A/N: Yes, I know what I said. I wouldn't meddle. But this section of Exoneration bugged me to no end, and I really wanted to flesh it out. Of course, I also figured that readers wouldn't want to sit through 10,000+ words of exposition, so I split up Chapter One and this. Consider it a revised prologue.

For those of you reading this for the first time, welcome, and thanks for deciding to check this story out!

The Overture

Annie's life was a simple one before the Shifters found her.

For a very good portion of her childhood she lived in isolation. There were simply no other forms of contact but her father, and perhaps the occasional curious onlooker from a safe distance. Which was preferable to her. The other kids, from her limited experience with them, were annoying and cruel to each other. It was like watching a pack of wild animals. The strongest would naturally prey on those deemed weaker, establish dominance, kill off any threats. And no one protested. It was pretty sad, if she thought about it like that. But she could understand it, at least.

In any case, their impact on her life was of little consequence. Whilst they went about their business, she was taught in the ways of self-defence. She learnt the proper way to kill a man when she was seven; and perfected it over time. Firstly, the fundamentals. An enemy was an enemy. Man or woman, formidable or weak, powerful in physical prowess or intellect, the points of weakness in a human were consistent. She was shown where to strike. How to gain the element of surprise. What to watch for, and how to respond.

She would take a knife in her small hands and her father would instruct her. There was an art to the practice, and Annie was a quick learner. But you didn't need a knife to kill a man. Fingers and teeth were supplementary. Easier. Break his neck instead, or tear out his throat, scratch at his eyes.

And there were other ways to best the enemy besides physical violence. Arrogance was easy to see. It possessed a man and made him foolish. Fear. Regret. All these and more were ready to exploit, if she knew what to say.

You're smaller than most, her father said. They will dismiss you, and you will let them do this, because you will know better.

Her strongest impression of him was that he was less of a person, and more like a force. You must understand, he was not malevolent, nor was he without empathy. But he was a cold man. He didn't talk unless prompted, hardly looked her way unless they were training or doing something that demanded verbal explanation, and thus she learned to live in silence. It was a lot like living with a stranger. She was kept busy, and seldom had much time to reflect on matters that extended beyond the reaches of self-preservation. Reflection was not something which Annie excelled in, but she accepted it as a kind of necessary evil.

Still, she wondered. At daybreak, when the sky was dark and starless, if she would ever know her father as an equal. Late at night, when her body was aching and sleep would not come, if they were really of the same blood. They had the same eyes, same hair, similar facial features. Her father was a smaller man, and she was a smaller girl, but what did it matter? He could have been any other person, and she would have felt the same level of connection with him.

Sometimes, when she was younger, she would try and imagine what her mother must have looked like. There was a memory, but it was more of a wisp than a thing of substance. A voice, or a shadowy figure, its features muddled with time. It faded as she grew older.

Wondering, of course, was a fruitless endeavor. Wondering would not see her safe for another day, or teach her how to fight. Wondering for too long made her stomach twist and her chest ache, nearly as sore as her taxed body, and she avoided it hence. When avoidance was not enough, she learnt to shut out the sickness in her heart. Little by little, every night, from a very young age that she could not recall with clarity, until she felt naught but the fatigue of her muscles. And the day came when she woke up, and inside her chest there was only emptiness. The swirlings of dust.

And Annie was glad.

Her training developed in intensity as she got older. Now she must learn to dodge and jump and perfect her technique. And she did, of course. She must. But she wondered about it sometimes. She wondered what her life would lead to. If it would ever lead to anything, at all. For the first time in a long time, she felt disheartened.

Once, when she was nine, her father brought a lantern with him. He kept her going all afternoon, and then into the night, until her feet were bleeding and her legs were raw and she thought she would surely die from exhaustion. And she stopped. It was all she could do to stand.

"Again," said her father.

Annie could feel him watching her. But she wouldn't look at him. She realised this was a test. And she grit her teeth and set her bony shoulders and kicked the bag, harder. There was no grace in her violence, only defiance. Determination. She would not be the first to fall. She would not surrender to anything. The sandbag taunted her, sagging and inanimate, and she bared her teeth, a violent, predatory grin, and fell upon the figure imagined in her mind. She broke him, over and over and over, yet he would not falter. Neither would she.

Then her father spoke. "Enough."

She didn't stop at first. She didn't stop until his hand clasped her shoulder and she jumped, whirled around, wild-eyed and rife with adrenaline.

"That's enough," he repeated.

Annie stared at him. He had never ordered her to stop in the middle of a fight. Ever. She was shaking as she looked upon his face and there was nothing there to read.

Annie didn't remember fainting. She blinked and the world fell away.

She dreamt that he took her inside the house and cleaned her wounds and let her rest. And in the dream he told her this: "It's only going to be more difficult from here. But I know you will be fine. You've proven that to yourself."

The sun was high overhead when Annie woke the next day. She was still sore, and her feet were numb. But she was able to stand. She dressed and tended to her wounded feet with rags. Boots were simply out of the question — it hurt enough to walk. But this, she could tolerate. She ate her meager allotment of food in silence. She hobbled across the room and to the doorway. She had one foot outside when the voice spoke.

"Going somewhere?" She turned and her father was standing by the very same table she had just left. She hadn't noticed him. "Even you have limits," he said. "See that you acknowledge them."

There was something strange in his eyes, almost like sadness. Or pride. She could not be sure. It was the closest he'd ever come to displaying human emotion. Annie held his gaze, and it passed.

She did not tell her father about the dream, and they resumed life as if nothing had ever happened.

The year was 1844. She was ten and hardened with time and practice.

The two men showed up on a sunny day in June, clad in garments too plain to be royals, but too fine to be civilian wear. The first was older and small of stature, with greying hair and dark eyes. He much resembled a crow. The second was larger than he, dark-haired and solemn, and looked to be years younger than his companion—only a few years above her, actually. Annie had no clue as to what this strange pair wanted, but they gave off an air that kept her on the alert.

"Hello, little one," the first began, and his voice was calm and as thin as his figure. Annie stared up at the man, wary of his eyes. They shone like a wild dog's. She didn't like them. Her fingers closed tightly around the dagger in her hand. The man didn't seem to notice this. "Is your father around? I'd very much like to speak with him."

She remained where she was, tense with unease. But there were few souls who passed by their house, and fewer still who entertained conversation with her father. Perhaps this was only a very strange coincidence, but Annie wanted to think she knew better. She looked towards their house, then back to the man, and thought about calling out to her father, then decided not to. They were only men, no matter how unsettling she found them. She was the one with a weapon. She had the upper hand.

"Who are you?" she asked. The man's smile widened.

"We're just passing through. No need to look so grim, my dear."

Annie found herself liking this man less every second. She glanced over to his companion's face, and for the first time she noticed that there were faint lines that ran along his cheeks, down from the corners of his eyes, a series of white, intricate ditches. She wondered what had made them.

"This is Marcel," said the man, noticing her interest. "I'm afraid he's not very sociable. But we can't all be, can we?" He patted the boy's shoulder with a bony hand. Marcel wouldn't meet her eyes. "Ah…but I'm getting off track. Your father ― is he nearby?"

Annie nodded.

Her father was less than keen to greet them.

"What do you want?" he asked coolly.

Annie could practically feel the other man's smile in his tone. "Only to discuss your daughter, sir. I believe she's possessed of the qualities we're looking for."

Her father held the man's gaze, tone icy. "Sorry. I'm not interested." He made to close the door. The thin man gave a subtle nod, and Marcel reached forward and caught the door in mid-swing.

"I insist ― I'll have but a few minutes of your time."

Her father regarded the pair for a moment before he threw a sharp look to her. The message was clear: Stay inside.

Annie stepped into the house and he moved past her, closing the door in his stead. Curious, she pressed her ear to the door and strained to listen. She could make out their voices.

"—afraid you're of no position to be making demands, mister Leonhardt. There is talent in your daughter, and I implore you to see this the way I do."

Her father remained imperturbable. "And what, exactly, am I supposed to be seeing?"

"Think of it as the opportunity of a lifetime, both for yourself and her."

There was a pause.

"I've no interest in your offer," her father said coldly.

"On the contrary, mister Leonhardt, I think you'll find this to be an offer you can't refuse." The thin man's voice was cordial, but there was a danger lurking beneath his words. "We'll be back to run some tests next week. Your cooperation is much appreciated."

Their footsteps faded. Annie scrambled out of the way as the door opened again.

"Who were they?" she asked.

Her father shook his head. "I don't know."

And she knew that was the end of it.

The same men did not return again; however, true to their word, it was only a week later that another pair came back. The first was not noteworthy, but studied her movements with quiet precision. The second man was a little more ordinary, brown haired, sporting a thin beard and dressed in a suit that displayed the beginnings of shabbiness, surveying the surroundings over thin spectacles, exuding a hint of warmth.

They conducted multiple tests over the course of a week. Agility, aptitude, endurance and the like. And Annie was privately exultant—here was her chance to prove herself.

Her father, however, was not so enthused. Annie could not understand the reason for this, but she was at least glad that the thin man with his shiny eyes had not come back. So she ran. She fought. She demonstrated her techniques. And she could tell they were impressed as they discussed this among themselves. After they had left, her father was quiet for a time, gazing down the road they had taken.

"They've accepted you into their organization," he stated. Then he turned away and headed inside the house.

She did not follow him.

The final week was strange.

Her father trained her. When he talked, it was to impress upon her the importance of her Mission. That was it. She trained until she fainted, and then he would let her rest. And they would go again. Again, until she was numb to pain, numb to all but her father's words.

But as days passed, she grew weary. Weary of the emptiness in her body, weary, for the first time in her memory, of her father's inexplicable fervor and talk of a Mission that she'd never asked for. But it was all she had, and her father's word was gospel, and she obeyed.

One day, when they were at the end of a session and he told her to stop, Annie kept her hackles up, fists raised but still. And waited. Seconds passed. She counted them in her head. Four, seven, twelve. Then it happened.

"Get inside," he ordered. "Rest, and you'll do more."

"I'm fine, father," she answered, and did not move. She looked to him for an explanation and he gave her nothing. So Annie decided to ask for herself. "What are you training me to do?"

"The circumstances of your mission demand that you are equipped to protect yourself."

"From what?"

"From those who will seek to kill you—" he gripped her shoulder, her wrist, correcting her stance, "—but you will be ready—" she looked up at him, and he let her go, eyes never leaving her, "—and you will kill them first. Now, come at me again."

Yet there was something different about the way he carried himself. His silence was no longer cold, no longer indomitable. There was sadness there.

Annie pushed that thought away. She looked straight at her father, eyes narrowed in concentration. And struck out.

So the day of departure came.

Annie woke to see moonlight shining through the window, illuminating a figure by her bedside. She looked up to see the face of her father, obscured in shadow.

"This is the day," he said. "Get yourself ready, and we'll go."

And he left her without further information. Then again, Annie thought, that was not so unusual. What bothered her was his anxiety.

They departed from their home under cover of darkness, and walked down one of the main paths from their village. After a few minutes, and to Annie's surprise, they veered right off the path, moving directly through the forest until they came into a clearing. A carriage waited. The horse pulling it was black and hardy.

Her father broke the silence. "Do you remember the men who came a few months ago?" She nodded. At this, her father seemed to falter. He looked much older, all of a sudden. Weaker. It was a disturbing thought. "Those folks are part of a group of people that can protect you."

Annie stared at him.

"I was wrong about them, child." There was a quaver in his voice. "You must understand, I had no choice."

He was frightened.

"I don't understand, father," said Annie.

Her father made a strange noise, quiet and strained, like something had caught in his throat. Slowly he faced her, dropping to his knees to take her by the shoulders. And then he was talking, talking as if he could not possibly say enough:

"I won't ask you to forgive me for what I've brought upon you. Mankind will never understand what you are. They will hate you for it. But I swear that I will be on your side." His voice cracked as he took her hand in his. "They told me there would be others like you. Other children. I want to think I've raised you to be able to handle yourself."

She was suddenly aware of a small object, cold and heavy in her palm.

The ring.

Now he was holding her, unresponsive in his arms, mumbling over and over that he was sorry. She was aware suddenly of the dampness on her shoulder, how he was shaking. "Promise you'll come back to me," he whispered.

Annie was still.

The driver was in no hurry to escort her. He was probably used to these kinds of send-offs.

The camp was hidden away, deep in the mountains. It was beautiful, if you liked that sort of thing.

Once situated, her training began. She joined the ranks of an ensemble of hard-set children from within and outside the Walls. They wore no coat of arms, no emblem to identify themselves. And they were not soldiers. They were Warriors. Shifters. They were the best of the best, and their actions would determine the fate of mankind. So she was told. So they were told.

With the loss of her father fresh in her mind, she threw herself into the trials offered to her. And she exceled. For the first time, she stood on her own two feet, unaided.

During this period, she was approached by a couple of older Shifters. A sandy-haired, broad-shouldered boy by the name of Reiner Braun had made the mistake of trying to reach out to her, whereupon she ensured he would regret his decision by sending him hurtling over her shoulder, breaking his hand for good measure in the process. To her surprise and supreme anger, he had seemed greatly amused by this, and she was only grudgingly conscious of his mentioning her as "the new kid" at dinner. She also got to know Marcel better, but Annie soon discovered that she liked him less than Reiner; he was far too proud, and turned vitriolic at the mention of the people inside the Walls.

Another boy, tall and dark haired, approached her the next day. He was a little more wary of her as he spoke.

"You're Annie, I take it? Reiner mentioned you yesterday." She did not acknowledge him.

"He can be a bit…direct." He smiled. "When you've known him as long as I have, it's really not that shocking." She felt him sit next to her. "I'm Bertholdt, by the way," he added.

She allowed him a glance, but nothing more.

There were in total, thirteen months of preparation. Thirteen months of learning how to Shift, how to incorporate the blade in Father's ring into a fail-safe trigger and above all, additional military instruction. They called it Turnen*.

The first highlight of her experience occurred approximately three months after her enlistment.

She was roused by one of their superiors before the other children awoke, not to train or breakfast, as usual. Instead she was escorted to a separate building apart from the main establishment. She walked down a long hall where men and women in white coats went in and out of doorways. Some of them led other children along, just as lifeless and resigned as Marcel had been. And just like Marcel, all of them, children and adults, had scars on their faces. Annie wondered, not for the first time, if they had all been victims of some cult or terrible crime. Or perhaps it was self-inflicted? She had no idea what to make of them.

The rooms she passed by and the one she entered were not unlike the rest of their dwellings; simple and comprised mainly of wood, but far cleaner than any room she'd seen, here or anywhere else. A man stood over a table with his back turned to her, but she could not see what he was doing.

"Doctor? I've brought the recruit."

The man did not look up.

"Sir," said her superior, but the man held up a hand.

"You may go, Otis."

Otis left without another word. As the man in the white coat turned around, Annie noticed he wore spectacles, and, for the first time, that he bore those same, strange scars.

"Leonhardt, is it?" She blinked in surprise, and the man smiled. "My name is Doctor Jaeger. You might remember me from your examination a few weeks ago."

Annie did not reply. This was her practice, fortified by her father's betrayal and the awareness that the world was an enemy all its own. She merely watched as the man withdrew a syringe from his coat and filled it with a translucent liquid.

"This is something we give all the new recruits," he explained. "If you would hold out your arm for me."

The effects of this injection were soon apparent.

First came the heat. She was too hot, far too hot. Her skin burned, tinged pink. When she bolted from the room in a blind panic despite the doctor's protests and threw herself into the river, her body emitted profuse amounts of steam. She stared down at herself, trembling.

What have they done to me?

Just then, the doctor caught up with her.

"It's all right!" he cried. "Your temperature will stabilize eventually! Calm yourself, it'll help speed up the process!"

She tried this. Annie found that he was right. The steam ceased, and she was left with thin burns all over her flesh, but otherwise, she seemed to have returned to some semblance of normalcy. Soon after this she was wracked with hellish pain. The heat returned to her, as well as a sensation like hundreds of tiny shards of glass sewn inside her body. She felt hands pull from where she had collapsed upon the riverbank. They guided her, half-dragging her along, until they set her down on a mattress, where she curled up, quivering like a wounded animal, teeth clamped down on her sleeve to try and stifle her pitiful noises.

Pain was just a word. It meant nothing to her. But this was different. It allowed her no reprieve, and she could not escape into her mind. It came in waves, rising and receding.

"I'm afraid this is all part of the process," said a man's voice. He sighed heavily. "I'm sorry, child. This should pass by tomorrow."

Annie made another strangled noise.

The pain ebbed, slowly and agonizingly through the night. It was not until the next day, early in the morning, that sleep came to her.

The first thing she heard was the twittering of birds. She opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling, bright with sunlight from the window. When she closed them, she could almost pretend she was home again. The pain in her body was familiar; she could imagine that her father might come to wake her.

But Annie knew better than to dream.

"Awake, I see," said a familiar voice. Annie blinked. She sat up, looked over to see the tall boy from all those days ago. What was his name? Bertholdt? She stared blankly at him. His face was still fresh with youth, but there was a quiet sorrow lining his features. His eyes were older, wiser than one would expect of one so young. And there were the scars. Everyone in this encampment seemed to have them. She touched her own face with trembling hands and felt…nothing. No scars.

"Is something wrong?" the boy asked.

She pressed her face into her hands, exhaled slowly. "How long have I been out for?"

"A day," said the boy. "You've done extraordinarily well, you know. A lot of recruits don't make it this far."

Her stomach twisted. She lowered her hands, opened her eyes, staring at her knuckles. "What's going to happen to me now?" she asked.

"You'll rest. When you're up for it, I expect you'll be thrown right back into our training program. But not until you're ready." He smiled kindly. Annie wished he wouldn't. "Do you want to talk about this? I'm not Doctor Jaeger, but I can try and explain to the best of my ability."

How to begin? Annie frowned, scratching restlessly at the linen of her bed-sheet. She had a lot of questions.

"What was in the shot Doctor Jaeger gave me?" she asked.

"The shot that Doctor Jaeger gave you is, in short, what makes or breaks a candidate. You'll have to ask the Doctor if you want to know all the technicalities, but the crux of it is this: as of now, you are not the girl you were. Cold cannot ail you. You can heal yourself, when wounded. You are stronger, faster."

"How many times have you given this speech?" she asked coolly.

Bertholdt smiled grimly. "More than a few. Enough times, I think, to explain it proficiently. But only if you're willing to listen." He paused. "Do you know of the Titans?"

"Yes," she said, not sure where he was going with this. She'd never actually seen one.

"Imagine, for a moment, that you could control one, meld its body to your will."

She sat up abruptly, oblivious to pain. "What have they done to me?" she demanded.

The emotion in Bertholdt's eyes was unspeakable. He looked far, far older than his apparent age. "You are something greater than any human or mindless Titan. You are a Shifter—a human in the shell of a Titan."

Annie felt the first dredges of fear well up inside her. Terrible implications chased each other around her mind, each more disturbing than the last.

"Why was I chosen?" It was the only question she could think of, foolish as it was. Her voice sounded alien to her ears, small and frightened. Bertholdt regarded her with something close to sympathy. It made her angry. She didn't want this stranger's pity. She flinched when he laid his hand on her shoulder. It was hardly a large hand, but she was a small girl. But she didn't shake him off. What was the point? She could not come home and find her father. She was a monster.

"You're exceptional, Annie," said Bertholdt. "We're exceptional."

He did not speak these words with pride or with fire in his eyes. There was resignation, understanding. He shared in her sorrow. And she was thankful.

She was well enough to walk the day after that. The weeks flew by, became months. An endless cycle. Rise, fight, sleep, continue.

Annie learned to trust Bertholdt. He was not overly friendly like Reiner, nor was he as haughty as Marcel. He was silent and knowledgeable and simply there, a voice of reason.

By the end of the the fourth month, she knew how to Shift. She even forced herself to tolerate Reiner's attempts at camaraderie. By the middle of the fifth month, she had all but perfected it. A creature formed of her will, skin and bones and fire. It was like a dream. In death her Titan-body dissolved, and she was reborn from the ashes, a girl once more. With every transformation, her mind grew a little clearer. Scars etched across her cheeks, down her chin in parallel lines, from the corners of her mouth, marking her ascension to deity-hood, stark even against her skin. They were a constant reminder of her inhumanity.

With nothing left to her, she relinquished her old life like a Titan-shell and began anew. Her father's promise, however, clung to her consciousness. She kept his request close to her heart, like a secret.

Come back to me, he had begged of her.

I will, father. I'll come back.

She made a mistake when she challenged Marcel on the connotations of the term soldier versus warrior. It was a silly thing to care about, in hindsight. He barely even glanced at her when he responded:

"Something to remember is that we're not soldiers, Annie. We're warriors."

She scowled. "We're an organized military group. Why do we call ourselves something so childish?"

Marcel stopped what he was doing and stared at her as though she had just called him something abhorrently offensive.

"I beg your pardon, Leonhardt," he snapped, "but we've achieved much more with our lives than those little subservients living behind their walls could ever dream. They're cowards. We don't associate ourselves with them."

He turned away, looking affronted. Annie was not interested in pursuing the matter any further.

Later, she asked Bertholdt about it.

"It's not a matter of justifying a title," he explained to her. "We aren't soldiers. We differentiate ourselves in this way from the men and women who do lay down their lives for their country. We aren't so much trying to defend our country as take it back."

"Take it back from who?"

Bertholdt closed his eyes, deep in thought. When he opened them again, he looked tired.

"It's a long story, not for your ears. Suffice it to say that we've tried to negotiate with another group within the Walls, and it didn't go over well. They are up in arms against us, and have the will of the people. We have no choice but to strike back, before they can beat us to it."

He looked up, trailing off. Annie followed his gaze and saw Reiner, who waved.

"Why does Marcel take his duties so seriously?" she asked, addressing her knuckles. Bertholdt glanced over at her. "I don't know why he bothers," she said coolly. "It's pointless, all of it. We're all fighting against the Titans, in the end. Allowing personal bias won't solve anything."

"To you, perhaps," said Bertholdt. "But to him, it's anything but that."

Reiner nudged her arm. "Don't take him too seriously, kid. That's what he wants." He grinned.

Annie found that she'd never quite appreciated how easygoing Reiner was.

She was called by their superiors to a field they used for Titan experiments on a cloudless morning in April. Annie arrived, alone and more than suspicious at the abruptness of this assembly. Bertholdt and Reiner were already there, and to her slight dismay, Marcel was there, too. Reiner looked just as confused as she felt, while Bertholdt and Marcel stood by, quiet and at attention.

"Good," said the voice of an officer. "You're all here." He looked them over. "I will be honest with you, now," the officer continued. "Many of our recruits don't make it this far. But you have shown yourselves to be quite capable. Therefore, we've given you a chance to prove your worth." He paused. "The four of you will clear a path through the Walls, starting with Shiganshina, and if all goes well, work your way to the capital. That is the first plan.

"However, there is a backup. If for some reason worst comes to worst, you will instead turn your efforts to locating and retrieving the Coordinate." The officer paused again. Annie glanced over to Bertholdt and Reiner, who looked confused. Even Marcel seemed uneasy.

"Sir," interjected Annie, feeling. "What is the purpose of the Coordinate, exactly?"

"Our enemy has used it to gain power in the Walls and cast us out," said Marcel harshly. "Is that not reason enough to take it from them?"

"That will do, Marcel," said the officer. "In the event of something going wrong, which is not at all out of the question, but unlikely, you will all search for the Reiss family—they will know where to lead you."

The four looked at each other. Annie hoped she was not alone in thinking that this plan sounded at best, entirely dependent on luck and cast into peril by the extent of this organization's inclination towards arrogance.

"Very good," said the officer. "You two—" he motioned towards Bertholdt and Reiner "—will go as a team of three, including Francis." Another man, red-haired and slight of frame, nodded.

"And you, Leonhardt, will be with Marcel."

Marcel looked from the man to her and nodded stiffly, not meeting her eyes.

"Your compatriots will relay the details of your mission to each of you. This is the day we have trained you for. Good luck."

As it turned out, Annie's part to play was relatively simple. Almost insultingly so, but Annie kept that to herself. All she had to do was Shift, run out to the tree-line while in her Titan form, and scream. According to Marcel, her scream would draw the Titans to her. Literally, that was the end of her involvement. Bertholdt and Reiner would be in the thick of things, but as far as Annie was concerned, that was probably for the better.

"How does this work, exactly?" she questioned, unable to hide the skepticism in her tone. "Do I just…will a horde of Titans to run towards Shiganshina with my mind?"

"That's precisely what you're going to do," said Marcel crisply. "And please, don't take that tone with me."

After half an hour of walking, Annie suggested that she Shift. "I'll have to use the Titan, anyways," she explained. "Might as well do it now than later."

To her surprise, Marcel was all for it.

The transformation was easy, familiar. She towered high, high above the forest. Marcel was light as a feather on her shoulder. But even in Titan form, the journey to Shiganshina took up hours; by the time they had, the sun was reaching its highest point in the sky.

She stepped out into the light. The sun shone down upon the grassy terrain. In the distance, there was a white stripe that stretched across the vista, long and endless….

Wall Maria.

Inside the Titan, Annie caught her breath. She stared at it for a full minute before Marcel called her attention and she remembered her purpose.

She moved closer, closer. The Wall only became more impressive as she drew near. And then she came into range.

"Now!" barked Marcel.

Annie exhaled heavily, and her Titan emitted a guttering hiss. Threw its head back and let out a long, piercing, wailing sound. It was nothing that could have come from the throat of a human. She ceased. What was she supposed to do, now?

"Wait for it," Marcel ordered.

They didn't have to wait for long. The earth rumbled. Shook under the brunt of what must have been a hundred Titans. She did not turn her head to confirm their presence.

"Direct them!" Marcel roared. "Picture the goal in your mind, and get their attention!"

Steeling herself, Annie's Titan emitted another shriek.

Head for Wall Maria.

As a single unit the Titans turned, shambling towards the awesome construction blazing in the sun, ignoring her completely.

"Excellent," said Marcel, voice overflowing with relief, with pride. "Let's fall back."

As they came closer to their destination, they saw more Titans in the forest. Most were milling about, but some took notice of her. Annie ignored them and kept running. Fatigue had yet to kick in, and as far as she knew, the Mission was still going, and would not end until she came back and gave her report.

Everything seemed to be going well until they returned and found the camp ravaged by Titans. They were the elite. They were masters, they were Shifters, and they were completely unprepared for such a breach.

To call it a massacre would be an understatement.

At a loss for what to do, they fled into the forest. Annie didn't stop running until she knew she was far, far away from any threat. Only then did she remove herself from her Titan. Marcel was kind enough to help excavate her from the crumbling shell, and they held a respite in the forest.

"I'm going on ahead," Marcel told her. "You get to the Wall."

"I'm with you," she insisted. "We're stronger as a team. Don't be stupid."

"I am not being stupid," he growled. "There's clearly been a break-in, and as your commanding officer, it's my duty to protect you. I'm ordering you to stay back, get yourself to safety."

Annie considered her options. On the one hand, she could let Marcel go alone, banking on the fact that he would draw the Titans' attention and make a run for it. Dishonourable, but practical. On the other hand, it left them both alone, weak and vulnerable. But she knew that Marcel was a dignified, hard-headed idiot who wouldn't listen. That was his problem, not hers.

So she let him go.

She was one of the fortunate few who fled to the fields within Wall Rose, posing as one of the many rattled citizens. In some respects, this was not difficult. Alone, in the heart of the enemy's country, it was difficult not to be uneasy. And when she saw them she could not help but sigh in relief. She found Bertholdt first; an easy feat, he was a ludicrously tall boy. Reiner was there, too. He was beside himself, silent and shaken, looking for all intents and purposes like a large, lost child.

"Marcel's dead, Annie," Bertholdt said quietly. "I think everyone is. We were betrayed by one of our own." His expression wavered, crumbled. "I'm so sorry."

Annie didn't know what to say. Reiner began weeping quietly. Bertholdt turned away, patting him on the shoulder in the manner an older brother might apply to a frightened, younger sibling. It was almost comical.

From then on, they were a team. Together, they worked and lived and slept, always wondering about the Coordinate. Who had it? How would they transport it back?

For two years, they had no answers, and no one to turn to but each other. At the end of this period, the trio entered into the Military Academy.

A/N: So there we have it, the new and improved reboot/prologue! How'd you guys think it went?