A/N: Is anyone still here with me? I'm sorry for that jfsjgn. Here's a rather long chapter, but hey, you get plenty of really fun things going on in this one.

Warnings: Mild transphobia, torture, explicit language, excessive violence/mutilation/gore, suicide

X

"Ever since childhood, when I found out that the ultimate fate for all humans was death, sheer terror and morbid curiosity had been fighting for supremacy in my mind." - Caitlin Doughty

Slow, shallow gulps for breath echoed, like whispers in his ear, amplified in the empty void that was the darkness that surrounded them. Along with that, in just the other room, the consistent tapping of a keyboard rolled through the night, never ceasing, only rarely pausing in contemplation. Petra would glance up occasionally, peering but not truly seeing, while the mixture of both letters and numbers piled upon one another, advancing and inching closer towards the end of the screen, then reset itself to create the wall of coding that, in anyone else's eyes, would be dauntingly cumbersome. Her concentration never truly broke, not even as Hange rattled off something under their breath, something that she couldn't care too much about to truly focus on.

That was until a pair of hands descended upon her shoulders, to which she responded with a delicate hum, "Yes, Hange?"

"Nothing." Their fingers dug into the fabric of her shirt, gingerly at first, only to unclench and then return again in a methodic rhythm that soothed the tense muscles beneath them. "Just thinking, y'know?"

"Right."

Petra immediately tensed and retracted from the finish line that was tranquility once a strangled, barely concealed cry of anguish had reverberated from the doorway. She breathed in once, twice, and allowed her eyes to slide blissfully shut as she regained some sort of composure. Hange left her then, after they had come to the disappointing, almost lugubrious cognizance that, regardless of what they may do, Petra could never truly be consoled in this situation. The redhead never handled these situations well, which was reflected in her tendency to stay behind in the car or a room much further down the building, where she could cradle herself in the safety of her own stable, healthy mind.

She's susceptible to betrayal, Hange mused dimly under a disinterested stare - but that, of course, was a fatuous speculation, and hypocritical to an absurd degree. But one's breaking point can never be determined. That was what made these experiences, these late nights, these unfathomably mind-numbing actions to be viewed as a game, of sorts. They neared the displaced dining table and overturned chairs, where struggle is evident and, in turn, called for extra time to clean and be done with. The tremulous breathing was louder now, along with the heavier atmosphere, now thick with copper and laborious breaths. One gloved hand moved to set the hammer aside, revealing the pale, shaking hand that was held captive by the ropes that bound her wrist to the arm of the chair.

Something stirred in Hange at the sight of the small, black circle that created an indent in the skin, where it held down the finger, now broken and nailed to the back of the woman's hand. Occasionally, something like sympathy pains would wear them down, mere ghosts of pain that resonated from the point of where the victim had been tainted, but they had long since learned how to retain their control of the situation. There was never room for things as petty as sympathy in this line of work, they've learned at some point, and that thin needle retracted and disappeared. There should be nothing revolting about the unnatural angle of which her finger had been bent backwards into, nor how it was held in place, nor how the rest of her fingers bent and twisted at the knuckles.

"Bitch," the woman hissed once she made eye contact with Hange. They vaguely recognized her as Hitch, a woman they had met long ago under slightly better circumstances. "I knew it. I fucking knew -"

"Somehow, she's managed to stay a mouthy little cunt," Levi offered. Hitch spluttered ludicrously at this, but he cut her protest short as he dug his thumb against the nail in her finger. Blood welled and dribbled down onto the back of her hand as she let out a low whine, though nothing could elicit more than that, boringly enough. "I don't know how she does it."

Hange's brow furrowed. "And you've gotten nothing useful?"

"Depends on what you find useful." Silver eyes lingered over the line of nails that had been aligned perfectly just a few inches away. They narrowed and were cast downwards as he added, "Apparently there's more of them; God knows how many."

The thin silver lining that was hope was within Hange's grasp, to which they immediately groped for and found solace. A grin parted their lips, unbeknownst to them, now that the fact that they had more than one chance to continue their independent research was evident. Given, it was mildly frightening, even if they hadn't experienced the Titans in a way Erwin or Armin had, which nearly invalidated that fear altogether. Regardless, they still neared Hitch, mildly contemplating, not really paying too much mind to Levi's voice not too far from them. They had other concerns to address, ones that did not truly include Levi.

"How are you related to the Project?"

Levi stepped away with a shrug, now relieved of his part of the work, and left the hammer for Hange to retrieve whenever they so wished to. The question was simple, surprisingly enough, and Hitch merely stared as if in shock. She seemed to be weighing her options, and - seeing no real threat in answering - replied with a spiteful snap, "Why do you even care? All I did was show up to the meetings."

"So you must know how the Titans function, right?" An impulsive surge of giddy excitement pushed them to suddenly reach forward and grip Hitch's shoulders. She flinched, perplexed by the sudden change in demeanor. "Those meetings - what did they address, exactly? Bodily functions? A lifespan? The extent of their intelligence? Humanity?"

"Like hell I'll -" Hitch's protest was interrupted with a sharp keen as Hange immediately reached out to apply pressure to a broken finger. The ropes around her wrist continued to rub the skin raw as she fought against them, trying to somehow retract from the hand that bent her already broken ring finger back, similar to her pinky, which had already been nailed to the back of her hand. "Fuck - fuck - I don't know. I don't -"

"Surely you do," Hange pressed, applying more pressure to the finger until they felt the fragmented bone grind and shift.

"I don't know!" Hitch squealed, tears brimming in her eyes as she spat, "I don't! I don't! You know more than I do!"

"Do I really?" The question left their lips as an absentminded hum. They removed their hand from the oddly bent appendage, allowing it to fall back against the tabletop in another sickeningly awkward angle. "Do you have any idea, then, what would happen if I were to extract blood from a test subject?"

Hitch's speech trembled terribly under her quickened breaths, "It wouldn't work, obviously." Hange reached again, and she flinched, the action further drawing blood from the thin river that had already submerged the head of the nail. Under the fear of more pain, she swiftly added, "Their blood evaporates, you fucking lunatic! Jesus! Why the hell would you even want to take blood samples?!"

Hange didn't bother answering the question, regardless of the inquisitive glance Levi spared their way. Instead, they pulled back a bit, shoulders stiffened at the confrontation, and reached for the hammer at last. They inquired with pleasant sort of politeness in their tone; "Where can I find these test subjects, then?"

Teeth worried at her lower lip as her eyes cast a wary glance towards the weapon Hange brandished. She didn't answer for some time, her mouth opening and closing with naught but soft, unsure sounds escaping her. Hange's bright demeanor steadily deteriorated the longer Hitch hesitated, the evident frustration only spiking with Hitch settled uncomfortably with, "I don't know exactly where -"

"I'm getting impatient, Hitch."

"I said I don't -"

A cry escaped her as Hange wasted no time in snatching one of the nails off the tabletop, bending her ring finger back in place, and pressing the tip of the rusted adversary against her skin. Her finger was kept there, captive under the threat of the skin breaking beneath the sharpened tip, while she held her breath and squeezed her eyes shut. Hange applied more pressure, steadily increasing the strength they used as the flesh grew an angry red.

"Are you sure you don't know?"

Hitch vigorously shook her head, repeatedly admitting with short, desperate gasps, "I don't know! I don't know! I don't -!"

Hange lost interest in the continuous whining; the hammer slammed down against Hitch's finger, allowing for the nail to finally rip through flesh and bone in one brutal motion. Even as Hitch's voice had ceased and fallen into a low, tremulous groan, and promised nothing but that, they still felt the intense, almost instinctive urge to pry deeper. It was punishment, almost, elicited from a thirst that could never be quenched. It caused them to yearn for more, to discard the hammer and grind their thumb into the new wound, almost painfully against the frigid steel, their skin quickly becoming warm and slick between hers.

When they pulled away their bloodied hand and inspected the mess that had been made, they mused, "Three more and I'll have to work on the other hand, won't I?"

"I told you, I don't know!" Hitch growled breathlessly. A familiarity that had somehow thrived between them left no room for respect, instead replacing it with a courage that a mere stranger would not hold. She didn't dare break eye contact with Hange, even as she spat, "Do you just not want to believe that I seriously don't know where the hell those things are residing in? What the hell's wrong with you?!"

They clenched their jaw, their hand twitching in the immediate urge to reach for the hammer and slam it against her temple. That, of course, was not an option, despite it being a favorable one, and they acknowledged this. It did not calm the urge, nor put the considerably vexation to rest, but it was imperceptible for the time being. There was no room for irrational actions, nor was there time for rough play.

Somewhere behind them, Levi murmured amusedly, "Careful, now; keep being a hateful bitch and Hange won't be so gentle with you."

"Are you kidding me?" Hitch's eyes, whited with the ludicrousy of pain and the seemingly unfathomable idea of Hange being gentle, trained on Levi with a mixture of disbelief and revulsion. "You got all the important information that they gave me, and you have the audacity to bring her in and -"

With an unfathomably frigid deadpan, Hange promptly corrected, "Them."

This silenced Hitch for a moment, much to both their surprise and satisfaction. A lethal sense of calm had reached them, one that left them in an odd limbo between homicidal and neutral, between leaving Levi to his task or taking it into their own hands, and the only thing they could do was listen. Their instinctive urge to pounce started to settle and die out when footsteps were heard behind them.

Levi and Hange both glanced back to Petra, who announced brightly, "Done!"

Thus concluded their evening, Hange supposed, where they would all split and attend to the duties that followed such events; cleaning, removing the evidence, and pacifying the victim until given further instructions. That was until Hitch snarled, "You want me to respect you?" She snorted at an apparently hilarious thought. "I don't give a damn what you have to say - you're a fucking woman, you -"

Whatever insult that may have followed was cut short as a hand abruptly wrapped around her throat. That hand tightened its grip and, in one brutal movement, slammed her backwards onto the ground, the sound of the chair toppling along with her creating a deafeningly loud noise in such a quiet, enclosed space. She gagged at the merciless compression around her throat, eyes dangerously protuberant, gaping for breath as Hange curled atop of her, a knee shoved into her abdomen. The nails that Levi had placed in an orderly line rolled off onto the ground, and at the sharp ringing of the metal hitting the ground, Hange reached out with their free hand.

"Impulse control, Hange," Levi drawled.

Once Hitch had regained some sort of composure, she processed the tip of the nail that was poised just a few millimeters over her eye. The close proximity caused her to whimper, to try and turn her head to ease the paranoia that if, and only if, that tip was close enough, something as small as a blink could bring unfathomable pain. The hand around her throat tightened, almost impossibly so, drawing another tremor of a strangled gag. This fed the snake that spread its venom throughout their body, the hunger that filled them with the intense urge to dig their fingers in deeper, to pour more of their weight onto her already bruising abdomen, and to draw much, much more than a measly groan.

"I don't need it!" Hange hummed brightly, their large, sickeningly saccharine smile filling Hitch with a fear that cursed her with paralysis. Levi, now with the lack of interest and the reminder that Petra was, unfortunately, too gentle of a soul for such a scene, turned on his heel and guided her out the door. This left Hange free to question Hitch with a silvery breath, "How long do you think it'd take to remove the cornea without the proper medical equipment?"

Shortly thereafter, a scream resonated from the depths of the homely residence, one that heightened to a pitch that dared to combat the metallic screeching of a siren.

Innocence was a debatable concept, Levi realized, at some point during their ride to the undercover agency. There were numerous situations in which a messenger, a secretary, a damned delivery boy would be tortured, interrogated, even killed in the name of secrecy. Secrecy in itself was, infuriatingly enough, another debatable concept; what, exactly, would a messenger, who has done nothing but merely send a letter from point A to point B, hold of value to the Titans that the Scouts weren't aware of? The prospect of a wasted life, an innocent life, was unfathomably infuriating, though he kept the vexation in check, an emotion imperceptible to anyone near him.

That was until Eren asked quietly, "Is something bothering you?"

Upon the change in focus, his hands relaxed and his eyes refocused, his periodically tightening and loosening fingers resting limp against the steering wheel. He glanced over to the quick, nearly desperate bobbing of Eren's prosthetic leg and the seemingly petulant demeanor. "You're being annoying," Levi stated, grasping for the only believable excuse. "Stop that. The hell are you so impatient for?"

"I'm not impatient." The tapping of his foot ceased, but the fidgeting continued, until he finally said, "I'm just bored."

Levi rolled his eyes. "That's a bullshit excuse and you know it."

Eren wrung his hands together, playing with his thumbs. He occasionally cracked a knuckle or two as he said, "I'm nervous." The fidgeting died for a second or so as he contemplated the word, rolled it in his mouth. "Nervous. Skittish?" He snickered. "Skittish. Ha. Anxious, maybe -?"

"I understand what 'nervous' means, thank you."

The audible snap quieted Eren. The movement in the corner of his eye continued to bother him; not so much that it was an annoying action, or a distraction, but the prospect of Eren being nervous - or the mere inability to sit still - was distressing, to some extent. Levi reached his right hand out next to him, fingers slipping over Eren's knuckles and weaving their fingers together. The brunet stilled for a moment, seemingly hesitant, before he firmly squeezed Levi's hand.

"You said this was, what, an interview?" Levi shook his head, and after a small, scrutinizing silence, Eren asked, "Then what, exactly, would I be doing?"

The question, surprisingly enough, was quite difficult for Levi to answer in a veracious manner. It was safety that concerned him the most, safety that the Scouts promised but never fucking delivered, and that fact was what kept him rooted to the intersection that was the representation of his two decisions. Everyone suspects a member of the information management system to have, of course, information, but that was never truly the case. There were many times where secretaries or even desk clerks were suspected of holding information that would elicit a grand revelation in the eyes of the enemy, and although it did not happen quite as often, it was still a possibility.

But, as Nanaba had reminded him, he had already sucked Eren into a world that he was not meant to be in. It was too late to reconsider, too late to take back what he had done, said, and established. And it was Nanaba who had proposed the idea that, if he would not let Eren be directly involved with the missions and methods of income, he could at least give the brat a chance to contribute to the Scouts by means of organization and delivery. That included, but was not limited to, stowing away documents and folders that were given to him and sifting through the ones that were necessary whenever a superior requested it. A desk job, something that Eren never truly wanted, but it was either that or backpedaling far enough to sever ties.

And severing ties, in the minds of many people of his work, would result in the complete removal of the individual, and that was something that pained Levi far too heavily to consider for an extended period of time. That in itself was dangerous, too dangerous, a threat that he was required to eliminate - but he didn't want to. He wouldn't. He couldn't - and the constant internal debate urged him to scream into the heavens.

With a deep, calming breath, Levi settled with a vague response; "You'll be in the storage room, probably, where we keep some old bullshit that we don't really need anymore." As they pulled up into the parking lot of the establishment, he added, "Not that you won't be asked for information, at some point." Interrogated, rather? He would have grit his teeth and grimaced.

Eren's thumb absentmindedly ran over his knuckles, caressing in slow, soothing circles. His brow furrowed, and the rubbing ceased, the dying action of simple, albeit appreciated affection followed shortly by a musing; "Sounds like I already have the job."

"'Course you do," Levi responded. "Erwin might want to meet you beforehand, but other than that, you're set. He's an asshole, though. You won't get too far unless you either fondle his balls or survive long enough."

The end of that sentence had slipped past his lips too casually, too easily, given that the prospect of a short, unfulfilled life under the Scouts was not unheard of. He did not particularly mind, letting that miniscule admission slip, but he did glance wearily at Eren, who stayed quiet as he parked somewhere near the entrance. The low hum of the air conditioner and the crunching of dirt and gravel grinding under the wheels accompanied his busied thoughts, his time-keeping, up until Eren had pulled his hand away.

"Survive long enough, huh?"

Levi peered over curiously at Eren who, interestingly enough, stared ahead at the doors with a slight arch in his brows, a twinge in the corner of his mouth that dared form a grin, and a small, albeit vigorous spark in his eye. The need for adventure, the ravenet assumed, or the promise of excitement in his otherwise uneventful life. It left one craving more, usually, as if the Scouts allowed them to move with impunity and live under a protective wing, similarly to members of the army. It was what lead them on with a sense of infallibility, courage, even confidence - up until they were inevitably slaughtered for being so naive.

And thus, they left their safe haven and stepped into a world that was impossible to turn back from. People are friendly enough, though, as Eren had realized just a few moments of walking through, when his long, robust strides had faltered when he realized that there was nothing to fear, and no reason to assert dominance. A few friendly faces greeted Levi fondly, while others regarded Eren with a less familiar, yet equally amiable demeanor. It was peaceful, for the most part, leading Eren down towards the elevator, where he would explain where things were, how to go about certain tasks, until they would eventually wander back upstairs to meet his soon-to-be co-workers.

Levi's mind was blissfully tranquil; he would briefly contemplate the topics Eren would bring up, but his attention was keen on the brightness in those eyes, they way they'd light up the longer he rambled - and, most importantly, the way they'd widen along with his smile when Levi idly agreed to some bullshit concerning a carousel. What he agreed to, he wasn't entirely too sure, but he didn't think he'd mind it - especially not if it made Eren this ecstatic.

In the midst of basking in the pleasant, easygoing atmosphere between them that was established after they left the dense area, Levi's attention had been caught by the pair of blue eyes that regarded him. Erwin seemingly emerged from a meeting - a rather small one, really, judging by the group of four people who were seen lingering around the now empty office - and approached them, with both Mike and Nanaba trailing closely behind.

"You blatantly ignored my invitation."

The accusation was returned with a droning sigh; "Good morning to you, too, Erwin."

Erwin clenched his jaw, visibly vexed by the nonchalant response, but rather than dread, Levi remained blissfully tranquil. There was nothing to fear, really, nor did he have any problem retaliating now that he had recovered, but his concern was Eren. Now would be the time to figure out exactly how open he should be with Eren, judging through how comfortable Erwin was in sharing information away from a crowd filled with both Scouts and innocent passersby. Either way, he didn't plan on personally elaborating on the matter; the tendency to lurk for information had been cultivated in the years of being kept in the dark, something that Eren would also have to pick up on at one point or another.

"This wasn't another meeting that you could skip over."

Fatigue was evident in Erwin's tone, the smooth richness hindered by the late nights and - of course - the trauma. His usually pristine figure was now marred; the sleeve that had been tied at the stump had drawn unnecessary attention and proved that Erwin was not, under any circumstance, infallible. It was a warning call for all of them. Mike stepped back a bit for the means of privacy, gently pulling Nanaba along with him by their intertwined fingers.

"It's just too bad that I don't care, right?" Levi completely disregarded the furrow in Erwin's brow. "If you really wanted me to show up, you would've hunted me down. It's not my problem that you decided to pull this meeting out of your ass at the last second."

Next to him, Eren shifted uncomfortably, his attention fixated upon the tiles as if deep in contemplation. Erwin, however, disregarded him, his tone bereft of warmth and tolerance; "You're lucky that you're still here. You've grown to prioritize trivial things that, regardless of how entertaining they may be, wouldn't survive longer than a month." The insult did not go by unnoticed; Levi clenched his fists, dug his nails into the palm of his hands, ready to retaliate until Erwin continued, "Your personal issues do not matter in the face of the industry -"

"If anything, you should've lost that holier-than-thou attitude when you lost your arm - but, you know, we tend to prioritize the wrong things, don't we?"

Just a few feet away, Mike and Nanaba, who both had been talking quietly under their breaths with gentle, almost affectionate smiles that were usually reserved for more intimate moments, had hushed completely in favor of staring ludicrously at Eren. Levi found himself spiraling with the desperate need to grab Eren by the wrist and flee, for his own safety, but with the way Eren clenched and unclenched his fists, there was no going back. That was until Erwin cleared his throat, which signaled it the appropriate time for Mike to step in.

Levi immediately recognized the attempt and reflexively deadpanned, "Touch him, and so help me God, I'll rip your organs right out of your ass."

Hesitation marred the fluidity that Mike had been graced with, leaving him to slightly sway on his heel, to contemplate which threat was more dire. He was eventually pulled aside by Nanaba, who hooked her arm around his and tugged in encouragement to take their leave. Erwin did not acknowledge them, to which they assumed was his way of dismissing them; shortly after, Erwin chose to ignore the statement and continued, "I expect you to come by my office later on today. Since you assume it is best to jeopardize this mission due to your inability to make a commitment -"

"No wonder Levi dumped you," Eren spat. "You're an asshole."

Levi, under a fearful impulse, snapped at Eren to be quiet, though neither of the taller men payed him mind; Erwin, the bags under his eyes all the more evident as he narrowed them, finally regarded Eren. "Oh? I suppose I can see what you two have in common now. I believe I've made a mistake, letting him drag you into this lifestyle, seeing your impulsivity and rather annoying inability to stay quiet -"

"And you're ugly," Eren added, fiercer now, with a slight pout and a countenance laden in petulance.

Through the small surge of adrenaline that was elicited through sheer fright, Levi finally started to calm, now confused at the ludicrousy of the argument itself. It was like watching a small child play with a box of matchsticks, curiously wondering what would happen, exactly, if he were to light a firework at his feet. The vexation, whether it truly disappeared or was now imperceptible, was replaced by a vague look of disapproval.

He idly commented, "I did not know Levi preferred rude brats."

Eren rolled his eyes. "I mean, you did kinda ruin rich asshole for him."

"Not to mention that said brat has surpassed any level of stupidity I have ever seen."

Eren didn't seem to have bothered processing the insult. Rather, he shrugged and sneered, "Yeah, well, you know what? You're stupider."

Erwin could merely stare, his brow furrowing, as if the situation itself was this direly complex situation that he could not fathom - and, in a way, Levi understood. It was a rare feat, even for himself, to blatantly insult the man and not fret over the consequences, yet Eren had done it with blissful insouciance. A sigh then left Erwin's lips, one that was laden thickly with enervation and frustration alike, and for once in quite a long time, the look he wore - his overall demeanor - finally fit the age it was supposed to be.

"Our meeting was based on the mission you and your squad were to execute later tonight." A strangled, albeit brief sound of surprise left the back of Levi's throat; he had been expecting harsh castigation, maybe legitimate threats that would set them both in their place, not eventual relinquishment. A furrow was evident in his brow, an annoyed curl in his lip, though he did not acknowledge Eren any longer than he had to; instead, he focused on Levi, eyes remarkably dull as he added, "Our circumstances for the matter have taken a rather . . . harsh turn. That's why you and your team are no longer participating."

The nebulous cloud of ambivalence that Levi had tried to sort through seemed to roll back into the corners of his mind. The vehemence of the anger filled his veins with fire, left him staring blankly past the news rather than contemplating it rationally. He angrily started, "You're pretty screwed in the fucking noggin if you think we can't handle -"

"This is not an attempt to insult you," Erwin snapped. The authority in his voice, the finality of his deadpan, rendered Levi speechless - and, thankfully, despite how audacious Eren was, the brunet did not feel the need to intervene again. "Think for once in your life. You know what they've done to you. You know the contents of those documents you retrieved. Figure out that puzzle for yourself, and then you can complain to me about it."

Like many times before, Erwin had left Levi with numerous questions that he could not answer in that immediate moment. He would importune for help if his pride would allow it, but either way, the chances of Erwin giving him valid answers were slim. Eren shifted next to him, mouth opening to start more of a ruckus than necessary, yet it closed with naught but a disgruntled murmur when Levi had gave him a warning smack to the shoulder. More contretemps and a deeper plunge into white-hot anger was not something that was very appealing at the moment, nor would it change the situation. There were times where even he had to learn when to give up a losing battle.

Their walk, like many times before, was lead by a pleasant silence. It allowed them to brood - well, Levi would analyze the situation at hand, though he did not truly believe that Eren had done more than glance around curiously and spew out nonsense when the need arose. That was until they had approached the elevator, after it had hissed and sighed to an eventual trembling stop, when Eren initiated conversation once more.

"What will I be doing, exactly?"

Levi hummed in question, "Didn't you ask that before?"

"I did," Eren chewed his lip, now playing meek as he pointed out, "Your spot in this industry seems a lot more . . . dangerous."

The only real response Levi could give was an enigmatic shrug. The wiring and metal creaked and silently whispered as they traveled down into the basement, many levels below ground, passing numerous floors that Levi had rarely visited in years prior. Eren shakily cleared his throat, a nonverbal way of demanding an explanation. Some part of him had absolutely no problem giving a valid elucidation, regardless of how morbid it truly was, but another part of him fought back against the nonchalance, and with that, he was set into another internal war that had no definite outcome. Something clawed at his chest, gouged his heart out through a flurry of fireworks and flames, because really, what right did he have to take this young man, this innocent person, and drag him into a life that he was rightfully shielded from?

"I can't deny that it's dangerous," Levi finally responded, slowly, tentatively, as if dancing around with the puzzle that was word usage and the truth. "I'm one of the people who go out there and actually do something; you've . . . seen it, for the most part." The end of his sentenced trailed off a bit, and he shifted on his feet, though made no attempt at averting the conversation's focus. He still avoided eye contact, for some reason, vaguely wondering exactly what expression Eren held upon his countenance. "But that requires extensive training to reach. You'll be starting out small - or staying here, if that's what you'd like."

The elevator groaned to another trembling stop, clanking metallically into place before the doors slid back open and welcomed them to their destination. Beyond the glaring lights that illuminated that enclosed area, there was considerable darkness, with the only sources of light being the dying fireflies that hung low on the ceiling, glowing with the soft hum of electricity coursing through their wired veins. Levi stepped beyond the threshold, but halted as he felt Eren's hand grip his own.

Silver eyes glanced down at their intertwined hands, the way Eren's knuckles whited as his fingers tightened over his, then back up to the inscrutable expression upon Eren's face. The brunet scrutinized him, pondered severely too long, until he asked, "Did I make the right choice?"

The question was naught but a whisper, at this point, in the silence of that hallway, in the privacy of that small, narrowed passage that had wrapped them both in the hands of impending claustrophobia. It was demanding, in a sense, despite the meek demeanor Eren dissembled under, a question that Levi could take days to answer, but was only allowed seconds to respond. There was no real way of judging this, whether it be right or wrong, good or bad, something to marvel in or grovel under, and despite the weak whispering in his mind that dug through his memories for some sort of answer, he could not find it. It had been too long since he was sucked into this world, on his own accord for the most part, and though he did not remember exactly what he felt, the lingering question was something definite in the dissociative splotches of black and gray.

"Snooping through the shit we give you? Sitting here and fucking around with the stapler for a couple of hours?" He huffed in amusement, a gentle sound, one that allowed Eren to finally near him and melt closer to his side. "Hmph. Yeah. So far, yeah, you did." The warmth of Eren greeted him, laced its diminutive fingers through his tie and lead him forward, and the comfort of it drew him to lightly nuzzle at Eren's shoulder for a brief moment. "This is, for the most part, a safe job to take up."

They walked slowly, though comfortably jointed, as if strolling down the park, as if they hadn't entered a building filled with abominations and humans alike. Things could have been different. If Eren had not been so nosy, if he had not been so keen on toying with the young man, if he was a younger, happier, healthier man who didn't mutilate humans - creatures capable of thought, of feeling, of holding morals - for a living. And although he had long since set his own robust list of rules, ones that consisted of the standard morals that were solely against those who had done wrong in the world, that did not truly justify his behavior. Eren acknowledged that, had even pointed it out, and yet there he was, content with his presence, trusting him close enough to nearly embrace, without a damn in the world of the knowledge he held.

It was surreal, honestly. That was not something infatuation could mask. That was clouded judgment, but clouded to what means? He had no choice, but Eren did. What, exactly, made this right to the younger man, something that he willingly contemplated and asked to participate in? And he was not impressionable, nor submissive outside of the boundaries of society and respect, so what, exactly, caused him to think as he did?

"You're brooding, aren't you?"

"Brooding?" Levi repeated, an element of surprise evident in his tone. "That's a big word for you. What makes you think that?"

"When you're not being a total ass, you're unusually quiet." In an afterthought, he added, "You also bite your lip. A lot. And you also like to squeeze my hand when you're particularly upset -"

"Is this the only thing you focus on when I don't care enough to give you attention?"

Levi rolled his eyes at the indecisive whine he received. At the end of the hallway, there sat a desk topped with a monitor, one that groaned profusely upon its decrepit legs at the slightest of movements, sitting off to the side to allow a slim entrance into the next room. That was where they stopped, when Levi left the warmth of Eren's side, though his hand still lingered, loosely laced through Eren's, a pleasant, yet idle show of affection that gave him the odd sense of infallibility. On the side of the passageway, just about arm's reach above the desk, was a set of hooks where a key and lanyard hung waiting. Levi reached up, grabbed the key, and passed it to Eren, who looked vaguely intrigued.

"That's the key to the library." Levi pointed towards the frigid board of steel that stood a few feet behind the desk. "Whatever files you get, you shove into this desk and file into the library at the end of your shift. But remember, brat; unless you want a can of whoopass opened on you by the higher-ups, you should avoid opening that door for anyone, unless it's either Erwin or Petra."

The key, upon further inspection, was either a delicate gold, or stainless steel that shined with golden paint. It was rather old fashioned, topped with a crown that formed a diamond and a shaft that ended with an exaggerated appendage that was made to fit into one lock alone. Eren didn't seem quite interested in it; rather, he set it next to the monitor and absentmindedly muttered, "And you trust me with something so important?"

"With this?" A derisive snort left him. "I'd be a retard if I actually did. But Erwin does, and God knows what the fuck goes on in that thing's head." Levi idly chewed on his lip as he further mused, "You're also an impulsive little brat, so before you try, I'll tell you once - I wouldn't recommend snooping around. I've never worked in this shitter, but I think it's common sense not to casually browse through these files like you own the place." After receiving no form of acknowledgement, he glanced back at Eren, who - much to his ambivalent form of chagrin - was focused on him. He immediately snapped, "Are you listening to me?"

"I am," Eren responded, just a few seconds after the demand.

"'Course you were," Levi grumbled. He pulled his hand out of the lazy grasp that was set upon it, which elicited a small, nearly imperceptible whine. "What're you thinking about now, if not how important your job is?"

"You, probably."

"How fuckin' romantic."

"I wouldn't call it romantic," Eren laughed, a gentle sound that complimented the genuinity of the smile that tugged at his lips. "I just want to talk. Spend time with you. None of this business crap - that's boring."

Levi's brow raised in question. "And I'm not?"

Eren shrugged. "I don't know. I just like listening to you talk for once." His smile widened as he rambled, "Like, your opinions and stuff. Your voice, too, if that counts. And you get increasingly vulgar with the things you're passionate about, you know that?"

Now conscious of his own breathing pattern, Levi found his lungs bereft of oxygen, filled rather with something similar to helium, something that left him lightheaded with each breath that he reminded himself to take. "Right," he murmured, weakly now, in the face of such a foreign concept. "Sure, yeah. But what conversational topic . . . ?"

Once again, Eren laughed, brightly this time, once Levi had trailed off into an inscrutable string of musings that even he was unable to comprehend.

Under the glimmer of the moonlight, where the rays sporadically died and came back to life as the clouds inched past, there was not much to fear, nor any considerably strict routes to skulk through. Just a block or two away from the rendezvous, where their mission was ready to take its course, Hange sat comfortably in the shadows that lurked along with the movement of the screens before them. The clacking of their keyboard filled the still atmosphere, the only thing they could truly hear, in the depths of the deafening silence that was the abandoned town that they had driven to, about seven hours out into the countryside.

Behind them, the side of the van popped open with a loud clanking of metal, then slid open with a smooth hiss. The cool air ran its hands along their back, onto the nape of their neck, up to their cheeks that lit up upon contact. They glanced over their shoulder, blowing at the bit of hair that fell over their glasses from their poorly kempt ponytail, and saw Nanaba, framed like a delicate picture upon a wall in rays of a gentle blue and silver.

"Ready?" Hange asked brightly, still somehow exuberant despite the oddly overwhelming placidity in the area.

She reached up and brushed her hair behind her ear, where she promptly switched her headset off. "Almost, yeah," she responded, her murmur magnified in the darkness. "Mike's already moved in. It's your call, though."

"You'll get in there just fine if you follow the steps," Hange hummed. They pushed their glasses further up the bridge of their nose, lenses glinting in the light of the computer screens, where the grainy security footage swooned between clarity and nebulous anarchy. A concern came up in their mind, another whisper in the darkness that rang louder than a church bell. They inquired softly, "Erwin mentioned that today's your last day out on the field. That's not true, is it?"

"Well," Nanaba visibly bristled at the confrontation. Her hand clamped over the other, protective against the promise that wrapped around her finger. "I suppose, if you want to consider it that. For personal reasons, though. I'll be back eventually."

"Not your engagement?"

Nanaba breathed in sharply, her lungs seemingly unable to function properly despite being exposed to the fresh air outside. The van slightly tilted, creaking just a bit, now that Nanaba had perched herself on the step. "No. That's not a big concern."

"Then?" After a long pause, Hange looked back at her, brow slightly furrowed in the suspicion that their colleague was about to announce her resignation. "You're not going to -?" Their question fell short at the hand that Nanaba had clutched over her stomach. "Oh."

"He doesn't know yet," came the ecstatic whisper.

Hange promptly glanced back at the computer screens. Another breeze curled its fingers at their nape, played at the tips of their hair, and drenched them in a frigid state of apathy. They still smiled, however, a small grimace to add a believable tone as they huffed, "You had me worried for a second there!"

A small noise left the back of Nanaba's throat, something similar to a mewl, though their apparent exhilaration was kept in check as Hange leaned forward towards one of the screens. It twisted and flickered, zigzagged in and out of focus through the miniscule connection they made that would best keep them hidden, but it was enough to verify the silhouette that skulked along the side of the screen.

"That's your cue."

With that, the van shifted once more and the door closed with another sharp hiss. Hange's protuberant eyes never left the screens, never averted the spasmodic flickering, until eventually, they reached out to turn them off. As the line died and the screens drained of life, they left their seat. Once more under the shadows of the fluctuating moonlight, Hange left the car, and followed the same footsteps that both Mike and Nanaba had taken down this road, up until they reached the back entrance to the refurbished building that had long since been forgotten by the eyes of everyone that wasn't part of the project.

Similarly to their time spent lurking through the hallways of the abandoned industry building where Nile's corpse had been discovered, the hallways were deathly silent, filled with naught but the mild echoes of inhumane, almost metallic screeching that could be easily mistaken by the works of their imagination. With the layout of the building memorized, they skulked through the dimmed hallways, down through the correct passageways that led directly to the heart of the building. Similarly to the Japanese, the hallways were built at right angles, kept perfect and pristine, though many led to dead ends and thus formulated an indefinite way of reaching the main office blindly - a helpful tactic that had long since been forgotten.

Along the way, they stopped by a long hallway graced with a wall of glass that looked down into a room below. And there, with the low churning of their stomach and a tight constriction around the bile that surged to the back of their throat, stood the row of test subjects that were now set in the early stages of radiation exposure. Their eyes hardened and their lips pressed to a thin line as they saw, from the lookout, as the scientists approached one of the test subjects that had been kept off to the side, away from the radiation chambers, all with a meticulous caution of an entire police force closing in on a severe threat.

Hange did not stay long after they had released one of the test subjects from her chamber, where she was forced to wait before she replaced one of the older experiments. It was oddly revolting, more so than the extended limbs and sunken eyes of the abominations already in the dimmed chambers, to watch this woman struggle onto her hands and knees like a newborn foal. She attempted to come to her feet, only to come crashing back down to the floor in a trembling heap, which earned her a merciless kick aimed directly onto her eye.

As a masked, almost imperceptible cry of pain whispered like a ghost behind them, they hastened down the hallway, which would lead into the office they were looking for, but just as they reached their destination, they stopped. They spotted a humanoid figure, a bit taller than they were, though fully built and moving naturally. They stepped back a bit as Nanaba's voice hissed, "Hange? Why aren't you keeping watch -?"

Her words died under the weight of the low snarl that reverberated somewhere in the darkness of the office. Without another word, Hange hastened back down the opposite direction, mission be damned, and Nanaba would have followed if she had not been keen enough to register the movement in the corner of her eye. The wall beside her cracked and shattered into as the wind of a much taller, narrower figure launched itself at her general direction, not truly seeing in the dark with their eyes, but with something more territorial, or instinctual.

The initial scare of the sudden movement and the narrow dodge for her life caused her to sprint down from where she came, to take a different turn into another hallway towards a light out of the natural instinct that made her believe that a source of light was the equivalent to safety. Somewhere behind her, another snarl rumbled sharply, followed shortly by another, desperately, both in unison, calls of insatiable thirst that surged adrenaline through her body. As she broke out into the large area filled with desks and office chairs, she spotted Mike who, like her, had entered from the other side of the room.

"Mike - the hallway -!"

She immediately planned an exit, to bolt to their right and into another hallway that led away from both threats, but time was a crucial, fatal thing. They united in the middle, his hand in hers now, eyes darting up towards the nearest exit, but his movement towards that exit stopped once he spotted something behind her. That was when he roughly shoved her onto the floor, where she skidded to a halt somewhere beneath a desk, and her immediate instinct was to get back up. Her movement halted, however, once she had made eye contact with Mike, with the whited eyes that showed every emotion she didn't know Mike was capable of, for the second or two before a deathly pallid figure had slammed him onto the ground.

Breathing became an impossible task as she stared blankly in front of her, not truly looking at the scene as it played out, but catching the movement in the corner of her eye. Her heart stuttered, burned vehemently in her chest as if it had been impaled with spear, as the blood-curdling sounds of ripping flesh and the splattering of life had started to register. Three sickly figures jerked unnaturally as they clawed, ripped, tore with their teeth, gouged with their nails, filled the air with iron, spread a pool of crimson upon the ground, continuously biting, gnawing, ripping deeper and deeper still without fault. The crunching of bones muddled with the wet ripping of flesh and muscle, the splashing of blood and organs alike hitting the tiles, and the rumbling of their growls, all of which had been drowned out by the screaming that filled her ears.

At first, she thought that she had been screaming, screaming in the shock of it all, watching as Mike flailed as desperately as an animal in a slaughterhouse, listening to the revoltingly wet tearing and gouging of teeth and nails, until she realized, with the feeling of ice-cold water drenching the entirety of her trembling body, that it was Mike. Even as she pressed her hands to her ears, she could hear the screaming, the way it climbed higher and higher, the raucous screeching that mirrored that of the squealing of a dying pig, the whinnies of a mutilated horse, the cries of a rabbit as its fur is ripped from its body, until one of the abominations finally ripped out his throat.

Nanaba did not register the end of it, the abruptness of it, the revulsion of his body, now mutilated beyond recognition from the outer layers of his exposed ribs, all four of his messily amputated limbs, and down into the cave of his emptied abdomen. And he had somehow lived, had somehow fought for this long, screamed as loudly as he did, endured as much pain as he did, even if it were just a minute, half a minute, a period of time that felt like eternity for the both of them. And eternity had seemingly passed before the desk above her was pushed aside, and the pain of being yanked up from the ground by the hair was what somehow had her legs moving mechanically below her.

She was shoved onto one of the desk chairs, hunched over with her arms wrapped protectively around her stomach, her hand gripping desperately at her engagement ring, drenched in both blood and bile alike. Someone said something to her, a voice that murmured idly in her ringing ears, though she could not fully comprehend it. Some time passed - how much, she couldn't fathom - before her head was yanked up by the crown, which was followed with a rough smack to the cheek.

"Answer me."

The brunet in front of her held a mask of pure disgust, her icy blue eyes trained on nothing but the traumatized mess in front of her. She slapped Nanaba again, harder this time, and repeated, "Answer me, God damn it all -"

"Stop it, Frieda."

Nanaba, with a weak, wistful little whimper, peered at Hange. The sound of breaking glass filled her ears, shook the throne she had formerly sat upon with her future husband, shattered what used to be left of her and left behind an empty, responseless vessel.

"Nanaba. Please." Once Frieda had stepped away from them and tiptoed meticulously over the blood spatters and flesh, Hange added in a low deadpan, "I'm sorry. I am. I -"

"Sorry," Nanaba repeated. Her voice left her as a ghostly whisper, a shaky little sound that was nearly impossible to hear. "Sorry -" that it had to end this way. "Sorry. . . ."

Hange felt the need to scream into a void, to rip out their own hair, to gnaw at their own leg to somehow redeem themselves, to sacrifice themselves to bring something impossible back. Instead, they looked over to Frieda, towards the brunet's expectant glare, then returned to their former co-worker. "Nanaba, there's only so much I can do to help you. But if you're not willing to cooperate. . . ."

They glanced over their shoulder. Gradually, Nanaba followed with her eyes, slightly turning her head towards the direction in which Hange had gestured to, and finally saw the large smears of blood that lead into the hallway Mike had emerged from. There was one, however, that lingered, hunched over on the floor, somewhat hidden by the shadows just over the threshold, moving naught but an inch as it looked up with its deteriorated slits for eyes. A narrowed ribbon glossed over its jagged teeth, all laden heavily in crimson and caked in flesh.

Hange turned their back on her as the trembling intensified, as soft, broken sounds left her, all incomprehensible and meaningless to them now. "I can't say that I can help you. I can try, but . . . finding new test subjects, worthy subjects - as they put it - is hard to come by. But you . . ."

Their sentence trailed off as the rustling of wood scraping along the glass pencil holder became evident. Hange glanced back at Nanaba, who had taken two of the sharpened pencils from the pencil holder, which was tipped over, scattering numerous pencils and pens alike. They hung from her nostrils, jutting out awkwardly before her, causing Hange to muse, "What the absolute hell are you -?"

Clutching her right hand to her chest, with the diamond of the ring pressed to her skin, Nanaba lifted her head, then slammed her face onto the desk directly upon the pencils. Hange flinched at the deafening crack, the spurting of blood, the loud creak of the desk from the force of her action. Hange idly watched as the blood flowed onto the desk and dripped onto the floor, drip by velvet drip, until Frieda said, "We need to go."

Hange slowly nodded, taking a step or two away from the scene, away from hell, blurred vision and all, until they wiped it away and obediently followed Frieda out the door.

These are responses to guest reviews.

Spookeme: Thank you so much! If you were expecting some grand revelation, then I'm sorry to say that I'll probably let you down. Initially, this story was just a ploy for torture porn due to the overexposure of - and interest in - guro and snuff films on the shallower side of the dark web. I was then exposed to a few Case Files, looked in on human experimentation, and listened to an old name go on and on about all these crazy conspiracy theories. Really, though, despite all of that, it took a great amount of morbid curiosity and pretty music before Secrets was born. Like, you'd be surprised at how calm and pretty my music is when I'm writing these maulings and torture scenes.

Thank you: aaaaAAAAAAAA I should be thanking you! I really appreciate the support! [insert heart here] And I'm sorry for the slow updates. I can't quite fathom what motivation even is anymore, hence why I'm a really bad author and a worse student.