Author's Note: This one definitely took a while, but hopefully it delivers! A huge thank you and hug to k-lionheart/Midori Aoi and all of her suggestions and comments and input—go check out her fics "Thunder Clouds" and "Nimbus" if you haven't already! I hear the next chapter of Nimbus is gonna be one helluva ride.

Chapter IV: The Color of a Lie

"You and your partner have been undeniably thick in handling this situation. Thick and remarkably imbecilic."

"You said we had enough time! We did what we thought would be appropriate in reclaiming the subject."

"Including sending the Ripper after him? Stupid and idiotic. We'll be lucky if his head is still attached to his body! We need him alive and in prime condition!"

"Don't worry. He won't kill him. Not yet, at least."

"You fool. No wonder you weren't told the rest of the experiment. Did you think Levi was just another test subject?"

"He's Number 38. Of course he's 'just another test subject.' How is he any different than the rest of them?"

"He is The test subject. And a very fragile piece of equipment that you have sent Kenny the goddamn Ripper after. If that murdering bastard gets his hands on Levi's blood…"

"We sent him to detain and disable. Not to murder the kid."

"Then you'd better hope—for your sake and your partner's—that he does exactly as he's told. Parliament's already issued a warning in the papers Above about Levi for the murder of CEO Dimo Reeves of the Reeves' Corporation. You've made him a goddamned fugitive who's got nothing to lose!"

"That has nothing to do with us! The Scouting Legion does whatever the hell they want. If this streak of violence lands the test subject back into our hands, then so be it. It's a win-win for both us and the Central MPs."

"You just don't get it, do you?"

"Just what the hell is there to get?"

"Here. Read his file. All of it. Front to back. Two hundred and forty-six pages of why the hell you don't want to fuck this up more than you already have."

Silence.

"You can't be serious about this. On ice for ten years?! Why weren't we told?"

"No one below the First Team of scientists who operated on him knew. Then they all mysteriously disappeared after the discovery of Mikasa Ackerman. Parliament's First House only just released this file to us because of the recent 'Scouting Legion emergency.'"

"The things done to this poor kid…but you're right. Levi is the test subject. I can't believe this."

"Just finish reading the file. Come see me when you're done, and pray the Ripper does what he was paid to do."

Mikasa stood outside the Captain's room, staring grimly at the wooden door and wondering what she had done this time. Perhaps she was more curious than concerned though, and her skin prickled with nervous anticipation—surely the Captain had a legitimate reason.

She had arrived almost twenty minutes ago at 1500 hours like he had ordered her to, but Levi still hadn't let her in—the sound of grunting and sharp cursing from within the room confirmed that the usually-composed man was indeed inside—he was making her wait for some reason. Already irritated at having to put off her daily chores (courtesy of the Captain again), Mikasa could wait no longer and yielded to her growing impatience.

Yet, just as she was about to push the door open and announce her presence, an abrupt cry of pain escaped from the crack beneath the door and she opened her mouth in alarm at the pitiful sound. Her hand was still raised to the wooden slab, frozen, shocked at the purely powerless wail. It was a sound not unlike a strangled cry from a terrible wound or injury, too great to even fully exclaim without wanting to curl up and wither away and it was something she had been absolutely certain Humanity's Strongest would never have made of his own volition. She hadn't known the man very long, yet she could not deny the immense alarm and even twinge of sympathy at the stifled shout.

Whatever was happening in that room sounded distressing to say the very least, and without fully realizing what she was doing, Mikasa shoved the door inward, her mind narrowed to one word: help. If the Captain was in trouble, he needed assistance right away, no matter from whom it was—and no matter the consequences. "Captain. Captain!" His shattered ankle flashed across her brain.

However, the door opened to reveal the most unlikely sight she had thought she would never be privy to, and the next honorific died on her tongue as she felt her body go hot with embarrassment and horrified surprise.

The Captain was leaning over his desk with his back to her, a tight fist pressed to the top of a sloppy stack of papers, and his hair was soaking wet, faint plops of hot water beading from the black strands and onto the dark wood. However, the other hand was splayed out against his waist, the white fingers curled and pressing so hard they were turning the surrounding skin red. Bare, it gleamed from yellow shimmers of sunlight colliding with streaks of water running down his back, and Mikasa held her breath as it stretched and tightened from his wheezing. Against her will, her eyes soaked in the blotchy canvas with pity, her initial revulsion quickly dwindling.

Scars. So many of them. Some small, some too big, and some that looked so jagged and erratic that she knew they couldn't have been there by mistake. The largest one ran from his left shoulder to the small of his back, disappearing beneath the waist of his tight uniform pants. In a feeble attempt to recover from whatever wound had been inflicted, the skin had been stained a pasty white, and random tiny notches on each side of the ropy scar tissue indicated a haphazard stitch job. The injury was expertly placed, Mikasa sickly realized: much of the disfigured skin avoided the spinal cord, and though it ran across several ribs, it looked like it hadn't been deep enough to break any. The word TORTURE skittered in her mind, and she unconsciously edged back toward the doorway.

The Captain was a truly eristic man—at least toward her, for reasons Mikasa would have liked to know—and anything but perfect, but she would have been the first to argue that he did not deserve such wounds and the grotesque marks they left, whether they had been made by a Titan or not. No one did, and the cruel display reminded her that even the strongest man in the world was still human. Her eyes softened at the long protrusions, and she silently doubted her long-held pugnacity against the Captain.

A grunt and the clinking of metal on wood snapped her from her scrutiny and she opened her mouth in response, quickly searching for an excuse. The Captain had ceased his atypical gasping, and Mikasa felt her own breath halt in her throat. For a violation like this, the punishment would no doubt be severe.

He lifted his head, the water shining through his hair at the sudden movement, but paused with his back still toward her. "What the fuck are you doing?" he growled out, his tone raspier than usual. His fist clenched tighter.

Mikasa swallowed, forcing her eyes away from his back, and replaced the anxiety in her voice with smooth apathy. "We had an appointment at 1500, sir—"

"That does not explain why you felt entitled to waltz through my door without a fucking invitation, Cadet." His speech was dangerously low—the usual smooth tenor had sunk to a scratchy baritone—and the inflections in his voice were bursting with acid. If one ignored the trenchant remark, he almost sounded ill.

Insubordination doesn't suit you. His previous words sing-sang in her head, but this time Mikasa defiantly ignored them, that previous doubt whisked away. Replying to a call for help is not insubordination. I would have done the same for any other whether they asked or not.

With his back still turned toward her, he seized a white shirt from an adjacent chair and flung it around himself, concealing his marred skin—much to her troubled relief, and she capriciously wondered how many people had fortunately—or unfortunately—been permitted such a view. Shoving his arms through the long sleeves, he slowly pivoted to face her completely. His face was pale, yet deathly calm, and his glare was darkening.

She averted her eyes from her superior's middle and flicked them up, meeting his fierce stare. "I heard a cry, sir. I was just responding accordingly. Permission to be dismissed." Pressing her fist to her chest, she stood rooted to the wooden floor, refusing to break eye contact with her superior. The Captain was obviously not in a mood to talk about whatever he had wanted to see her for, let alone be reasonable, and her nerves were beginning to fray from attempting to recover from what she had seen.

He continued to glare at her, "Denied." His fingers finished buttoning the garment and moved to reach the dangling straps of his gear. "Sit," He pointed to the chair and moved toward the small bed against the wall; it looked like it hadn't been slept in for a long time. "Explain yourself, Mikasa."

Mikasa. Her name slithered from his lips like some sort of poison. The Captain had addressed her by her given name before—if only when giving orders and dealing out small remarks of his dissatisfaction with her sparring performance—but, this time the syllables were cold and clipped.

She gave a curt nod and did as she was told. "You asked to see me at 1500 hours today, sir. I am merely obeying your order."

"Don't get cheeky with me," He snapped, pulling the straps over his shoulder and clasping the leather tightly against his chest. "Entering the room of a superior officer without permission is subject to a serious flogging, soldier. Why are you here?"

Mikasa's face felt like stone. If he was going to be ungrateful, then so be it: she would reply likewise. "Understood, sir. While waiting for you, I heard a pained cry from inside this room that sounded like someone had been seriously hurt. I acted the way I deemed necessary for someone in distress. If you believe I acted wrongly, I will adjust my response for future occurrences." She answered monotonously. She absolutely rejected the thought of conceding to him in this situation—he had no right to treat her like this after she had willingly come to help.

The only sound in the room came from the supple leather sliding against itself as the Captain threaded it through the metal loops and pinned it in place. He nodded once, but didn't reply. The air in the room hung heavy with tension, and Mikasa narrowed her eyes in triumph.

She caught the flicker of something shiny the Captain was holding and she frowned, the bright flash of metal meeting her gaze. To her surprise, he was sheathing slender knives underneath the straps of his gear, the thin scabbards fitting neatly within the leather belts. They were unnoticeable unless looked-for and as he turned again, his side toward her this time, she noticed a slightly larger blade peeking from between the belt loops on his back. Through his dripping hair, he raised a thin eyebrow at her puzzlement, but didn't address it.

"Noted," he snapped his jacket across his shoulders, the sound snatching her attention away from the odd additions to his uniform. The shapeless garment wrapped around him snugly, and in the back of her mind, Mikasa felt a small tug of admiration. "This is your first and only warning. There will be no next time."

"Thank you, sir." She inhaled heavily, awaiting her dismissal. Surely, the Captain wouldn't want to bother with her anymore—

"What did you see?" he asked sharply. He had taken the seat at his desk and was beginning to pull heavy stacks of paperwork toward him, yet his posture indicated an abnormal kind of stiffness and his face looked too strained with unusual effort for such a menial task. He didn't meet her eyes as he started to write on an embossed slip of letterhead.

Mikasa stayed put, completely mystified. Was he referring to—?

"You saw, didn't you?" It was more of an affirmation than a question, but the Captain continued to write, the scratch of ink on paper becoming deafening.

The dark haired woman flicked her gaze away, abashed. "I apologize, sir, I didn't realize—"

"Souvenirs of my past decisions," he murmured savagely, "And those I was unable to prevent."

She said nothing. There was no appropriate answer. Her head was swimming with uneasiness—was this a conversation?

"Mikasa. Talk."

Apparently it was.

"You asked to see me, sir," she stated bluntly. He had given her permission to speak—freely, she might add—and if this was going to be a conversation, they needed to be on equal ground. "Might I ask for what?"

"Satisfied with your training?" He laid down his pen and drew another piece of paper toward him, examining whatever the contents were.

Where was this going? Though Mikasa no longer felt hesitant about the tense position she had seemingly been purposely placed in, she was beginning to believe that the Captain was indeed ill in the head. The situation was growing more awkward by the minute. "I…yes, sir. This past week has been most helpful." What else could she say?

"And your improvement against your squad-mates? What of them?"

Mikasa shook her head, thankful he wasn't looking directly at her. "I am able to best Jean using the tighter techniques you have taught me quicker now. Eren as well."

"What of Eren?" The scratching stopped and he looked up, searching her face. "Your brother. He is prepared?"

"He's fine, sir. Fine enough...to go through with your plan," Mikasa lowered her head as her fingers twitched and curled over the fabric of her scarf, tugging the material closer to her chin unconsciously and dreading what she was about to say. "He's willing to do whatever it takes."

"Naturally. He understands our circumstances." His next words were pointedly accusing. "Do you?"

So, that was what this was about. "I understand perfectly, sir. Ideally, I would rather not place my brother in any potentially life-threatening situations," Mikasa said between clenched teeth. He was beginning to get under her skin and she fought the temptation to outright argue, staring at the blank wall behind his head.

"Perhaps you should have thought otherwise before joining the Scouting Legion then," he remarked acerbically.

Her response was almost mechanical, like the repetition of a mantra, "I had no choice, sir. I did what I had to."

"You had no choice?" Levi parroted with a snort, a single eyebrow lifting in a mocking expression, "I have a hard time believing Jaeger coerced you and Arlert into becoming his permanent bodyguards."

"That decision was mine, and I am responsible for his and Armin's safety!" Her voice leapt to an octave denoting frustration as she gripped the arms of the chair rigidly.

"Is that so?" The Captain challenged, his lip curling upwards for a fraction of a moment, "Is that what you truly believe? Is that what you truly want? Because you've been moping about ever since our compromise with Dimo Reeves."

Mikasa bristled, nostrils flaring as she replied, her lips pressing into harsh lines against gritted teeth, "Because you have deliberately put him in danger again and without my consent—!"

"—I did what I deemed necessary." Her own words flew from his mouth in a huff and she sat back, affronted. Levi continued, narrow eyes darkening and shoulders squaring tightly, as though shifting from within a heavier pain, a heavier burden that was nowhere close to the physical.

"You are not the only one held accountable for Eren Jaeger's safety," Levi uttered curtly and there was a flicker of something heavier that passed through his eyes, a haunting too quick to catch. Mikasa didn't let it faze her.

"Then you understand what—" Her swift protest ended with a fierce slam of his palm over the desk.

Levi spared her no room for more protests, "The only thing I understand is that you have no idea what you want, Cadet." His laconic declaration had erased her brief argumentative attitude, leaving behind astonished disbelief.

Mikasa scowled, "I don't understand, sir." Of course she knew what she wanted. The direction this "conversation" had taken was downright ridiculous, and she was starting to become increasingly irked by this shorty telling her all about herself. He didn't know anything. He had no idea.

"Eren is his own person, and you are your own person, Mikasa. Do yourself and everyone else a favor and get that through your head." The Captain turned back to his report and ran a hand through his wet hair, as he blinked once, twice, three times, his long lashes beating heavily against his cheek. He finally sighed, "You're dismissed."

Mikasa balled her hands into fists on her lap and bit back a stream of expletives. She had been expecting an assessment or some other announcement from her superior, not this one-sided conversation about her ideals and snippy comments on her apparently illogical life choices. So, she ignored the abrupt dismissal and continued, a slow building enmity licking fire through her words.

"The choices I have made are my own," she hissed, struggling to keep her voice from rising any further. "I don't remember asking you to determine if they are right or wrong, nor do you have the right to judge what I do with my life! Eren is my brother, and I refuse to let you gamble with his life like that! How dare you assume I wouldn't even be the least bit concerned over his wellbeing?!"

"And did Eren give you permission to speak for him?" He snarled back. "As top of your class, I assumed you had the same sense and maturity he has shown throughout this entire fucking operation." His voice cut through her heated words like ice. Frigid and unmerciful. "Cut the shit, Ackerman. You're lying to yourself and you know it."

Mikasa surged from her chair, livid, not caring for it as it fell to the ground. "You're so cold, you've probably forgotten how to feel, haven't you, Captain?" she sneered. "You have no idea what it's like anymore, do you?" She was aiming to hurt now, and from the pained look on his face, she knew she had hit a nerve. "You think you know what I want? Is that it?" To hell with decorum.

He shoved away from the desk and stood up violently, a blue vein pulsing in his neck. "Someone ought to," He growled. "I will not have you compromise this entire mission just because you feel insecure. Dismissed."

Mikasa wasn't done. "I perfectly understand the gravity of our predicament. You are sorely mistaken if you think you know me, Captain."

"Judging from what I've seen of your recent pathetic behavior, I have a pretty good idea." He sneered, his lips pressed into a thick red line and his eyes narrowed to slits. "Get out."

"Gladly," Mikasa hissed, and barged through the door, making sure to slam it on her way out. She was a fool for believing she could persuade him, and her heart constricted as she recognized she might never be able to.

They avoided each other the next morning—Levi had sent a terse message to the girls' room stating their usual sparring lesson had been canceled due to their impending departure to initiate the next part of Erwin's plan—and he couldn't help but feel marginally guilty about the previous day. He had forced Mikasa out of her sullenness, snapping her steadfast aloofness about Eren's predetermined kidnapping. She was upset about it, that much was certain, and almost to the point of relentless fixation: her sparring performance had dropped considerably and her usual rapt attention during Squad meetings had disintegrated to blatant absentmindedness. Her strange behavior in the gym hallway two days ago had only added to his growing suspicion. Something had needed to be done.

So he had done it, called her in and had an argument—a rather heated one too, and perhaps more effective than was needed, as both parties had managed to grievously hurt the other in their verbal battle. Their fragile relationship was now strained and now Levi wasn't sure whether he wanted to repair it (an irresponsible soldier was a useless soldier, and Mikasa was no different, top of her class or not) or leave it as it was.

His squad was scheduled to leave for the designated safe-house in a half-hour and as the rest of the team was finishing the preparations, Levi found he was free to think—a dangerous pastime, but his mind was bursting with conjecture. A light workout seemed optimal to clear his head at the moment, and as he stripped down to his undershirt in the ring behind Headquarters, he forced himself to erase any antagonistic thoughts about his subordinate. He was sure she had continued to contemplate his words—bitterly, no doubt—after their explosive parting, but hoped she had adjusted her behavior accordingly; he would try to do the same.

Despite his personal insistence to the contrary, her accusation cut deep into his conscience: You're so cold, you've probably forgotten how to feel, haven't you, Captain? You have no idea what it's like anymore, do you? Petra's green eyes fluttered in front of him and he clenched his teeth, pushing himself harder into his routine. Perhaps he didn't know anymore—perhaps he had been lying to himself too. Because family was one thing he and Mikasa didn't have in common and while he knew she would never allow herself to lose what she had so desperately fought to have, he couldn't exactly say the same for himself. Since joining the Scouting Legion, his Squad had filtered through so many faces—some longer than others—and in the silent dead of night, he sometimes wondered wretchedly just how many it would go through before he himself was replaced.

His punches became wilder as his frustration grew into misery, each strike ending in images of Erd, Jean, Rickon, Armin, Bella, Kieran, Gunther, Maddox, Historia, Idris, Auruo, Tabitha, Sasha, Cerys, Connie, Petra, Eren, Mikasa. The list went on. He had sent countless soldiers to their deaths, and considering the Scouting Legion's odds, his new Squad would be no different. Would he feel anything for them when the inevitable happened? Or was Mikasa right—had he finally been successful in numbing himself against mercy?

Her face suddenly appeared in front of the rest of the ghostly likenesses and Levi flipped backward, stumbling at the unexpected image and panting in shock. Thick tresses of red hair pulled into a ponytail waved below her chin and laughing green eyes playfully invited him forward—he stood there with his burning arms raised, every hair standing on end. She had no place among his beloved comrades; betrayal held no seat amidst honor. Yet his heart wrenched with an old pang of tenderness that he had made sure to destroy years earlier and with a gratifying snarl, he swiped through the mirage, his body aching with more than just fatigue. He didn't know what it was like anymore, because she had showed him what happened to people who cared too much.

A thick rustling sound pricked his ears and Levi spun on his heel, the knife on his back already in hand and his stance lowered in defense. Breathing through his nose as silently as he could, he inched forward, his nerves electrifying with apprehension as he searched the nearby forested area for any intruders. He had given specific orders to his squad that he was not to be interrupted no matter what, but the damned teenagers had a bad habit of not following simple commands completely.

"Captain!" Connie's voice cut in from across the ring behind him and Levi almost threw the knife at him in startled vexation.

Just a stupid animal. He reasoned and turned from the forest to his subordinate, the vision of her still burning in his head—but he couldn't be bothered with her now. "I distinctly remember giving the order not to disturb me, Springer." With a practiced hand, he flipped the knife back into its sheath against his belt, the blade grazing his fingers with a sharp caress.

"You did, Captain," Connie saluted, the green cloak around his shoulders fluttered as he panted. "But we just got word from one of the scouts—they're already ready, sir! Reeves and his men, I mean."

Levi's brain crackled to life, all thoughts focused on the present mission. He would have to deal with his crumbling conscience later. "We'll meet him ahead of schedule then. Tell the others we move out in five minutes." He said quickly and Connie nodded, saluted again, and ran back the way he came.

The Captain turned back to the part of the forest that had produced the strange noise and jogged forward a little. Still seeing nothing, he frowned and followed Connie, picking up the rest of his discarded uniform and pulling it on as he exited the ring.

No more thoughts about Eren, Petra, Mikasa, her—the time for foolish pondering was over—he needed to do what he did best: sacrifice.

A tall woman and an even taller man rose to their feet from behind the yellow-green foliage, both watching the retreating back of the Captain of the Scouting Legion, silently waiting until he was out of sight. With a long sigh, the man gave one last glance at the empty sparring ring and turned away, shoving his hands into the pockets of a long coat.

"You almost gave us away," The woman chided softly, following her partner through the dense leaves. They avoided the main path as they picked their way deeper into the trees and back to their hidden companions.

"It seems Levi has much on his mind nowadays. He's become sloppy," The man pushed his hat further down his face, shielding his eyes.

Leaves crunched beneath the woman's boots in step with him. "But, it looks like he's kept up with your training. Wasn't that one of your little knife tricks back there? Even I don't know it." She trotted forward to catch up and offered a small, albeit forced, smile, "Then again, he always was your favorite."

"Indeed. The finest pupil I've ever taught," the man gave a small nod and turned to face her. "However, you were a bit different from the others." He pressed himself against a broad tree trunk, motioning for the woman to do the same.

She said nothing and only drew up the hood of her cloak in reply, masking her unease.

"Will you be alright?" He asked quickly, and gave a sharp whistle. "You know I must follow my orders."

"I'll be fine," She answered hoarsely. "If all goes well..."

Four men and women noiselessly dropped from overhanging branches, each wearing dark colors and rifles slung across their backs. "Sir. They're moving out with Eren Jaeger and Historia Reiss as planned," one of the women addressed the tall man gruffly.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Move ahead with the operation. Make it as clean as possible." He nodded toward the group, dismissing them. As they moved away, he stated gently, "If all goes well, you will have nothing to worry about. You'll get what you want."

Next to him, the woman nodded and hung her head lower.

Kenny Ackerman smiled grimly, his eyes hidden below the brim of his hat. "But first, we shall see just how much my pupil has kept up with his training."

Tensions did not fade easily with time, it would seem. With the Scouting Legion's esteem running black through the government and the people alike, the revamped Levi Squad took to the shadows. From a warm cot and comfortable, albeit tight, living quarters to hard ground and bleak shelter, trust in their leader was paramount for their survival. A fact, Mikasa noted with some disdain, which placed tensions in harder places within the joints of her neck and toughened spots of her shoulders.

Yet whether she was infuriated or reluctantly agreeing with Captain Levi, Mikasa still wasn't certain. Two days ago, his vicious treatment of Historia had outraged everyone, including Jean—which was surprising, because Mikasa would have thought he'd have been the first to agree that whatever needed to be done should be done—but Mikasa had found herself silently agreeing with her superior's words, though harsh they had been.

I'm satisfied playing the role of the murderer. Because then, all of humanity won't have to.

Arrogant words—not to mention brash—for a single person, but Mikasa knew the Captain didn't need to back them up. If the Titans were no match for Humanity's Strongest, who was to say humans were any different? "If you win, you live." Fitting, she thought; the Protector becomes the Martyr—a woeful transformation the Captain had chosen, but perhaps he had felt he was responsible as Humanity's Strongest. Who better to die first while selflessly shielding the masses from greedy, murdering deceivers? She understood.

Or did she? She shuddered and pulled her jacket tighter, quickly glancing toward her chatting friends and edging toward a corner of the stable. Would she be willing to cut down hundreds, if not thousands, to secure everyone else's safety? Would she be able to live with it afterward, was probably the more sobering question. One murder was enough—the ugly face of the kidnapper grinned at her in the rotting wood and she shrank against the wall—but that had been out of self-defense and she and Eren would have died. But, did that really amount to Levi's weighty declaration of becoming a downright murderer for humanity and not for himself? He hadn't been asking any of his squad to follow him, but the gravity of his perception had struck Mikasa's conscience, because right then, she knew.

Levi's question echoed in her mind: Do you know what you want? Do you really? Perhaps he hadn't been asking if she knew what she wanted. Perhaps it had been a question of whether she knew the implications and consequences of what she was so adamant and passionate about. Was she willing to accept the ramifications of keeping Eren safe—he was a dangerous weapon all sides were desperately fighting to possess now—and could she follow through? The possibilities frightened her.

She had left Levi's room that day seething and frustrated, not knowing what he was truly after. Anger at him, at herself, her inability to focus, his ability to see right through her; she had been flooded with a wave of emotions so hot, she had almost stomped right back through his door for another lashing. Yet, her pride hadn't let her, and so she had silently boiled the next day, refusing to speak with anyone except in one-word answers. Armin, who was usually so gently forthright in his words, had decided to steer clear of his resentful friend and hadn't dared to approach her—something Mikasa had deeply regretted: though brutally realistic in his rationale, he was normally the one she would turn to whenever her mind was in shambles and he probably would have seen the truth behind the Captain's words right away.

She had been left alone to deal with her problem—which took the form of the disgruntled Captain—and forced to dig inside herself; now that it was out in the open (at least between her and her superior), it couldn't be suppressed any longer. I know what I want. To keep Eren and Armin safe. They're the only family I have left, and I will fight for them. I already have.

You're lying to yourself, Mikasa. Levi's rough voice cut through her brain.

How is that lying? She tightened her fingers into fists at her sides, her eyes darting from right to left against the stable her team had taken refuge in.

If you really wanted Eren and Armin to be safe, why did you let them join the Scouting Legion? Certain death awaits them both sooner rather than later, and now look where Eren is. In the hands of the Central Military Police. Levi's voice continued to prod her.

We did what we had to. Mikasa felt her heart sink at her own admittance. Surely, the Captain had noticed her reaction, or lack thereof, when they had found out that Dimo Reeves had been murdered? And had (seemingly) kept her cool when Eren and Historia had been taken away? It was Eren's dream. He had a dream. Who am I to take that away?

So, what is your dream? Who is Eren to take yours away? Why fight for someone else's dream, instead of your own?

She was arguing with herself now, but the other voice in her head had decided to assume the Captain's—an uncanny resemblance of their previous argument. Ironically, Mikasa didn't think she would win this one either.

Is that your one and only desire then? To wonder constantly whether Eren and Armin are out of harm's way? To worry constantly about their own problems for them? Be selfish for once, Mikasa. You have something you've kept concealed from them for so long.

I know what my purpose is in life. I will never abandon them.

Mikasa. Let go.

Her eyes were stinging now, even though the weather was warm. A horse whinnied in a nearby stall, but Mikasa could only hear the Captain's voice in her head.

Let go.

They still need me. I need them.

Liar. Stop lying to yourself.

She gritted her teeth and almost smacked her head on an outstretched beam, nearly tumbling into a neat pile of hay. I am not a liar. Sighing miserably, she reached out to stroke the mane of one of the horses, gazing deep into its black eye at her own reflection. She hadn't been able to meet Levi's own piercing stare when he had said those words: I'm satisfied playing the role of the murderer. The Captain knew what he wanted and had no doubt accepted what he was up against long ago—he had said it outright, making sure to impale everyone around him with his statement—and Mikasa had felt his stare linger on her just a little while longer than it had on the rest of her friends. It had burned.

Why didn't he get it? What else could she want? There was nothing else. Safety came at a terrible price in the Scouting Legion, and she felt nothing short of relief and ecstasy whenever Eren was returned to her. Wasn't that supposed to be enough? They were probably living on borrowed time anyway, it would be selfish to want anything more. But now…

"I don't want to kill humans," Jean's voice was low and muttered by the far wall. "I wouldn't be able to do it."

Mikasa froze, her chest abruptly aching for her fellow squad mates. She had tuned out their earlier conversation, but Jean's admission brought her crashing back to the present. Killing. Of course. Everything revolved around everyone's resolve: were you a soldier, or were you already dead? Saying nothing, she caught Armin's face: a mixture of fear and solemn acceptance.

"The Captain terrified Historia," Sasha was saying. "He must want to continue pulling her strings when she becomes Queen."

"I can't…I won't join any group that acts out of order. I wanted to save humanity," Jean's voice was assertive even though it wavered at the end.

Mikasa lowered her head. Jean was quickly retracing Eren's ideals, a trait Mikasa would have normally applauded him for doing. However, now wasn't the time to question what, or even whom, they were fighting for, and she suddenly realized only one thing was for certain: they had no choice. A dark thought crossed her mind and Mikasa recognized that selfishness—her own for bemoaning Eren's situation and wanting the impossible, and Jean's for refusing to follow orders for his own peace of mind—would only prevent them from reaching their goal.

"We were given our orders. For Historia and Eren's safety, we have to trust in the Captain's decisions. Everyone," she lowered her eyelids, her mouth quickly drying, "Make a decision." Trust wasn't something she gave away on a whim, but she would be a fool to deny it to the Captain—it could very well mean life or death for her and Eren. Looking around at her friends, she could only sigh and turn away, knowing how they must feel. Levi hadn't given them the order to kill, but considering what they were up against, it might very well be necessary. Mikasa would do everything in her power to make sure Eren stayed safe, no matter who got in her way. I can do it. I know what I want, Captain. If it comes down to it, I'll show you that I'm willing to fight.

Up until recently, her world had been win or lose, fight or die, black or white. Unwanted splashes of red had occasionally seeped through her carefully fortified constructs of the way everything should be, but those she had painted over and hid from view to be nothing more than painful mistakes in the overall framework. Now, shades of gray and hues of complex colors had infiltrated—some the exact same shade as Captain Levi's wintry gunmetal irises and a few of Eren's pine green flitted—and though she found the spectrum beautiful, it did nothing to illuminate her path to contentment.

Eren's green was the safe and conservative route: one she had been traveling down for years now, and while it wasn't easy, it was familiar and predictable. But, Levi's gray was close to obsidian—so dark she couldn't even anticipate the next twist or turn. So did she follow her brother or her Captain? Her own ultimatum to her teammates pushed her closer to the looming fork in the road: Make a decision. Whatever she chose, there would be no turning back.

What Mikasa didn't know was that she would be forced to make that decision so quickly.

Gunshots reverberated down the tapering street she and the rest of the squad were waiting in, but the casket wagon holding Historia and Eren was due to appear any moment. Without the Captain or any of the other senior officers with them, the heavy choice fell to her and her teammates.

"We need to switch strategies," said Armin quietly. "The Captain and the others must have been discovered. We can't afford to wait for them."

No one dared to disagree. Armin's sound logic had kept them all alive thus far.

"It's getting closer!" Sasha murmured, her face ashen.

"Shh! The casket wagon's—!"

The whine of cables ejecting and pained grunts erupted from the arches of the Wall where Captain Levi burst through, pursued by men and women in what looked like three-dimensional maneuvering gear, but instead of blades in their hands, they held handguns. Whoever these people were, they were efficient and deadly, aiming for the Captain with sprays of bullets, the intent to slaughter him perfectly readable on their faces.

Mikasa could do nothing but watch, paralyzed at the unfolding scene, and it seemed Jean and Sasha and Connie and Armin felt the same terror. They hadn't been noticed by the ruthless soldiers yet and her eyes darted after her superior, clothes torn and drenched in blood. Her mouth dropped open in wordless shock and the image of his scarred back pounded in her skull. Was this…?

Jean emitted a sharp gasp as Levi flung himself against the brick wall of a building, dodging gunshots and flipping through the air, swinging closer toward them. Heart hammering, Mikasa could see he was already hurt—and her body tightened in panic. There was no way swords against bullets...

"The Captain…" Connie whispered, his eyes glimmering with hopelessness.

But then, a painful shriek exploded from the closest enemy, and they all looked up in time to see that the Captain had launched one of his grapple hooks into the man and had flipped his left sword into his infamous backhand grip. His eyes were no longer the relaxed gray they were used to: a savage storm now raged in them, and lightning streaked as he retracted the cable violently, face hidden behind a veil of scarlet.

"NO...!"

A hideous ripping sound that would stay with them forever met their ears and Mikasa fought to tear her eyes away from the man cut in two. Blood showered the street below and the two halves of the body dropped with a sickeningly wet thud against the pavement, still twitching. Nevertheless, the Captain had moved on, veering just above them and brandishing the red sword. This time though, the blood didn't evaporate.

"He killed him…" Jean whispered, frozen in his saddle. "He killed…"

"Go to the left." Mikasa was the first to regain her composure—what little there was left—and tried to force the grisly image from her mind. She could barely hear her own voice over the ringing in her ears, still echoing the yell of the man.

I'm satisfied playing the role of the murderer.

I'm satisfied playing the role of the murderer.

I'm satisfied playing the role of the murderer…

Levi dropped from the sky and into the back of the cart Armin was driving, lacking the grace he usually displayed. He wobbled into a crouched position and had to grasp the edge of the cart for support, almost out of breath. "We need to give up on Eren and Historia for now." The cuts above his eye and on his cheek had smeared half of his face red, giving him a barbaric mask. "They're using them to lure us out and kill us."

Sasha gasped, "But we're—"

Levi was already giving out orders and didn't pause: "Armin, find the nearest level ground. Sasha and Connie, lead the horses. Jean, return gunfire. Mikasa and I will use the three-dimensional gear to engage any enemies."

Mikasa's stomach sank and her skin grew clammy. Do you know what you want? Levi's persisting question had tattooed itself on his lips and she knew what she was being ordered to do. Can you do what you must?

"We'll find Eren and Historia another way." Was that pity or remorse in his eyes? "When you can kill the enemy, do it." His voice had softened, but there was no regret in it.

Jean staggered, the whites of his eyes glowing against the darkening daylight. "Mikasa…"

"Understood," she bit out, reinforcing the steel over her heart. An order was an order, and right now, she felt she had no place to object. These soldiers with their strange gear were after the lives of the Scouting Legion, and that included the four friends next to her. They needed her help now. Eren didn't. Looking into the tempest of Levi's eyes, she made her decision. Goodbye, Eren.

"Captain! They're coming!" Armin screeched.

Nodding to her, Levi whirled around and jumped off the wagon, letting gravity lurch him toward the oncoming enemies, his swords already out. Following him, Mikasa let the exhilaration of battle overcome her senses and something beneath her skin crackled with ferocity, quickening her every movement. The wind pulled at her clothes and hair…then a spark ignited in her brain. Fight!

An opponent aimed his gun at her, but Levi was faster, hurling one of the blades at him with one hand. She didn't look back as she raced down the street, but the agonized cry from the enemy and Jean's horrified exclamation told her the man had ceased to be a threat.

She evaded another enemy and ducked as another swung his weapon toward her, but three knives pierced his neck before she could react and his head snapped back, blood dribbling from his mouth and spraying from the wounds. Swiveling as neatly as she could in midair, she spied the cast-out hand of the Captain, his fingers gliding through the air in a sleek arc, another knife already in hand as he rolled over her.

"Shit!" Levi threw over his shoulder as a woman in a ponytail pitched over Mikasa and swung right next to Armin. Jean had barely enough time to turn around before a gun was shoved into Armin's petrified face.

Mikasa's instincts kicked in as well as her fury toward these people—why were they even after them?—and with a well-timed flip, she kicked the woman in the back of the head, blood spraying from her mouth. Her cable didn't allow her to follow with a fatal blow and she was forced to watch from on high as Jean was struck down and made to look down the barrel of the woman's gun. Endgame…here…of all places…

"JEAN!"

A single and terrible crack echoed and Mikasa felt her heart weep.

Their refuge was a dingy little shack in the middle of the forest, and from the look of it, it hadn't been used in several years. Silence filled the close air of the stable as her friends set up camp, rested, prepared, and recovered from the horror they had just witnessed, but Mikasa couldn't be bothered to help, especially at a time like this.

Her breath came unevenly in sync with Armin's as they held onto each other under the gloom of a tree trunk, the only solace they could find. "I'm sorry, Mikasa…I'm sorry…I'm sorry." Armin was saying, but Mikasa said nothing as he sobbed and retched. The smell of his shock was almost overwhelming, and she wished she could take back the last few hours.

It was maliciously ironic that Armin's first kill would be another human—just like her, she thought wretchedly—but she couldn't doubt that her friend had grown up. In a horrible way, though, but he had saved Jean and probably the rest of them too by killing that woman. "It's fine," She said hoarsely, not knowing what else to say that would console him; there was nothing else she could say. It was cruel.

She eyed Levi as she stepped through the rickety doors of the stable and he at her, but neither said a word as she walked past—his face darkened when she barely shook her head, indicating Armin's anguished state. Sasha was stitching up the Captain's arm in the corner, but his face belied no pain even as the needle was pulled through his skin—more painful events had since transpired.

What a gift…to be able to show no torment. Mikasa couldn't bring herself to blame the Captain for what had happened—if anything, everything had gone according to plan: he gave the order to kill if necessary, Armin followed through, and no one had been compromised. They were all safe and relatively unscathed because of it.

However, the success of the mission meant nothing if you were fifteen and forced to kill. Fifteen. The age of legal adulthood, but still much too young to carry such a heavy burden. What other fifteen-year-old could advertise such a gruesome achievement?

Did she thank the Captain? Or condemn him for wrenching away Armin's innocence?

Whatever you choose, you cannot regret the decision you make. Eren had soberly repeated Levi's words to her after the defeat of the Female Titan, and Mikasa found she couldn't disagree. The war had shifted from against the Titans to bloodthirsty humans, and if dirtying her hands meant the protection of those she loved, who was she to deny it? Armin had already accepted it—if unwillingly—and Mikasa's equivocation finally buckled, the Obsidian road beckoning to her.

Armin…the frightened little boy she and Eren so often had to protect from bullies…his will was stronger than hers.

In the blackness, Levi's hearing was magnified too much and his head hurt with the influx of noises; creaking, whistling, shuffling, scraping—even outside the filthy barn he could hear his subordinates' breathing, and his brain automatically identified the five peacefully sleeping teenagers by their sighs. He had taken the first watch four hours ago, but after what they had been through today, he resolved to let them get as much rest as they could. He hadn't signed up to be a babysitter when he had joined the Scouting Legion, but these kids…they were worth it.

There was a scuff against the opposite side of the wall he was leaning on followed by a low moan, and he leaned back, sighing. It really was regrettable, and had he been able, he would have prevented it, knowing exactly what Armin and Jean were going through: the trauma would never disappear, and the nightmares would plague them for the rest of their lives. Soldiers though they were, they were still just kids.

Another moan, this time louder, grew into a full sob, and Levi hung his head. "No…no…you can't…no…" Sitting straight up and pulling the rifle into his hands, Levi jerked forward, feeling the wounds on his face split again. It was Mikasa's voice and it was pleading mercy—the kind only a damned prisoner would exhale.

No time for ifs or buts, he ripped open the doors, immediately searching for her sleeping figure. It was there in an isolated corner, away from the others. Upon squinting in the dark, he saw she was clutching her arm and her eyes were rolling wildly beneath her lids.

What should he do? Glancing back toward the closed doors and making sure the rest of his squad wasn't suffering the same, he stood above her stupidly, having no clue what he was to do. For the first time in a long time, Captain Levi was at a total loss. Did he leave her to her night terror? Did he disturb her already disquieted sleep?

Leaning down and dropping to his knees, he reached out a quivering hand. Perhaps whatever her mind was showing her would disappear…

Her eyes snapped open and for the longest five seconds of his life, they stared at one another in the dark. Without warning, she reached up and seized his outstretched hand, gripping it with a crushing hold and cradling it close. Her body began to shake visibly and her sobs were muffled in the surrounding hay. "They hurt me…" She whispered, barely audible to the normal ear, but Levi could hear every quake in her words.

Fully confounded, he tried to reclaim his hand, but Mikasa held fast and he gave in after a few feeble tugs, still unsure of what to do. Was she even awake?

"They cursed me…" She continued. Her fingernails dug into the back of his hand and he grit his teeth to keep from hissing.

"Mikasa, wake up." He ordered, but there was hardly any conviction behind his command. "Mikasa. Mikasa." It was useless. So, he sat there next to her, watching her chest rise and fall with every heaving breath; she was in some sort of weird stupor and if her words hadn't been so severe, this whole situation would be very bizarre—not to mention compromising.

"You're in danger…" She breathed, and hiccupped roughly, her breath fighting to release from her lungs.

"What?" Levi bent over her, suddenly alarmed. Was she speaking to him or some other specter in her unconsciousness? But his mind wasn't as completely muddled as his subordinate's thought, and he shook his head and blinked. Tucking this, yet another, strange utterance from Mikasa into the growing pile, Levi reminded himself that nothing she said could be taken that seriously—she was dreaming. They were all in danger and it wasn't like he was anyone special. "Ackerman. Let go of me."

She didn't say anything more and her breathing returned to a faint whimper, but she didn't let go of his hand; her skin was rough beneath his own and her fingers twitched against the clasp as he curled and uncurled his fingers. For a brief moment, he was jolted back to a gloomy day in the Underground—little Isabel's good-natured face staring up at him in awe as she took his hand—and something in his heart wrenched as he completely surrendered.

It had been quiet all night and though they were far from safe, he didn't expect them to be found at this time in this dirty little shack. So he swept the dark cloak from his shoulders and spread it over Mikasa gently, moving to lay awkwardly next to her on the soft hay. She still hadn't released his hand, but he thought with some reluctance that maybe this one time, it was alright.

Pale sunlight was barely trickling into the barn from the roof when Mikasa finally cracked open her eyes, and she was met with a musky fragrance invading her nose. It was rich and soothing—and distantly familiar—and she inhaled deeply, her muscles loosening as she smiled into her blanket and snuggled against her pillow.

Except upon squeezing it, she rapidly discerned her pillow was most definitely not a pillow and something much more dynamic. Sitting up and scattering hay, she blinked, trying to rid her eyes of the bleariness that often accompanied sleep, and would have screamed if she weren't Mikasa Ackerman and mature enough to know that this was not something to flip out over. Probably.

The Captain had served as her temporary pillow—for how long she didn't know but she definitely did not want to—and was presently turned away from her on the large pile of hay, his head facing the opposite wall. His breathing was even, denoting his unconscious state, his body lay exposed to the cold, and his usual cloak discarded somewhere.

Mikasa dared not move lest she wake him, but she was now fully alert, her mind exploding with questions: she had gone to sleep alone in this corner so when did he get here? And why? She gathered her blanket closer to her face and inched away quietly, breathing in the warm fragrance.

All at once, the spicy scent came rushing at her and her brain was immediately drowned in him again. She almost flung the cloak away from her in shocked familiarity, but she felt herself pause, the thick material centimeters away from her nose. Why was it always him?

Maybe her own cloak hadn't been enough during the night and he had heard her shivering while out on watch. Or maybe he had decided that guarding was pointless and had sought rest in her corner, shedding his cloak on top of her unknowingly. Or maybe he was just being nice.

Whatever the reason, Mikasa sighed and looked over the Captain, noticing that the wrinkles around his eyes had virtually disappeared and the deep lines in his forehead had smoothed—he looked younger and more at peace, she realized, and the perpetual scowl on his mouth had also fled, leaving his face tranquil and content. It suited him better, she thought, and her mind eased from the initial confusion. Perhaps he was forgiven for nearly giving her a heart attack so early in the morning.

Looking over her shoulder to where the rest of the squad lay, she counted four bodies sprawled out—it seemed no one had taken the watch after the Captain and she supposed it wouldn't hurt to look around before they all woke. As silently as she could manage, she rose, breathing in one last quick inhalation before returning Levi's cloak to him, and blanketed his curled form, careful not to touch him.

This didn't change anything. This small act of kindness—considerate as it was—would not earn her forgiveness for the violent words he had spat weeks ago. Mikasa was not ungrateful, and while any other grudge would entice some kind of violence to get even, she was not petty. Even so…was such a grudge worth holding on to? Especially when he was not the only one whose words had been coated in ire?

Even so, her own words bit back into her chest, You're so cold, you've probably forgotten how to feel, haven't you, Captain? You have no idea what it's like anymore, do you?

A twinge of regret worked a strange muscle beneath her ribcage, churning at her stomach and forcing her to turn all her attention away from the still-sleeping Captain. Scowling, Mikasa tried to shove the irritating emotion away, not seeing why she, of all people, would feel the need to apologize for the acid they had both equally spat at one another.

Quiet, and mindful of the sleeping and the faint light of early morning, Mikasa pushed herself toward where Connie had been supposed to have taken the last watch. Despite the sour sensation in her belly, she let the buzz cut soldier sleep by his pile of hay and straw, wanting nothing more than to remain alone. Against her will, her mind jumped back once more to the verbal lashing she had exchanged with their leader.

Had she not been justified in her words? Yes, perhaps she may have gone too far…but she was not alone in that crime. Now there are several more crimes we can share. The images of the dead and breathing sobered the heat from her mind, sucking away at her indignant stubbornness and leaving a hollow shell—a painful reminder that made her eyes seek out their captain and land on the leg he had wounded for her sake, for Eren's sake. Humanity's Strongest…injured because of me. At this point in the game, none of them could afford useless grudges, justified as they were, and while she wished she hadn't heard it from him, Captain Levi was right. She was not the only one who cared for Eren, who would sacrifice everything for him, and if scorekeeping came into play, Levi had paid a price heftier than she had. He had lost his squad—she didn't doubt that he felt the same way she did for her own comrades—he had lost his family, in the fight to protect the titan-shifter.

You are not the only one held accountable for Eren Jaeger's safety.

Nothing else could be closer to the truth. This, Mikasa was slowly realizing.

Now, human blood stained her palms as well as their Captain's. They were all covered in shared filth…all for Eren.

With a heavier heart, Mikasa let out a soft sigh as she turned her eyes to stare at the brightening sky, she allowed herself to hope (at least) that this man's dreams were free from the red that now unmercifully governed their waking lives.

"I take it from your slack jaw that you finished reading the file."

"Administered five doses of the Serum in the span of two weeks. Three major surgeries and nine minor for sense and tissue enhancement. Multiple intellect analyses. And all of it before he was bloody two years old. Goddamn. And then put on ice for a whole decade? They lied to us…"

"Don't act so surprised. Lying's not beneath them if it gets them what they want."

"And his parents? His lineage? The whole reason he was brought to us in the first place? How long ago was this Project implemented?"

"Didn't you read the damn file? Six generations. Roughly around the time the Titans were last seen. Don't you see? Over a hundred years of meticulous planning, and now it's all gone out the window."

"How were we to know the supremacy of the specimen we were operating on? Did they not trust us with the information?"

"Obviously. Pretty volatile shit you've let out of the cage now. And Kenny Ackerman...did you even read the goddamn paper this morning? Your mercenary tried to kill him!"

"But he didn't. From what he's sent us, Kenny's shifted his attention to the Jaeger brat and the Reiss bastard for now. Something about luring Levi down here. I still can't believe this—"

"Well you better get used to it. We've still got about four more years until the Serum fully infuses into the blood, and according to that file, there's about thirty-seven more tests to conduct before the Project is considered complete. On this one at least."

"Thirty-seven? Bloody hell…"

"Right now, the only thing you can do is fucking wait. Perhaps the First House will be merciful…"

"Fucking damn it. Damn it all to hell. If only we had been told, we wouldn't have dumped him after the last injection failure."

"No point in whining about that now. I'd worry about how you're going to subdue the son of a bitch when he gets down here, and fight off his crazy subordinates when they follow. Because they will find him. Especially her."

"Who's 'her'? Did the lab rat find himself a girlfriend?"

"Not sure yet. Though from what 'H' says, they're pretty close. You should know her. Subject 39?"

"Are you trying to get me slaughtered? Her? We knew she had survived and had joined the Scouting Legion too, but you're saying she's his? This day can't get any worse…"

"Tell me about it. But she's nothing to worry about. The First House doesn't give a Titan's ass about her."

"Yet. But, I guess you're right. Once Levi's in our custody, the Scouting Legion will probably start calling her 'Humanity's Strongest' and she'll be forced to let him go. If she comes down here though…the Ripper will take care of her."

"For all your optimism, you sure are quite the cutthroat."

"Can't afford to be charitable down here. Mind if I keep this file while you're Aboveground?"

"Fine. Burn it when you're done though. There's two copies of the original in the Capital, and that's one of them. The First House would like to, eh, keep it 'classified' for obvious reasons."

"Naturally. Anyway, fine. I'll give you the ashes when you come back. Oh…one last question before you catch the Conveyor… Maybe useless… but, as Head Researcher of Sina Unit, maybe you'll know."

"…What now?"

"He's not the first one is he?"

"The first what?"

"The first 'Levi'. The file makes no mention of his name before he was brought here. Just calls him 'The Subject'."

"Perceptive, aren't you? But no. Not the first."

"Ah."

"There were six before him. One for each generation. Protocol prohibited discrimination, so it was decided that each subsequent Subject would be treated the same as the first and given the same identification."

"Ingenious. Named after…"

"The L.E.V.I. Project."

Author's Note: As always, thank you for reading! If you have any questions, comments, suggestions, anything you'd like me to address, please don't hesitate to message me!