went unseen, Armin could hear the nervousness and growing fear in his voice. "You're kiddin' right? He wouldn't actually do that, would he? With the fire?"

"Nah," The torch man answered after a loaded pause, getting a sigh of relief before adding on with a sly grin. "The Boss doesn't do the dirty work. He'd make us throw you in instead."

Another snort from the chewing man followed the comment, as the two senior gang members amused themselves at the youngest's expense.

"Very funny, old man." The young man grumbled, hoping they were just taking the piss and weren't being truthful about his new employer. "You'd put your back out trying to lift me anyway."

"Ha! Old man… You should be careful what you say, kid. Knowing your mother I might just be your old man. That old cunt still working down at the White Rose?"

The young man spluttered violently, his once pale face now reddening in anger. He struggled to think of a comeback or an answer that wouldn't result in further mockery but coming up short he settled on a seething remark instead. "Fuck off, Otto."

The torch man, Otto, rolled his eyes and cocked his head to the side. "No can do, little Ned, but I'll tell your mother you said hi next time I pay her a visit. Now quit your bitchin' and let's get the wine before the Boss gets tetchy. The good stuff down there."

Humiliated, Ned, as the youngest had been named, grumbled more angry, bitter words under his breath but could do nothing but comply with the demand, which,to Armin's horror, meant him leading the two other men down the very same aisle where he and Mikasa were hiding.

Of course Mikasa had no way of knowing at the time but the small nook she had pulled them both into was located only a few feet away from where the 'good stuff' was stored and would bring the gang members within spitting distance of the two hidden scouts.

Armin could feel his pounding heart skip a beat as the trio of heavy footfalls grew closer and the light and heat of the torch grew more and more intense. Mikasa drew him deeper from the opening until his back pressed flat against her chest, with not even a hair's breadth of space left between them. Armin could feel the many straps and buckles that criss-crossed their bodies digging into the flesh through the cloth of his cloak.

Holding his breath, Armin permitted only the faintest exhaling through the nose as the men came to halt nearby, standing a few metres away at best, and began rifling through the crates and boxes. They were so close that Armin could smell the pungent stink of smoke, booze and the sour body odour of men who had not washed in many days. It took considerable will power not to gag.

"Good stuff, good stuff, good- Ah ha, here we go." Ned exclaimed as he pulled the lid off a particular crate, revealing a dozen bottles of high-class wine smuggled in from the capital. He picked one up and after wiping the thick layer of dust off the label, let out a low whistle at the date. "Damn, this is some fancy shit… What's the occasion? Is it the Boss's birthday or something?"

"Ha, you could say that," Otto replied with a smirk. "He just got word from the boys up topside. They should be back within a few days and they're bringing one hell of a prize with them."

At his back Armin felt Mikasa tense up, the grip she held over his mouth tightened to an almost painful degree. Her fingers pressed hard into the meat of his cheeks, stabbing into him like blunt daggers as her previously unsteady breathing faltered across his neck.

And then Mikasa Ackerman - the woman worth a hundred soldiers, the reaper of Trost, his dearest friend - began to shake.

But these weren't her usual subtle movements, the vibrations of suppressed strength and energy as she prepared to burst forth into a fight at a moment's notice. No, this was something else. Something infinitely more worrying.

Mikasa was trembling in fear.

There's no worse feeling than knowing someone you care deeply about is afraid and being unable to do anything about it. To comfort them. To reassure them. To hold them.

All Armin could do in this confined space with the armed gang members loitering so close by was to slowly reach up towards his face and, with great care, gently place his hand on Mikasa's wrist, feeling the ever-present bandage neatly wrapped beneath his fingers. He hoped his light touch would be enough to reassure and calm Mikasa, to allay her fears, but it was not to be. All it achieved was permitting Armin to feel first hand just how bad the trembling was.

Armin wasn't sure what about the gangsters' strange conversation had induced such a strong fearful reaction or why, but the suddenness and intensity of the change at the mention of a 'prize' did not go unnoticed.

Before he could think any more into that, the youngest gang member spoke up again, his voice rising in a mix of curiosity and excitement.

"Oh? What'd they get this time? I hope it's a redhead. Ain't had one of those in a while."

'...huh?'

After what could only be described as a mental stumble, Armin blinked hard, then frowned as he mulled over the man's words.

Redhead ? What did hair colour have to do with anything? No, that couldn't be it. It had to be a code or a street name for some drug or other contraband, right?

There was a strange tingling sensation at the base of Armin's skull like an itch he couldn't scratch and growing stronger by the second. Weirdly, Hanji's face flashed before his eyes, that same subdued, pained look she wore while seeing them off from the safehouse still etched onto her features. At the time he had ascribed it to simple tiredness, but now… now he wasn't quite sure.

Why would he be remembering something like that at a time like this?

"Forget your silly redheads, boy. What they got is worth a hundred of those, a thousand even," Otto said, his smirk turning into a wide, leering grin as he swished the torch for emphasis, causing the long shadows its light cast to writhe and convulse like terrible nightmare creatures.

It was fitting, for what the gangster said next changed everything.

"The crazy bastards found an Asian."

It was only a handful of words, but the impact behind it struck Armin like a thunderclap, driving all other thoughts from his mind. The world seemed to spin and his stomach clenched as if he had just been shoved backwards off a cliff and down to the jagged rocks below. Of all the things he expected them to say, of all the words they could have uttered, none could have blindsided him as much as that.

So bewildered was Armin at what he had just heard that he didn't even register the mute whimpering gasp at his back, nor the sharp spike of pressure on his jaw that caused his bones to creak and groan inside his skull.

Fear took Armin as he leapt to the only conclusion he could think of in that moment. They were talking about Mikasa. He didn't know how or why, but such concerns felt secondary at the time.

Somehow they knew of Mikasa, but surely they didn't know she was right here, hiding mere metres away? Or was this some cruel game they were playing on them or a trap they had foolishly wandered into?

Had Captain Levi's contact betrayed them? Was this gang working with the interior squad?

What of their friends and family? Were they in danger too?

"What?!" The youngest cried, the loud disbelieving shriek quickly followed by a desperate scrambling as the manchild sought to catch the precious wine bottle that had nearly slipped through his slack fingers.

"Careful dumbass, those bottles are worth more than you are." The scarred one sneered.

"Sorry, sorry… It's just… wow. You ain't screwing with me again right? They actually found an Asian? A real full blood?"

There was a loud scoff. "Don't be stupid boy, all the full bloods are long since gone. Last ones died off before you were even a twinkle in my eye. Nah, no full blood, but they found the next best thing; she's half blood."

As Armin reined in his turbulent panicking thoughts, he forced himself to think through what had been said rationally and compartmentalised what the gangster had said, separating fact from theory, information from fear.

Again, at a glance everything said pointed at Mikasa, even down to parentage with her Asian mother and Eldian father. They couldn't be talking about anyone else, it had to be Mikasa, but… just got word, topside, surface, found… Something wasn't adding up. But if the gangster wasn't talking about Mikasa, then he had to be talking about someone else. Another half blooded Asian woman. But that was impossible.

Mikasa was the last of the Asian diaspora in Paradise. After Kiyomi's arrival and the discovery of Mikasa's heritage, the Azumabito representative had begged them to check if any other clan descendents had survived the century of isolation and government persecution.

Eager to ingratiate themselves with their new ally, Paradise had done just that, scouring the country in search of other survivors. Yet despite close cooperation with the garrison and the reformed MPs and the thorough investigation of dozens of leads and countless whispered tales, all they ever found were long abandoned homes, cold trails and weathered gravestones.

If Paradise's entire military apparatus couldn't find any others of Asian descent, then how could this random gang in the underground manage it? And perhaps more importantly, why? Why were they looking? What did they want from this woman and what did her ethnicity have to do with…

A yawning pit formed in his stomach, so impossibly vast and bottomless that it threatened to swallow Armin whole, as all the little signs and clues he had picked up on over the last few hours, consciously or otherwise, started to fall into place.

The proximity to the brothels. Levi's stark refusal to wake the others. Hanji's hesitancy to let them go. The delay on the rooftop and Mikasa's fear and anger afterwards.

The box of discarded clothes.

In that singular moment of sickening clarity, Armin finally understood.

The scarred man laughed, a vicious cruel laugh. "Don't be too upset, junior. We're all about to be very rich men."

They were slavers. Human traffickers. Monsters in human skin that prayed on the weak and vulnerable for their own sick desires and the twisted pursuit of wealth.

It was monsters like these who had butchered Mikasa's mother and father, murdering them in cold blood in front of her very eyes. Monsters who would have sold Mikasa into a fate worse than death had Eren not intervened.

Levi had sent them into Mikasa's living nightmare.

But as awful as this revelation was, as sickening as it was, there was still one last twist of the knife to reveal the true depth of horrible cruelty of this situation.

It was something that Levi and Hanji could not have known when they sent them here, to this gang in particular, for if they had Armin would never forgive them. He could live a thousand lifetimes and only feel hate for them.

For this gang wasn't just 'like' the one who murdered Mikasa's childhood.

With a hawking glob, the third gang member who had remained mostly silent upto this point spat the mouthful of chewing tobacco onto the floor.

"Ya wrong." The man rasped out, his voice rough like broken glass. His accent was the strongest of the three, both from age and his origins from a deeper part of the underground city.

The other two slavers swivelled to their older colleague, confusion etched onto their faces.

"Huh? You don't think we're gonna be rich? You're losing it, Al. We'll be living like those fancy topside lords soon enough." Otto said incredulously.

There was a high pitch ringing in Armin's ears. A piercing droning note, the likes of which a soldier would suffer from after standing next to a firing cannon. It was drowning out everything except the voices of the slavers, which cut through with horrifying ease, forcing him to listen to every word, every syllable that poured out of their inhuman mouths.

Al grunted, his blackened tongue running over rotting teeth. "Na, not that," He answered. "Ya wrong about the full bloods."

The incredible pressure around Armin's jaw had left it numb, becoming little more than a grey ache in the back of his horrified sluggish mind. Wisps of steam began to fill his mouth, billowing and scalding, searing his tongue and the back of his throat as it tried and failed to escape through his forcefully sealed lips.

"Whatcha mean?" The youngest slaver asked with a curious tilt of his head.

"The last full blood didn't die decades ago."

The ringing in Armin's ears grew louder.

"How'd ya know that?" Otto asked, the light of his torch flickering as the flames burned through the oil coated tip.

'No. Stop. Stop talking.'

Somehow Armin knew what was coming. He knew the second the older man had opened his mouth. But he didn't want to hear it. More importantly he didn't want her to hear it.

"Cause," The man continued, oblivious to Armin's silent plea as he fingered his ear and flicked away what he found. "The boss found one a few years back. Free range and still a good age. Sent some boys to go pick her up, but that's not all."

Armin wanted to stop it. To stop the slaver from speaking anymore. For now. Forever.

He wanted to act, he needed to. To do anything to shut the man up. He was willing to break concealment, to burst from this hiding spot and drive his fists into the man's face in a blind fury, like he had done to Eren once. He wanted to break bone and clench his hands around the man's throat, to squeeze down tight and damn the consequences. Anything to stop him talking.

Even if he couldn't break free from Mikasa's grip, he could kick out a leg or slam his hand against the straddling crates. The sound alone would be enough. But his body would not move and his limbs remained locked in place.

It was like his mind had been detached from his physical form; left frozen, paralysed and cut off, trapped in a prison of unresponsive flesh, unable to do anything but listen.

Al grunted again, sick amusing in his voice as he drew the terrible truth into the open. "She had a daughter."

A drop of something warm and wet splashed against the back of Armin's neck. It was hot, like acid, burning into his skin. Another drop followed, then a third.

Swallowed in the shocked and excited murmuring of the younger slavers at this reveal, only Armin heard the sound of a single, broken word slipping from Mikasa's trembling lips, so quiet it was barely a whisper, yet to him it was the loudest most damning sound he had ever heard.

"Mum..."

---

To quote a meme: In the midst of "it's so over," I found there was, within me, an invincible "we're so back"

Again very sorry for how long this has taken. If nothing else I've started to understand why George RR Martin is taking so long to do winds of winter