[Volume 2, START]
I made this chapter while eating a Popeyes 3 piece with fries, a biscuit and a medium Nestea. It has 2 thighs and 1 drumstick.
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Chatter could be heard in a chamber in the capital of the walls, Mitras.
"Where even is the royal family?"
"Exactly, there hasn't been contact for months. Have they gone on the run or something?"
"Maybe they were attacked..."
"We're trying to locate—"
"Something needs to be done about the refugees" one of the nobles spoke out loudly, breaking the chatter. "The social unrest is looming over our heads! If we don't organize something quick, we are risking a civil war..."
"The food shortage is not going to stop" another councillor added "We won't be able to feed them, even if we use them to fertilize the wastelands."
The Royal Assembly was discussing their possibilities for dealing with the crisis. With the fall of Wall Maria, they had lost over a third of their territory. Many people were left with nothing to fill their stomachs with and the problems that their sheer number was causing were just never-ending.
This was one of the many disadvantages of the land of the walls—the wastelands. In theory, the vast territory comprising the walls should've been enough to feed a population even in the tens of millions, however, this little fact made that impossible. Not even the most resilient potato would be able to grow in such a place.
If one thought about it...why did humanity build the walls on such a terrible piece of land?
"I have a proposal" one higher-up in the military police exclaimed, "we send them out to retrieve Wall Maria..."
"Are you crazy?"
"They literally have no chance against Titans..."
"That's the whole point" the MP continued "They are not supposed to take back the territory. Nor they are supposed to even survive."
Silence filled the room as all of the councillors looked at the man. Seeing that he had their attention, the military policeman continued.
"We have a small amount of food and lots of mouths to feed. It's obvious that once the population realizes it, they will do everything in their power to get whatever they need. At first, the royal government will be toppled, then they will split into different factions, fighting over whatever is left. My plan is perfect. Soon enough, we will get rid of the hungry in a way that they won't even figure out."
"Yeah, I see now..."
"It does sound feasible..."
"A sacrifice of some, so that the rest can survive..."
To avoid civil war, and to avoid the toppling of the nobility, a plan was hatched to send all the refugees on a mission to reclaim Wall Maria—over 250,000 people would be sent to be slaughtered and eaten by the Titans. That was the reality of their situation.
'How unfortunate.'
A guard, stationed outside of the Council chambers mused with mock empathy, his blank face betraying no emotion whatsoever.
"Do you mind covering for me? I need to go to the bathroom."
"Huh? Oh, yeah, just go on, man."
The guard went to the bathroom.
||𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑: 𝐖𝐀𝐗 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒||
In the weeks preceding the fall of Shiganshina, there had been a flurry of activity that I've observed. In part due to my stolen uniform, the panic, and the number of dreadful faces I've seen, no one questioned my position as a member of the Military Police. I could go almost anywhere within the walls.
The remaining walls...I mean.
The previous eyes that had been watching me almost 24/7 had vanished, probably gone out to deal with the discontent or further the repression of the people.
Everyone looked miserable. Walking around the refugee camp in Trost District, I could see people trying to sleep off the hunger, some hadn't eaten in days. Some were already dead, some were dying and...the others.
The others were fighting.
"Oy! Give me that!"
"Like I'd give this to you, fatty! You look like you could survive months without food! Look at me! I haven't eaten for 2 days! It's mine!"
The two started to brawl in broad daylight. One of the downsides to impersonating an MP was having to interfere with these types of things. I was given a rusty musket, with no place for a bayonet and told to break up fights.
Taking orders from half-drunk, barely conscious superiors was something I was used to...besides the drunk part.
"You two, break it up."
"Huh!? But he started it!" The plump one accused, lying. I have never seen such a round person before. He'd look like a perfect sphere if I had ever needed a -6 prescription pair of glasses.
"What!? I'm not the one who started it, officer! He came up to me and—"
"HUH!? That's not—"
The only education these people can afford revolves around reading and basic mathematics. Anything beyond that, they'd have to get a private tutor, which can cost a fortune, at least for them. I won't be able to find a challenge within these walls.
I simply stared at the two grown men.
"Augh..."
A form of manipulation is just 'staring'. Simply staring at a person for a long enough time is meant to invoke a sense of fear within them—giving you a sense of dominance. I believe this is derived from when we were still evolving when something stared at us for a long time usually meant death. That's an oversimplified explanation.
I reached out my hand, and he gave me the piece of bread. I broke it into quarters. 3/4ths for the skinny male and 1/4th for the spherically challenged one and walked away.
Yes, I broke it. It was stale.
I agreed with the skinny man, there was a reason for fat, and that was to provide humans with an energy source that they could feed off of for days on end without actually consuming any food. Of course, water was needed, but that was easy enough to get.
Returning to the local HQ, we were to begin our daily briefing. I stayed in the far back, hiding my presence. I had a rough idea of what was going to be done. We were going to escort a bunch of refugees to cultivate the wastelands for more food. However, the validity of doing such a feat felt odd to me.
Winter was approaching quickly, and I didn't think there would be any food growing in a climate such as that.
Also, the fact that the 4 seasons existed, especially with the expected harshness of winter that I've overheard my fellow MPs talking about, I could narrow down my position on a map much easier.
We were in a possible temperate and or continental climate—akin to Canada or maybe Russia. I would've compared this place to Southern or Western Europe, but it didn't appear like we had the warm, Mediterranean weather or even the moderate summers I would've expected.
If I could find more clues, such as the wildlife I could pinpoint where in the world I am.
I tuned back into the conversation.
"...We are to quarter off land for the refugees to use. Chop down trees, make room, etcetera, etcetera. The government said it'll improve our food situation. We're to start next week. Dismissed!"
By next week, he means next month. Not even in the face of impending death can stop the MPs from being a useless bunch of misfits. It'd take too much time and effort to turn them into useful tools. Also, considering the "Colossal" and "Armoured" Titan's sudden appearance and disappearance...
I unconsciously narrowed my eyes
...Attack and therefore extinction could be imminent. Not even with my skills in titan killing, which are very limited, would be able to hold them off. The sheer amount of titans that swarmed into Wall Maria after the fall...I wouldn't be able to kill even a quarter of them.
"Hm? What is it?"
I approached my commanding officer once everyone had left to go and slack off.
"About my transfer to the capital, Lance Corporal."
Recognition flared in his eyes.
"Oh, oh...right. You're that one guy with the strange name and eyes. I remember you."
I'm being racially profiled.
"Yes."
"Yeah, you've been approved. Don't know how though, maybe the higher-ups need more people to do their paperwork for them, eh?" He nudged my side, handing me the transfer papers. His tone was more disappointed than joking, however.
Maybe he liked it when I did his paperwork for him.
"Perhaps. I'll see you in the fields, Lance Corporal," I began to take my leave.
"Yeah, yeah. Get outta here."
To think of it further, blending into the MPs was a strange affair. There were no countermeasures for forgery nor were there any real competency. All I had to do was change up my penmanship and write down a believable enough transfer paper and boom, I'm in the capital.
I went to my locker, where I had stashed some of my goods. There was some of my payroll, my school uniform, and a few other things. There were a few papers I was able to forge; identification documentation, my family lineage going back 4 generations, etc.
Impersonating an MP, especially during times such as this, brought so many perks that effectively gave me an entire life within the walls at the snap of a finger.
The MPs got paid too much for what they actually did, which was to patrol the streets, do paperwork and keep order. We would usually do patrols in pairs, however, due to a manpower shortage, and frankly, because I didn't want to talk to anyone, I volunteered to be on my own.
Seemingly, I was one of the lucky ones to get a transfer into the inner walls. Practically all the Trost District MPs had requested one out of fear for the Titans. Obviously, I was the lucky one. I made those transfer papers myself.
Seriously, they don't verify anything. The intelligence of these creatures is comparable to Class D at the beginning of our first year. Not even an ounce of suspicion occupied their minds.
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"Yawn..."
As the night progressed, I steadily journeyed toward Wall Sina. The ambient sounds of the night were soothing, as always. The chirping of crickets harmonized with the rhythmic thud of my horse's hooves on the ground, creating a serene melody that echoed through the darkness. It sounded like the beginning of a song.
Chirp, Chirp, Chirp.
Thud, Thud, Thud, Thud.
Chirp, Chirp, Chirp.
Thud, Thud, Thud, Thud.
Chirp, Chirp, Chirp.
Thud, Thud, Thud, Thud.
Reflecting on it now, venturing out at night seemed risky. I recalled reading reports about gangs of bandits forming in these parts—desperate individuals resorting to robbery to survive, preying on travellers for their belongings and provisions.
Banditry was an unfortunate consequence of such harsh living conditions—those with nothing to lose often turned to lawlessness or, in some cases, literary pursuits like writing...
Ahem.
It's said that horses possess an innate sense of direction akin to a compass. They can navigate their way back home with remarkable accuracy, relying on memory, sensory cues, and positive associations.
The same principle applies to their human companions.
Despite the darkness enveloping us, I retrieved a small brush from my saddlebags and began grooming my horse's mane. I had spent many late nights watching videos on horse riding and care, learning that giving a horse a name is the first step toward forging a bond.
I pondered over what to name my steed.
Spot? No...
Dark Horse? Not quite...
Horikita—perhaps not...
Cid...Hm...
Sudou? Maybe...
Kushida? Meh...
The night passed as I mulled over potential names. Exhausted, I eventually drifted off to sleep, undecided between Cid or Kushida.
Thud, Thud, Thud, Thud.
Thud, Thud, Thud, Thud!!
Thud, Thud, Thud, Thud!!!
The thunderous sounds of a dozen or so people approaching reached my ears. I lazily opened my eyes to gaze around.
Sigh...I'm so u̶n̶lucky...
||𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑: 𝐖𝐀𝐗 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒||
A few days later, the harsh reality of survival pushed many refugees into the unforgiving fields, tasked with cultivating the wastelands to bolster food production. Despite the shifting weather patterns, they were forced to toil—the mortality rates soared, driven by the brutal conditions, scarcity of food, and lack of basic protections. Winters within the walls were harsh, as always.
It's not like they had any choice in the matter. If they fleed the fields, they would be arrested, or at worse, face a firing squad, depending on circumstances.
Even children among the refugees were not spared, forced to labour in the desolate lands with promises of extra rations as compensation for their strenuous efforts. But it was all a deception. Many never received the promised rations, let alone any food at all.
The persistent food shortage remained a pressing concern. In the following year 846, under the guise of a plan to reclaim Wall Maria, the central government conscripted numerous refugees. The elderly, infirm, and anyone beyond childhood age were pressed into service for what seemed like a suicidal endeavour.
Ayanokouji Kiyotaka observed from the sidelines, donning his uniform as he joined the ranks of the military police tasked with ensuring all enlistees were accounted for. The remnants of the Survey Corps, as far as he could discern, were to spearhead the assault on Wall Maria. It was clear to him that this was a government strategy to thin their numbers once more. With an influx of new members post the fall, eliminating those seeking the truth was deemed an expedient course of action.
"Why do you have to leave us?" Armin's anguished cry rang out, his desperation palpable as he clung to his grandfather, one of those forced to the front lines, predominantly comprising the sick and elderly, according to Kiyotaka's intelligence.
Disposing of the deemed 'expendable' first.
"I have no choice, Armin. Sometimes we must accept things we cannot change," his grandfather murmured, his gaze heavy with resignation.
"But how can they expect to retake Wall Maria without proper equipment or provisions? It's madness!"
Armin's outburst trailed off as he surveyed their surroundings—an atmosphere of exhaustion and hunger pervaded, with medical personnel overwhelmed by the dire conditions. Everything seemed...
"You understand the truth, don't you?" Armin's grandfather's voice held a weary acceptance as the boy dissolved into tears.
Kiyotaka observed with a detached expression. The impending plight of many children becoming orphans loomed ominously. Any action he took now would be futile in the grand scheme and would only draw unwelcome attention, especially as he sought to maintain his guise within the military police ranks.
Armin's grandfather embraced him tightly before placing something on his head. A familiar feeling, that rough, straw-like quality. He knew what it was.
"I've worn this hat since I was a lad, Armin. I may not be able to pass down loads of money but...I want you to have this. I want you to take care of it for me now," his grandfather said, a hint of nostalgia in his voice.
The young boy pulled down the worn-out cap, concealing his face to hide his emotions from his beloved grandfather, the only family he had left. His grandfather stood up, turning away to give his grandson a moment of privacy.
"I love you, Armin. Always have, always will. Take care now," his grandfather's parting words carried a deep affection and unease.
Armin struggled to respond, his throat tight with emotion, but his grandfather understood the unspoken feeling. With a heavy heart, he departed to join the assembling army, leaving Armin to wrestle with his thoughts.
"OPEN THE GATE!"
As the order to commence the operation reverberated through the air, Kiyotaka and a handful of other MPs swiftly moved to open the gates of Trost District, the first step in a massive and perilous undertaking.
The assembled army numbered a staggering 250,000, nearly a fifth of the entire population—an unprecedented force comparable to none, not even during the Napoleonic wars. It was a stark testament to the government's iron grip on its populace.
Despite being led by the elite of the Survey Corps, Kiyotaka harboured no illusions about the grim reality. He estimated that most, if not all, of the soldiers would perish in the treacherous titan-infested terrain.
True to his prediction, out of the 250,000 brave souls venturing into the dangerous walls, only around 100 returned, each bearing wounds of varying severity. Many of them would later succumb to their injuries or suffer from ailments stemming from their harrowing ordeal, as reported by the military police.
However...
...Fate took an unexpected turn...
"STOP! STOP! STOP!"
A frantic voice pierced through the chaos, a messenger urgently conveying a crucial message that halted the impending tragedy. Soldiers and civilians alike paused, their exhaustion and anticipation palpable as they awaited the news.
"THE OPERATION TO RETAKE WALL MARIA HAS BEEN CANCELLED! THE OPERATION TO RETAKE WALL MARIA HAS BEEN CANCELLED!"
...The future had changed...
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Words: 2770
Author Notes:
Today I ate some fried chicken, fries, a biscuit, salmon, stir-fried broccoli and some rice. I am currently eating some salted crackers and listening to Elvis Presley sing a song about love; reminding the readers of their loneliness.
I'd say I'm having an amazing time right now.
Goodbye.