Author's Note:

Not much to say this time around. Leave me feedback. I need ideas.

Rico Brzenska gazed at the contraption in front of her and raised an eyebrow. It was constructed out of the spare parts and wire salvaged from Maneuver Gears rendered unusable in the Battles of Trost. A dozen three-fold tackles each consisting of six pulley wheels and braided strands of steel wire were arranged in two rows of six sets; each one had about half a dozen soldiers pulling on the wires. The entire setup creaked and whined as the wires pulled taut and glided over the pulleys.

Ever since her old captain got suspended pending dereliction of duty charges, she had taken over the operations of the local garrison forces. Kitts Verman, though cowardly at times, was not one to leave everything to his subordinates; not even he would stoop down to the Military Police's level. Unfortunately, that also resulted in a lot of learning for the new captain and a tripling in her workload after the last battle.

Though she had been on the job before the breach was sealed, the formal promotion only came after those bloody engagements. The timing was part of the reason she chose not to wear her rank on her uniform. She was the best fighter in her unit, unlike her old captain. Now that she was the only one left, there was no question about that fact anymore. Leaving command of the stationary cannons to Gustav was the right choice at the time, but she came to regret the decision. If she had chosen differently, she would not have born witness to the final moments of so many comrades-in-arms and friends. Ian, for one, was a good man who saw the big picture and realized Eren's value. That was why he had to die, because it was either his life or Eren's.

It all boiled down to preserving that damned Titan Shifter…

She sighed lightly. He was ultimately correct though things could have gone more smoothly had that brat more control over his ability. She could not help but wonder whether the newcomers would have made a difference if they were there. Though they were not responsible for Kitts' behavior, they were the spark that lit the fuse. Now, with the help from the Recon Corps and the somewhat silent consent from Commander Pixis, they were beginning to make more significant impacts on the military.

Case in point, the object the contraption was hoisting up to the wall. The little girl named Ruby insisted that walking it up the stairs was not an option, so they had to improvise this system. The object itself was a cannon, there was no mistake about it; the profile of the barrel suggested as much, though the construction of the cannon was much more sophisticated than the ones they had. For one, the barrel was much longer—more than twice the length of what they had currently mounted on the walls. The base of the barrel was naturally thicker, but not by much; Rico could tell that the cannon was built with the highest quality of steel money could buy.

The mount for the cannon had already been transported up. It consisted of a large four-pronged base that rested behind her with two chairs of all things by the side of the mounting pillar and several winches connected to a system of complex screws. It had been rotated to the side and was then waiting for the cannon to rest on top of it. All of that was also made from metal instead of the wooden base they had for their current model guns; wood, she presumed, would not be able to handle the immense mass of the new barrel.

The question of how they were going to mount the large heavy barrel on top of the base remained. It used to be that the base and the barrel were mated together and transported up the walls, but this time the project was much more massive. She turned around to see carpenters putting together thick beams of lumber into a large frame over the Wall with iron tracks on the top of the frame. They were going to use that to move the cannon in position.

Rico was appointed to oversee the final assembly of this massive piece of artillery. Her unit was slated to take command of it if it worked to the Commander's satisfaction; from what she had heard, the red hooded girl promised him that it would, though the exact details of its specification remained a confidential matter not even she was able to glean. Cannons were almost useless five years ago against the incursion into Shiganshina. They made improvements in the meantime, but before the Battle of Trost, that Colossal Titan obliterated all the cannon mounts directly on top of the gate, again rendering them almost useless.

If the cannons were a bit more sturdy and damaging, perhaps there would not be as many Titans spilling through the breach that they had to kill. But would this new model really help? For all she knew, the Colossal Titan would have swept this thing away as easily as the other cannons.

"You seem to be in deep thoughts, Rico." A hoarse baritone came from behind her and she instinctively turned around and snapped at attention. The old Commander of the Garrison was standing behind her with Gustav at his side and flask in his hand. In other words, he was relaxed as usual.

"Sir! My apologies for not receiving you, sir!" She pounded her fist against her chest in a salute. Protocol was not to be forsaken in times of peace.

"At ease. I'm just here to observe the upcoming test," the Commander took a swig from his flask with a chuckle before offering it to her: "want some? This is good stuff aged 30 years in an oak barrel. I got it from one of the merchants who donated from his private reserves."

Rico raised an eyebrow in her mind as her entire body relaxed. Donation or "donation", she wondered? "No, sir. That is very kind of you to offer."

"Ah well. Nobody appreciates a fine sip of liquor these days. It makes me wonder, did the Titans kick our taste for life's finer pleasures down the gutter, too?" He mused, gently swilling the inside of his flask with the liquid. "So, what do you think of this little project of ours?"

"Sir?"

"I asked what you thought, Rico. I sank quite the fraction of our budget on this hunk of metal, you know, and I'd like to get another opinion on this investment," the Commander turned toward the contraption. They were just then bringing the wooden frame they built toward the contraption. Workers were still furiously putting together another set of twelve three-fold tackles on top of the frame, resting on rails that could make the entire assembly glide along the frame to its destination. Large sheets of tough canvas were sewn together and were just then being attached to the tackles.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?" Her voice was quiet enough that the commotion around the site almost drowned it out.

"Do you also need some liquor? Or would a Titan attack right about now bolster your courage? Both would work wonders, as far as I'm concerned." The Commander smiled at her. She only came up to his shoulder; she felt like she were talking to her father all over again, though the Commander was considerably nicer.

"No, sir, I would rather the Titans leave us alone just for today," she had to smile at that, but that was fleeting as more serious thoughts entered her head: "I was thinking if this would all be worth it. From what I've heard, this piece was built in two weeks and it took an entire blacksmith workshop to actually put it together. We're talking up to sixty people doing nothing but making these pieces. And we know cannon fire is generally useless against the Titans. Compounded with the fact that the Colossal Titan could destroy them easily…"

"And that makes this entire project here a little bit pointless?"

"No, sir, that's not—" She swallowed hard.

"You know, I wondered the same thing. Eventually they're going to get us all, so what's the point, right? A guy my age, especially, we start wondering what the point of struggling is if we're going to be six feet under in a couple of years anyway," the bald old man took a larger gulp from his flask, letting out a satisfied sigh as the liquid rushed into his gullet. "But then I see these children. At barely fifteen years of age, they took up swords and guns to defend their country and their people. I see those brave faces so full of promise, and those eyes so full of life, and I thought, 'I'm not going to wait for the Grim Reaper to come and grab me, and if he's going to take me, I'm going to take a few of these fuckers with me', you know?"

She listened. The Commander had this look in his eyes that she could not describe: "This was her idea. If I had children when I could, my daughter would be about her age. This isn't her fight; none of this should've been the job for kids like her or our recruits. Hell, this isn't even her world, but she jumped in all the same because she's tired of seeing people die in front of her. If she could do that, then wouldn't it be the jobs of us adults to give them the opportunity to dream?"

Rico was silent for a minute: "Sir, I think I understand."

"Do you, now," he let out a light sigh. The working crew was transferring the massive barrel assembly on top of the wooden frame they built. It creaked and groaned as the weight almost tore the canvas support, but fortunately it held. Slowly and steadily they lifted up the assembly and moved it toward the mount.

"I still have questions about the effectiveness of this new cannon model, though," she gave a light sigh.

"You and me, both." The Commander's mutter made Rico look up at him. He had aged five years in the last couple of weeks.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait!" A holler came from behind them to the right of the assembly. Rico half expected the red blur to stumble into a disastrous crash against the wooden frame, but she came to a stop a foot away from its side, carrying a crate that was almost larger than she was. She yelled at the people controlling the barrel's movements just as she put down the crate beside the base of the cannon: "Easy now! You don't want to damage the assembly! Slowly and gently!"

"Such an energetic little girl," the Commander chuckled after a third swig from his flask. "Kids these days don't know what it means to be tired."

Ruby leaped on top of the wooden frame and directed the final steps of the installation. In about half an hour, the barrel was finally securely fastened to the base after she sliced the canvas on the bottom apart and removed it. She leaped down from the base and patted her hand before walking toward the engineer who built the frame: "Use thick steel wires next time. I don't want to cut apart so many pieces of canvas."

"So, we're done, huh?" The Commander walked up to the little girl with a smile. Rico had never seen him smile like that before. "You've been busy for the past couple of weeks!"

"Sure have," Ruby answered rather casually with a bright smile, "And I've got this hunk of metal to show for it!"

It was a massive piece of artillery. The barrel had several companion cylinders mounted at the breech end of it, and the entire thing formed an assembly that was then installed on the base that had those hand cranks and winches. The breech was directly on the end of the barrel. The breechblock had screw threads on it; Rico assumed that the long arms on top of it outside was used to turn the block and fasten it securely like a screw. One seat had direct access to the hand cranks on its right side. The other seat had nothing in front of it or beside it, making her question what that seat was used for.

"Care to show us how it works?" The Commander asked casually. Somehow Rico knew that he was here for the explicit purpose of seeing a demonstration.

"Sure, just give me a second." Ruby dashed to the crate and opened it, revealing five brass cylindrical objects with tipped heads, a rather large binocular, and a set of smaller screws that had pointy tips on their caps. Carefully she took one large cylinder out and secured one screw on top of the cylinder's tip before removing the steel twist-tie around a small gap on the screw.

"This here is an 88x571mm rimmed shell made for this cannon. It has a high-explosive projectile with a spring-operated delayed impact fuse I just installed. It is now live ammunition, and if I'm not careful and somehow slap the tip it'll blow all of us up in a smoking crater," she gestured toward the object on the ground. Rico was a little surprised; the cannons they already had used shells that was almost twice as big at 150mm.

Ruby lifted the shell and carefully slid it into the cannon's breech. Then, she closed the breechblock with a resounding slam and screwed it tight. Taking out the binoculars from the crate, she eyed the horizon beyond Wall Rose and then handed them to the Commander: "I'm going to see if I can hit that abandoned tower over there on the horizon."

"This is a really good pair of binoculars," he took them and looked in the same direction as Ruby did: "Hmm. That is quite some distance away. You sure you can land the shot?"

"Well, it's about seven to eight kilometers by my estimates. I'm pretty sure I can land the shot. If the optics I ordered could come through, soon your soldiers can too."

Seven kilometers! Rico had to hold her breath as the Commander passed around the binoculars for them to see the target. Currently the maximum effective range for their cannons was about two kilometers. There had never been registered Titan kills that far away; in fact, there had never been a single registered Titan kill at ranges farther than one kilometer. The majority of kills scored by cannons happened within five hundred meters. The farthest shot was around nine hundred meters and that was when a gunner got really lucky against a pack of those monsters.

The Commander arched his almost nonexistent eyebrows. Rico was certain that Ruby was simply bluffing. Ruby, instead, just had a confident smirk on her face. She sat on the chair on the right hand side and clamped the binoculars to the side of the barrel assembly. In the next couple of minutes, Rico saw Ruby scurry back and forth from left to right adjusting the cannon with the hand cranks and sighting down the pair of binoculars. The massive piece of metal moved surprisingly easily as the mechanisms in the base of the cannon turned and pitched the cannon just the way Ruby wanted.

When she finally stopped, the canon was pitched upwards a little. It stayed like that as Ruby leaped off of the left chair with sweat flowing down her forehead.

"You might want to shield your ears for this next part. This thing can get kind of loud," she said with a grin before returning to the right side seat. Rico only then noticed a small protrusion pointing downwards on the side of the gun assembly that looked like two metal sticks. "And don't stand directly behind the gun."

She did as Ruby said and plugged her ears with her fingers. The Commander did the same. The word "fire" Ruby yelled was but a muffled squeak compared to the thunderous blast the gun generated. The muzzle flare from the shot was almost brighter than the sun for a brief moment. Through squinted eyes, Rico saw the barrel of the cannon move back for about half a meter before it moved forward again to its original position. At this point in time she had no doubt that the gun was much more powerful than its caliber suggested: the entire earth shook around them and she could swear she heard the Wall shudder and crack.

Ten seconds later, her ears stopped ringing. And at almost the same time, she heard a crack from beyond the horizon: the shell had landed. By then, Ruby had already detached and passed the binoculars to the Commander. As he peered through it, Rico could see his jaw slacken ever so slightly: "Commander?"

Without a single word, he passed them to Gustav, who proceeded to utter their shared thoughts after he saw what the Commander saw:

"Holy shit. It's gone."

Rico almost snatched the binoculars from Gustav's hands when he passed them to her. She remembered the bell tower being on the target's right, and that the target sat in the middle of a group of decayed buildings in an abandoned town. Sure enough she found it, and the damage was clear as day. The tower had crumbled and disappeared from sight; in its place, only a pillar of smoke and dust remained.

How could a shell that size be so powerful?

"The shell probably blew a hole through a wall or something and it collapsed the tower," Ruby remarked. Rico could hear the excitement straining to break out from her voice. "With a delayed impact fuse like that and a bit more explosive power once we start mixing Dust with the explosives we can probably blow the Titans to pieces with one shot anywhere but shell supply and the availability of materials will be problematic—"

"Let me worry about those," the Commander looked at the small girl. Then, he stopped her by lifting his hand and gently patting her on the head. She squirmed a little and lowered her head, her face lighting up like the evening cloud.

"Good job," he said with a genuine smile. Ruby's face grew redder as his hand rubbed her hair. Then, he turned around toward Gustav: "Go tell Anka this: I want at least five more of these delivered by the end of the month with at least ten shells for each gun. I don't care how much it costs; make it happen."

"Sir, yes sir!"

As Gustav sprinted off, the Commander turned toward Rico: "Rico, your team is now officially the first group of gunners with this new gun. Get your people familiarized with the weapon and make sure you can hit a Titan-sized target within three kilometers by the end of the month. This is your only priority. I'll pull people from other teams to—"

"Commander, sir!" A young man vaulted over the Wall with his Gear still hissing. He dashed in front of the Commander and saluted, his chest heaving up and down.

"Take a breath, boy. What's going on?"

"Sir! I carry news from the Trost Garrison! The subjects that the Recon Corps captured during the cleanup operation were destroyed!"

The Commander grunted an acknowledgement. Taking out his flask, he took a long draw from it: "Well, then. Let Erwin know that I know. Rico, you have your orders. Let's get this over with."

"Ugh, I'm spent," Jean almost slammed his tray of food down on the long table at which his team sat. The content of the tray was rather luxurious: bread, baked beans with vegetable gravy and tomato sauce, both boiled and pickled vegetables, a serving of scrambled eggs, and a large glass of milk. He flexed his shoulders and stretched, wincing all the while.

The new members of the Recon Corps had just returned from the forest in the training camp after another protracted practice with Yang and Blake. It was a week after Eren's release and about four days after Mikasa found her Semblance. Progress had been slow and steady, though none of the recruits showed signs that they were close to finding theirs.

"Yeah, you and me both. She bonked me good in the head." Conny sat across the table from him, slowly putting a spoonful of beans into his mouth. Jean did not need him to describe what happened; the lump on the left side of his rather round skull told him everything he needed to know.

"Wasn't it like the third time you fought with her in just as many days? And you still couldn't win?" Jean chuckled dryly at his comrade. "What's up with you and begging for punishment?"

"It's not that…" Conny scratched his head, burying his face into his plate in the process. "It's just, you know…"

"She's hot and you have a crush on him?" The brown-skinned Ymir teased, a wide smirk on her freckled face.

"No! It ain't that! Would you let me finish my sentence first?" Conny almost spat out his mouthful of beans.

"Stop lying to us! I bet the reason you lost was because you were staring at those bouncing knockers!"

"You know, Conny, the loudmouth over there has a point." Jean thought Mikasa was attractive, because it was as if all the fat on her body were somehow moved to the places that made her look like a woman. That head of flowing black hair only added to her appeal, until she betrayed him by cutting it short. Yang, on the other hand, cared not for the practical problems that would come with long hair, and she was even better endowed than Mikasa was. Looking at her fight with her fists was not just awe-inspiring, it was also a feast for him and—of this he was certain—for every lucky male in the Recon Corps.

"It probably also has something to do with the time when her 'assets' crashed into his face…" Sasha joined the fun, even while she was stuffing her face with her lunch.

"Q-Q-Quiet, you!" Conny glared at her.

"How bold! I didn't know a numbskull like you could be so brave that you'd brazenly shove your face into those soft fleshy mounds!"

"Uh, guys…? I don't really think it's appropriate to…" Krista Lenz objected, though her voice was meek enough that Jean almost missed it.

"Shut up! I didn't do that!"

Jean had the faintest of a smile as he watched Ymir and Conny bicker. The entire table was smiling and laughing then as Conny tried clumsily to defend himself from Ymir's eviscerating verbal harpoons only to dig himself a deeper hole. The little angel Krista was trying to defuse the situation, though she was generally being ignored and gradually Ymir started using her as a tool to showcase her points.

It was terrifying how quickly they recovered from the slaughter they witnessed two weeks ago. The thought sent shivers around his body even as the food warmed his stomach. Moments like these were blessings to him. He would never have thought that they would be sitting around a sturdy wooden table, having all the food they wanted and teasing up a storm.

"Hey, Armin, you know where Reiner and Bertolt are?" Jean turned to the blond boy sitting to his right opposite to Sasha. The seats to Jean's left were usually where the two sat during lunch. They rarely missed time for food during their days at the training camp, but they had been missing for three days in a row right after Mikasa found her Semblance.

What were they doing?

"Oh, uh, they came by earlier to grab some food," Armin finished chewing his own beans and swallowed before speaking up, "I think they're by the pit beside the pond with Yang and Blake."

"That huge pit, huh." Ever since Eren joined the Corps, he had been separated from his fellow recruits. It was the Commander's decision and nobody questioned it; they all knew how strategically important he was to the entire effort. Yang and Blake would occasionally update the recruits on what he was doing without spilling the most important details, and Armin would glean a couple more scraps of what was unsaid from that.

The Corps found this large pit that used to be a mine right beside a little pond. It was large and deep enough for a 15-meter Titan to flex his muscles without necessarily being seen by the general populace. That avoided the panic situation where some schmuck would see Eren roaming the countryside and decide to call in the Garrison to kill him, but it also limited the possible places where he could transform safely.

Mikasa had been training without the Maneuver Gear against the dummies they used during their recruit days to get comfortable with her Semblance, but oddly enough she also requested to have Eren participate in her training. Given how she was, Jean was rather skeptical that she could swing her swords against Eren, but who was he to question her decisions?

"I see how motivated they are," he said with a long sigh. His plate had been scraped clean; all that remained for his lunch was half a glass of milk, which he downed in one continuous chug: "but what are they even hoping to get by just sticking around her training? It's not like they're going to join in."

"I don't know," Armin sighed lightly, dropping his fork back onto the half-full plate of beans. "I… I think they're trying their best to get ready for the expedition that's coming up. We only have fifteen more days to prepare."

"You worried that we might not be prepped enough for it?" The bickering on the other side of the table continued, but Jean's ears had already filtered out all of that.

"N-No, it's not that… but… every expedition the Corps took had over 30% casualty rate, I…"

"…we're going to live through this, Armin," Jean grabbed his shoulder. "Listen. We got through Trost. You went through Shiganshina. You'll be all right."

"No, it's not myself that I'm concerned about! It's… it's…" Armin took a deep breath. "No, it's nothing. Don't worry about it."

"You sure? You look a little pale."

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Jean was not buying it. It was uncharacteristic of Armin to actually swallow the words he was about to say. He had a general idea of what the blond man was thinking, and if that was the case, it was best not to say anything for now: "All right. Maybe you should finish your food. We need to get a move on to the afternoon lessons. Today's is the practice on the long-range recon formation, right?"

"I don't really have an appetite. It's just riding horses and responding to signals, anyway, so I should be fine," Armin smiled at Jean and picked up his tray of plates, "Thanks."

"No problem—" A sharp burst of whistle interrupted Jean. Everyone in the mess hall stood up and snapped at attention; it was a way for superior officers to quickly quiet the place so that announcements could be made or orders could be issued. At the front of the hall stood proudly the source of the whistle—a uniformed man bearing the crest of the Garrison. Accompanying him was two other burly men also with the same crest. None of them had a single shred of smile on their faces.

What are men from the Garrison doing at the Recon Corps' headquarters?

Jean could not find the answer to that question before the man started to speak: "Attention, soldiers! You are to gather outside in the courtyard immediately. We are conducting a felony investigation related to unlawful disposal of valuable military assets. Have your Maneuver Gear ready for inspection."

"Maneuver Gear? What's going on?" Conny whispered.

"I don't know, but I have a feeling they're going to give us more details when we get there." Well, that was always reassuring, when not even Armin knew what was going on; Jean smiled bitterly inside.

"Seriously, how did they find a place with such scenery and thought 'yeah, let's dig a giant pit here'?" Yang grumbled. She sat on the lip of the pit, not far from the ramp that spiraled along its inner surface to the bottom. The mine was abandoned somewhat recently; vegetation had not completely overgrown its barren surfaces, nor had water gathered enough to fill it up into a pond.

Blake had no particular complaint about the location of the mine. It was dug here for a reason, though probably not for the one Yang suggested. It was a good tactical hideout for Eren's Titan form, because the pit was easily twenty meters deep. The Recon Corps chose the site carefully and secured it with some of its own members instead of getting help from the Garrison; they did not want what they were doing here leaking out to the other branches, because it was rather unorthodox.

Blake was surprised when Mikasa approached her. It was the day after she initially found her Semblance. Blake was handling her morning training while Yang dealt with the rest of the group. After that session, she insisted that she practice with a real Titan to familiarize herself with her newfound mobility. Initially the boy displayed some objection to the idea, saying that it would be dangerous if he lost control again, but she was a force of nature that never relented until she got her target.

So, at the moment, she was zipping in circles around Eren's hands and head as he somewhat half-heartedly tried to swat her out of the sky. It was not proving to be easy for him. Her progress to master her Semblance surprised Blake. In a mere three days, she could maneuver as easily around Eren as she would be if she were using her Gear, and surprisingly she could sustain her flight for quite a bit of time: she had been in the air continuously for at least fifteen minutes and showed no sign of stopping.

If only the other recruits could find their Semblance faster! Uncovering their abilities was not just for them to have one more tool in their toolbox in case they would run into trouble. Having knowledge of Semblance open up other avenues of attack with options that would defy conventional thinking. For example, Mikasa could then be used as a forward scouting element or a messenger between wings of the formation to relay orders that the smoke flares could not describe accurately.

She had been sitting in the afternoon classes with the recruits. After all, Team RWBY would be elements of the same formation, so they had to understand how it worked to avoid becoming isolated or disrupting the formation itself. She had to admit, the method the Commander devised was rather ingenious. Without radio communication, passing information back and forth between people was difficult especially when they had to keep moving to avoid being devoured. The only reliable method was to use smoke flares of different colors to convey different, simple messages such as "Titan spotted", "Titan engaged", "unit lost" and so on.

Perhaps instead of weapons technology Ruby could look into fabricating components for the first vacuum tube radio. Then again, that girl never had any interest in things that would not slice, smash, or shoot. Blake laid back onto the grass and stared at the sky, her legs still dangling over the edge of the pit's lip. Eren's footsteps made the earth rumble as if she was lying in a giant massage bed.

She was tired. She knew that this morning. She knew that last morning, too, but it was not until she gazed into the azure sky and enjoyed the soft rumble on the grass that the extent of her exhaustion hit her. Preparing lessons, examining training plans, tailoring instruction approaches; those all took energy from her. It was unfortunate that she had little to show for all her efforts. She thought she was prepared for the fruitlessness of her labor, but at that moment she just wanted to close her eyes and toss all of that out the window.

"Blake?" A rather large shadow loomed over her. She had to open her eyes and let out a long sigh. Reiner was standing over her and blocking her access to the sun.

"What are you doing here again?" She rose with a grunt before lifting her legs and spinning them back up. Her head stood at the giant man's shoulder, and he was almost twice as wide as she was.

"I brought food," he said with a smile, handing her a woven basket covered in soft linen. "Thought you'd appreciate it."

The smell of freshly-grilled fish entered her nostrils as she lifted the cloth. The treat was neither longer nor wider than her forearm, but it was grilled to absolute perfection: "Where'd you find this?"

"I speared it from the pond there," he gave her the largest of grins she had ever seen, "thought you'd like some better food than just baked beans and cream of potatoes soup."

"Oh, thanks a lot." The scent was making her salivate. She did not remember the last time she ever had meat protein. "Don't you want some?"

"Nah, I'm fine with beans and bread," the burly man answered, putting the basket on the ground and sitting down. "There's some bread and a bottle of milk in there, too."

Quietly she sat down. The fish tasted as good as it looked; she devoured it rather quickly and efficiently, picking out bones with surprising ease and tossing them into the grass.

"So, you like fish?" He was munching on a piece of bread and a small bowl of baked beans in tomato sauce.

"Yeah," she pulled a couple more bones from the fish before picking up a small piece of the meat and tossing it into her mouth: "I used to have quite a bit of canned tuna whenever I could get my hands on them."

"Is that a kind of fish where you came from?"

"Yeah. They catch them in the ocean. The good ones get sold fresh. The bad ones gets processed and put into metal cans."

"You've never had grilled fish before?"

"Not really, not before I went to school. I had no way of catching them, and open fires are forbidden where I lived." There were more than a few instances of entire blocks of the slums burning down because some idiot tossed a cigarette butt somewhere unfortunate. Maybe if they had better construction materials or if the fire department responded more quickly, fewer people would have lost their lives.

"Well, did you like the fish?"

Blake nodded and savored the little piece she had in her mouth better. The flesh was soft and firm at the same time; she did not know how to describe the texture, but she did know that the fish itself had juice. The canned stuff was either dry and crumbly or so smothered in tomato sauce that she could not taste the fish itself.

"That's great! Given what you're trying to do for us, it's only natural we'd return the favor."

"I just hope you all could find your Semblance and practice with it before we need to set off beyond the Wall."

"Mikasa's already found hers."

"Yeah, but she's one person. One person in a week. We barely have two weeks left before we need to leave."

"I'm sure more of us will find it in the next couple of weeks. These things take time. Besides, it's not just Semblance you're teaching us. This Aura stuff is rather useful."

"Yeah, but it could only take you so far. I'm just…"

"Don't worry about it," Reiner smiled reassuringly. "I know you're doing everything you could."

"It's not enough."

"It'll have to do," he stood up, having already finished his meal. In front of them, a waft of steam rose out of the pit.

"Looks like that'll have to do for today's practice, too," Yang stood up and walked to the pair. "It's about that time. Mikasa's been flying almost nonstop all the while; I think that broke her longest flight time record."

"Again? What the hell is that girl made of?" Reiner scratched his head. Blake had to smile a little; despite the lack of results from the other recruits, Mikasa certainly had the talent to even be the top warrior at Beacon if she were educated there.

"Yup. She lasted as long as Eren stayed transformed; I'd say for more than half an hour this time. The poor man must have had a tough time keeping up with her when she keeps buzzing around him like a fly."

"If she could use her Semblance like that, killing Titans won't be a problem for her as long as she has enough blades for her sword."

"Yeah…"

"See, it's not all hopeless," Reiner smiled at Blake and cracked his knuckles. "I should work hard, too! Who knows, maybe I'll get my Semblance today!"

"You haven't had enough this morning, huh?" Yang smirked at him and balled her own hands into fists. "Come on, boy! Show me what you've got—"

"Blake! Yang!" That was a familiar voice with the galloping of a horse. It belonged to Ruby, who hurriedly reared in the horse as it stopped in front of them and hopped off: "You've got to come with me right now! It's an emergency!"

"Whoa there, sis! Slow down!" Yang dropped her fists and instead held Ruby's shoulder and shook her a little. "What's going on? Aren't you supposed to be showing off that cannon?"

"Somebody killed Sonny and Bean! Now I don't have a target to test the actual effect of my shells! And we're being asked to come in to give statements!"

"What!? Of all the people they could target, how could they suspect us!?"

"They're just trying to be thorough! Please! We don't have much time! I've got horses for you! Come with me!"

This day just got a lot more complicated, Blake sighed.

He despised dark places. They had too many unknowns for his comfort. They also tended to be damp and cold, covered with mold and mildew, and bred unsavory vermin. Unfortunately, he had grown to know one such place fairly well during the past few days. His prisoner's uniform—flaxen rags patched over and over—was perpetually wet; he could not tell whether it was his own sweat or simply atmospheric moisture. The stone bricks on the floor were slick with water and moss, having been credited with some painful slips. He was certain that the pile of hay they put in the cell had not been changed in weeks, for it reeked of decay and was soft and squishy to the touch. Of course, he elected to sleep on the cold floor for the time being. In addition, the entire cell smelled of detritus and waste; he had not been given a chance to leave since he was thrown in here, after all.

Hell was not an incredible hot place with fire and brimstone and demons after all; it was a cold damp cell of loneliness with no light and no end in sight. The iron bars in front of him was the only thing that stopped him from leaving this accursed place. That, and the armed guards standing at the exit of the dungeon. They were armed with pistols, he knew; against humans, those were rather effective at leaving a gaping hole through his chest. However miserable, he intended to stay alive for now.

It was all a huge mistake, he thought. He served the Garrison valiantly for years, but the Commander forgot all of that in the blink of an eye and instead chose to trust those gaudily-dressed children over his words. Venomous children! They were nothing but that: treacherous brats with flashy weapons and asp's tongues. They had bitten him, and instead of letting him die quickly they sent him to suffer here alone and forgotten in the dungeon.

He clenched his teeth. They chittered together as a wave of cold underground chill struck him. The fire outside his cell was so very weak; light barely reached a foot behind the bars before being consumed by overwhelming darkness. He tucked himself in further, leaning against the grid and shivering all the time. His stomach growled; breakfast was a simple piece of bread and some stale water, and lunch was an eternity away. Even then, it would be nothing more than a small bowl of thin soup and another equally small piece of bread.

He was tried through military tribunal and found guilty of dereliction of duty rather quickly. While he was free, he questioned the usefulness of prisons. Given that the entire human population was on the decline, he thought it would be more productive to put people who committed a crime to labor work; for example, working the mines or some such. At the moment, however, he had no mood for working. Why work for a regime that would not even treat its citizen fairly? Why would he sell his life and labor for a government that supports those brats?

A rather sharp noise echoed down the hallway and bounced from the walls of the empty cells. It was deafening to him, but moments later he realized he had heard the sound before. It was the torturous scraping of the metal door against the ground and the painful creaking of its ungreased hinges, having become distorted beyond all recognition in this place for the damned. It would ring when the guard brought food; it would ring when the guard left. By his count, it was not time yet for lunch, though if it were he would welcome it.

It could be those coming to sentence him. His dread crept up behind him like the shadow of the Grim Reaper; he could practically feel its bony hands caressing his sullen cheeks. Dereliction of duty was a serious offense next to high treason and insubordination. Given the circumstances, it was not unlikely that the tribunal would decide that instead of wasting valuable food and resources they would execute him and be done with it.

He had a wife and children. He could not be disposed of so!

The storm of footsteps that blasted into his eardrums only added to his despair. It had only been a couple of days. He could not die like this!

The footstep stopped in front of his cell, the bright light from their hand-held lanterns penetrating into his little world. He had to avert his head; the light itself hurt his eyes and made his skin crawl.

"Kitts Verman?" One of the man asked. He had to shield his eyes from the light as it adjusted.

"Are you Kitts Verman?" He asked again. His voice was low and abrasive, like cobblestones grating against glass.

He had no choice. He had to nod: "Who are you?"

"That is not important. What is important is that the Military Tribunal found you guilty of dereliction of duty and has sentenced you to be hung, drawn and quartered before putting your entrails on public display."

His heart sank. The sentence was one of the harshest a criminal could have, usually reserved for traitors and the most depraved of criminals. Only burning at the stakes was worse, and if his memory served him at this time, these two punishments had not been handed down for years. They wanted to make an example out of him, to send a message: desertion was not to be tolerated at a time of war.

"Please! I… I did what I thought was right! I didn't run away! You have to believe me!"

"This begging and pleading, it's embarrassing; I'm embarrassed for you," the man's contempt was dripping from his words. The door to his cell opened with a painful creak, and he stepped into the cell. Outside, a pair of men and a pair of soldiers stood, each holding a lantern.

"But… but… I have a wife and two kids! You can't do this to me!"

"Oh, but we can, for we are the instrument of His Majesty's will," the man said. Kitts could see his predatory grin set against the shadow his wide-brimmed hat cast on his face, his eyes glowing with fire and his fangs sharp enough to pierce his skin and draw blood.

"Graciously, His Royal Majesty had offered you a choice." Kitt's head perked up as the man uttered these words: "Either you can take the sentence and act as a grim reminder to the soldiers of their proper conduct, or you could carry out a task that would exonerate your name. Should you succeed, you would have your life and your job back, and your family would similarly be spared a life of destitute poverty."

His eyes lit up.

"So, what say you, Captain? Are you prepared to put your life on the line for His Majesty?"