AN: Fixed a bit, added some context and characterization. Figured it'd be much better this way instead of just trying to skip to ending up in AOT.

Shameless

It was a meow that woke up the 26 year old paramedic from his slumber. With a groan, he opened his eyes and looked down at his chest to see the neediest of his cats staring at him expectantly. Closing his eyes and flopping his head back down, he sighed and reached up to gently rub the cat behind her ears. "Yeah, Annie, I'm up." He groaned. Despite saying this, he just laid there a few more moments as he stroked the tortoiseshell, her head rubbing against his hand lovingly. Finally deciding not to waste his day off sleeping, he sat up, the cat jumping off the bed.

Michael Lance was a young man born and raised in Iowa. Having recently become a paramedic and signing on with a service, he'd been run a bit ragged lately, being the probie and all. So, he wasn't going to waste his time. Going to the kitchen, his three cats close behind, he grabbed a bag of coffee from off the top of the fridge and put some into his dinky, outdated coffee maker. He'd had the foresight to put water in, so all he had to do was put in the beans (self-ground) and turn it on. He mixed some butter, cream, a little stevia, and some cinnamon in a mug in preparation for the coffee.

While he did that, he opened his barren fridge and sighed at the sight, reaching inside to grab his last three eggs and tossing the empty carton into the overflowing trash. Some butter in a pan and a few minutes later, he had some scrambled eggs with a cup of fat coffee. Heading back to his room, he sat at his computer and turned it back on. His face contorted into a frown as he stared at the last episode he'd watched on Hulu, the finale of Season 4 of a long awaited show, one that was already spoiled for him since he had read the Manga. With a grumble, he closed SNK and opened BNHA. At least this one is dubbed so I can listen while I do other things.

He picked up his fork and was about to eat until he heard a loud knock on the door. Seeing the clock only read 8:36 am, he groaned and got up, putting on a pair of sweat pants (he often slept in the bare essentials) and slipping pepper spray into his pocket. Opening the gate at the top of his steps, he descended from his second floor 'apartment,' more an entire floor turned into one, and down to the narrow entry way. Looking through the peephole and seeing nothing, he undid the deadbolt and gently opened the door slightly, ready for anything (It was a dangerous neighborhood and the mail lady, Judy, didn't come till much later).

Unfortunately, it wasn't nothing but instead something, or rather, someone. Having stood beside the door, outside the view of the peephole, was a Mister Donovan Marsh, what some would call a loan shark but who preferred to call himself a 'reciprocal charity'. As in, you reciprocate the money he gives to you. He also happened to be his cousins father, even if he had divorced their mother, so he couldn't exactly avoid him. With a sigh, Michael opened the door all the way and stepped out onto the small porch, closing the door to keep the cats inside.

"Donovan." He greeted stiffly and coldly.

"Morning, Michael. Know it's early, but it's also your payday."

"Not for another week." Michael corrected, annoyed.

"Ah, my mistake." Donovan said, raising his hand. "That said, we had an agreement. So, the money's still due. And I've already given you extensions. Unless you want interest-"

"We also agreed collateral would suffice." The increasingly annoyed paramedic pointed out. "Give me a second." Opening and then slamming the door, he marched upstairs and retrieved a gold wrist watch, a gift from his grandfather on his graduation day, before marching right back outside and handing it to him.

Donovan examined it, looking it over before nodding. "Invicta. Swiss Made. Expensive piece."

"Which is exactly why I'll be expecting it back." Michael said flatly, glaring.

"You know, you SHOULD be thankful." Donovan pointed out, pocketing the watch. "Didn't see anyone else lending you money for what happened."

Michael wanted to be angry. But, he couldn't deny that fact. After his mothers accident that left her with two replaced knees, and with his brother having just had another child, he was the only one who could have provided for her, at least until SSDI kicked in. His father certainly wouldn't do it, the divorce having been incredibly messy and the interim years being filled with bad blood. So, with a deep breath, he nodded. "I am thankful, Donovan. It helped a lot. But this should cover me for at least a few months. I'll get you the money then."

"I know you will, Michael. You're a good kid. I'll hold onto this and keep it safe until then." With a tip of his hat, he turned and started down the drive.

Michael wasn't done, though. "Donovan." He said firmly, causing the man to turn back and stop. "Keep this in mind: my father almost kicked your ass for divorcing my cousin. He told me not to get involved with you, and he's pissed as it is. If he finds out you're squeezing me like this, well… You'll have us both to deal with."

Donovan shifted uncomfortably, well aware the kind of hell that'd wreak on his life. And potentially his physical health. "But we agreed you wouldn't bring it up."

"You're right. And I'm no liar. Which is why you have to keep in mind that when I say if you try and be greedy I'll bust you up myself, I mean it."

Donovan looked like he wanted to say something, but he knew Michael was serious. A hard life makes a hardened man, and life recently had made Michael very hard. He took a breath and nodded. "Alright. Fine. I won't bother you anymore. Like I said, you're a good kid. I know you're good for it." He turned to walk back down the drive before looking over his shoulder. "Oh, by the way, got a package there. Shouldn't leave it out in a neighborhood like this." With that and a wave, he got into his car and drove off.

Looking down, Michael saw a box wrapped in simple brown paper. Okay, I know that wasn't him. And the mail lady hasn't swung by. Did I just miss it last night? Whatever the case, he picked it up and went back inside.

Retrieving a knife, he went to his desk and got to eating as he cut the package open. He was careful as he didn't know what was inside, and was pleasantly surprised to find a smaller, wooden box within. Lifting it and shaking it, he heard something metallic flopping around. Holding his breath just in case, he lifted the lid and saw a key on top of a piece of paper. He examined the iron key before picking up the piece of paper. It had an address written on it, way out in the sticks by the zip code, with a small message written in red pen: 'Don't be late! Come by 6 pm and you'll be able to fix everything~!'

"Well, that's fuckin vague." He muttered. Fix what? The world? My health? My life? I doubt I could find some sort of panacea in some dinky Iowa farmhouse in the boonies. Just to be sure it was the boonies, he input the zip code and it came up out past Watkins, almost to Amana. Long way out. But it's my day off. But do I really WANT to go? As he finished his eggs and pushed the plate away, he pondered. Would it be worth it? Looking at the calendar on his desk, he groaned: he worked the next 10 days, at least 12 hours each. And that wasn't including if he had to take trips to Mayo or U of I, when he'd probably be there an extra three hours minimum. If I'm going to do it, might as well do it today.

Getting dressed and getting his morning chores out of the way (make the bed, clean the litterbox, brush his teeth, etc.), he put his dishes in the sink and got his things, making sure to grab his EDC's. Knife and subcompact, both ready, both secured. Making sure his belt was cinched tight, he went downstairs and locked up before going to his van and putting the address into the GPS. With a sigh at how long it would take, he turned it over and got on his way. On the trip, he put the GPS in PIP and continued his episode of BNHA. He'd already seen all of the English dub on Hulu but it was something to distract him and fill his ears so his life long tinnitus wasn't driving him insane.

He examined the key again. Old iron, rusty and definitely outdated. Probably older than his 140 year old house, and twice as ugly. But what struck him was the design: a four pointed diamond shaped bow with balls on the corners, a short shank with a ring on the bow end and no collar or throating, with an odd three pointed bit and two key wards, one shallow and one very deep. Kinda looks like—He was broken from his musings by the sound of a rumble strip and he immediately dropped the key to get back on track. Focus, you moron! He scolded himself, though he still couldn't help but glance at the key now on the center console. What's your story, little key? What could you unlock?

He pulled into the long driveway, growing increasingly wary of his surroundings. The house was old and decrepit, nearly collapsed, and with a field that was entirely barren with no corn or soybeans anywhere in sight. An abandoned farm house on an abandoned farm. He mused suspiciously. Absolutely NOTHING wrong here! His instincts told him that he should probably run, that he shouldn't even be there. But his curiosity egged him on, telling him he was always the type to wonder about the little things like where unknown keys went and what the story was behind places like this. So, he continued on, pulling into the drive and slamming it into park before turning it off and hopping on out.

He kept his right hand in his pocket next to his EDC pistol as he approached the door up the rickety steps, using his left to knock, gently at first. Then after a minute of waiting with no answer, louder, with the knock he'd been told 'sounds like the police.' Without an answer once more, he retrieved the key and tried it. It didn't work, which annoyed him, but then he tried the handle and the door creaked open with ease. Pocketing the key again and keeping his hand ready, he pushed the door open.

"Hello?" He called gently, looking around the dilapidated front room with apprehension. "Hello?! I got a letter telling me to come here?!" He shouted this time, stepping in slowly as he looked around. Finding no one and nothing of interest in the broken down room, he relaxed a bit. The farm house had one story, so his search was short and unfruitful. Bedroom empty, bathroom disgusting, closets bare. Kitchen was just as empty as the rest, and he was thankful there was no rotting food or disgusting dishes for him to smell. It was here, though, he noticed another door. Trying it, he found this one to actually be locked. Oddly promising. But if this is a locked door and I was given a key, logic dictates...

Bringing out the key again, he inserted it and was satisfied as it clicked in the lock, the deadbolt sliding out of the way. With a smile, he threw the door open, coughing as the dust from the walls and floor flew up and right into his face. Waving it away, he looked to see stairs downward into a basement deep into the earth. A key into a basement. This supposed to be some sort of Attack on Titan ARG? If it was, there'd be more people here. Taking out his phone and turning on the light, he began making his way downstairs, this time with his left hand ready to grab his knife. As he reached the bottom, he found another door, this one propped open with light shining through. He didn't hear voices but he saw flickering, which meant a fire, and he did smell the wonderful scent of burning pine. A fire. But in a fireplace, or is it arson?

Not seeing smoke and knowing he wouldn't get flash over with the open door, he tapped it open and looked inside. It was another living room of sorts, this one in far better condition. However, the only light was a fireplace at the far end. Turning his light off and putting his phone away, he let his guard down as he looked around for some sort of light switch. Finding none, and seeing wood next to the dwindling fire, he decided he didn't have much choice but to stoke the fire for some light. Someone went through the trouble of sprucing the place up and lighting a fire. He reasoned. Must want to meet me for something.

Walking to the fireplace, he grabbed a few of the smaller logs and tossed them on there. Standing, he turned to go to the nearby chair to wait for his mysterious host. However, as he sat down, he heard the fire crackling. Loudly, and unnaturally. Seeing it begin to gain light and heat, he stood up and went to back away when, with a loud pop, it all went white.

Michael groaned softly as his internal clock reached the point of 'wake the hell up', but as usual, he didn't listen, which was to be expected. What wasn't expected was someone literally pushing him out of his bunk and yelling at him to get up. Opening his eyes, he found himself looking at the strangest sight: Jean Kirschtein in the flesh. The young one, before he looked like a French artist. Thinking that he was dreaming (rather vividly), he groaned and closed his eyes again. That was a mistake.

"Come on, man, get up!" Jean shouted as he kicked him. "Shadis is gonna have your head if you sleep-in!"

"Whatever, dream Jean..." He muttered, closing his eyes again. There are a lot of things people expect to wake them up. A cup of coffee, a sudden surge of energy, but not usually getting pulled out of bed by an anime character. As a result, it was less than believable.

"Dude, I am trying to save your neck!"

Michael opened my eyes and looked at him tiredly. It was then he noticed where he was. I couldn't dream of a cabin of this much detail even in my most vivid of visions. Nor could he dream smells, like sweat and wood. "... You're serious aren't you?"

"No, I was bullshitting you," Jean replied in a deadpan tone. "Shadis is waiting with cupcakes and tea. You've got five seconds, or you're on your own."

Michael closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to remember what the hell had happened, or at least try to wake up. Or hell, if it was a vivid dream, change it. However, the sounds didn't change. And you don't smell things in a dream. Eyes shooting open, he hopped to his feet. The blanket flopped on the bed as he stared at Jean. "Wait." He said suddenly. "I'm actually in SNK?"

"Dude, I don't know what SNK is, or why you're acting so weird. Did you hit your head like Jaeger or something? Let's. GO!" Not waiting further, Jean took off.

Michael shook his head, noting that he did indeed have a headache. As Jean ran outside, he had no choice but to follow. He ran through a series of scenarios in his head, wondering what the logical explanation could be for this. Hallucinations wouldn't feel this real. And I doubt they'd be this vivid. And unless there was something in those logs, wouldn't be a possibility. You don't just start hallucinating for no reason. Delusion, maybe. It's persisting in spite of the very clear evidence that SNK isn't real and that I wasn't here when that log exploded. He was thinking so hard that he almost bumped into Jean, who had stopped at his spot in the ranks.

"Watch it and get in line!" Jean growled, standing at attention. Michael grumbled and got next to him, adopting his posture and pose as he continued to think. A delusion would be broken the moment I bumped into something my mind didn't perceive. Or I'd have to have someone real tell me that it wasn't a delusion. Problem is… He looked around, seeing some familiar faces and others not so much. They all could be part of the delusion. But if they are, why are there some I wouldn't even know? Not to mention the clothing. This FEELS like their type of clothing would: scratchy and heavy.

"Why were you in that bunk anyway?" Jean suddenly asked, glancing at Michael. "Guy who slept there was sent away.

Michael thought quickly. "He was a friend of mine." He lied. "Missed him. Figured I'd sleep in his bunk, miss him less. Worked for me when my brother died."

Jean grunted. "Fair enough. He mean that much to you?"

"Only one here I really knew beyond just their name, Kirschtein. That might not mean much to you, but it's something to me." His tone had bite to it. Though it was more at frustration at being unable to figure out the situation than at Jean.

"Fair enough. Again." Jean mumbled, buying the offended act enough to be ashamed. I hate being such a good liar. Michael thought. But it comes in handy.

Any further conversation was cut off as the door to the main office slammed open, everyone shutting up and straightening their posture, even Michael. Shadis stepped out, looking around. He walked down the steps and slowly, menacingly, began walking through the ranks as he examined each and every one of the troops. Michael prayed that Shadis wouldn't notice that he wasn't supposed to be there, or rather, he hoped that he would so he could break whatever illusory fog was on Michael's mind. But he just walked right past, not even giving Michael a glance. However, as he came to a stop near the end of the line, he whirled around. Oh, shit. He noticed! Michael worried.

"You all look good!" He shouted. "So good, in fact, that you look ready for the day ahead! We'll start it off strong, if that's the case! Ten laps, all of you, GO!"

With a collective groan, everyone began moving out. Ten laps around the compound is nothing, if I pace myself. Michael noted. Plus, it gives me time to think. As they all began running, Michael lagged towards the middle, keeping an even pace and counting his breaths as he went through all the possibilities in his head. However, finally, after getting bumped and passed up by people he knew, and feeling the burn in his legs and lungs, he came to the conclusion that seemed to be the only real possibility.

I'm actually here in the 104th. I'm actually IN SNK. What the hell is going on…?