TW: Gore, mass murder, graphic details and descriptions of wounds and open injuries, lots and lots of blood, vomit, very graphic and detailed descriptions of multiple characters' death, descriptions of body parts, organs, extreme violence, graphic description of burnt bodies, people burning alive and third-degree burns, explosions, civilian casualties, decapitation, dismemberment, and PTSD (mostly survivor's guilt and nightmares).
"So, which regiment were you in?" Porco tilts his head, and you feel as if the room has shrunk under the weight of your colleagues' intense stares.
Jean gives you one last look, and you offer him a barely perceptible smile to let him know you trust his answer, whatever he says. "I was in the 104th." He declares solemnly, straightening his shoulders and puffing out his chest, his hands behind his back.
"Wow." Porco's mouth opens wide, astonished or perhaps incredulous that you thought you could fool him so easily. Suddenly, a glimmer of admiration and respect lights up his eyes, and he takes a determined step toward Jean before patting him on the shoulder like a brother.
"Is it over for us?" Jean mouths to you as Porco takes a step back and lets out a small laugh, wiping his face with his palm like he can't believe what Jean just told him.
"You were part of the regiment that almost got sent to the Trost district. They sent the 139th instead; you were blessed." You feel your shoulders relax in relief as he nods respectfully toward Jean.
"The 139th was wiped out there. You were really lucky, weren't you?" A shadow crosses Jean's face at this comment, and you already know he's thinking about the many comrades you lost that day and the gruesomeness of their deaths.
Thankfully, their sacrifices weren't in vain, but you'll never forget what it felt like to burn the bodies of those you grew up withโyour friends who became your family. You'll never forget the torment Jean felt after discovering Marco's mutilated, barely living body.
They say you can't be angry at war because it takes lives, since its very purpose is to see who can eliminate the most people in the shortest amount of time. But you can, and you have the right to, be angry at the heartless, vile beings who took pleasure in torturing innocent people.
Killing a man and subjecting him to horrific torture before taking his life are two different things. In some cases, one can be explained depending on the context, while the other stems from our inherent cruelty. This cruelty consists of the basest and most abominable tendencies of humankind, which manifest themselves when we find ourselves in an environment where we can unleash all our frustrations on others with impunity.
War is evil, war is sickening, war is vicious, but above all, it reveals the true, hidden nature of mankind, all the most abhorrent atrocities of which people are capable, simply because they find themselves on opposing sides.
Thus, for the rest of your days, you will seek vengeance and justice. You will bring peace to your country and eliminate anyone who stands in your way. You will hunt their blood like a shark lurking in murky waters, like a hunting dog chasing a rabbit until it snaps its neck between its sharp teeth.
Nothing will stop you from preventing the atrocities committed in Paradis from happening again. You will never allow another war to erupt, no matter the sacrifices it entails.
You will not give up until your goal is achieved.
"Yes, I was very lucky." Jean replies to Porco, his gaze dark, as if veiled. After all, he was just a child, like all of you, when he had to survive the horrors of war. Children thrown onto a battlefield to fight in wars started by adults.
"Well, Porco, thank you for reminding us of events we would all rather forget. I must show the newcomers around the building, if you don't mind." Pieck breaks the dark, heavy atmosphere that had settled over the room, an atmosphere like dust on a shelf: light on the surface, but heavy, oppressive, and suffocating when it accumulates.
"You'll have all the time in the world to talk to Jean whenever he needs to print articles." Porco nods and takes a step toward the boy, who seems frozen in time, like a picture in a photo book, his eyes trapped in the past, condemned to remain frozen in this state for eternity.
"See you later, Kruger." The blond boy leaves the room, and Jean seems to realize he's not alone when Porco's presence vanishes. He looks up and sees Hitch standing before him, a mischievous smile on his lips.
"I am very pleased to welcome you to our team." She extends her hand with a broad smile, and Jean shakes it, giving her a light, formal squeeze, which she returns with an overly affectionate one.
Jean wipes his hand on his trousers, then turns to Pieck and you after the brunette leaves the room, light on her feet, whistling as she returns to her duties.
"Well, let's begin the tour." Pieck smiles and gestures for you to step outside. You step into the corridor, and Jean tugs at your sleeve to get your attention, placing you a few steps behind Pieck, out of earshot.
He leans down to whisper in your ear, his lips brushing your lobe. "Observe your surroundings with those pretty eyes of yours, owl."
"Of course I will." You quicken your pace to catch up with Pieck and avoid arousing suspicion as she continues showing you around the building's many departments.
You pass by the printing office where Porco works, then the entertainment, sports, and weather departments, and many others. Most of the time, the corridors are lined with numerous rooms that simply serve as offices, either for secretaries or for more important people.
"The last department I'm going to show you is the politics department." Pieck stops in front of a glass door leading to a small space with gray carpeting and partitioned offices, decorated and cluttered with various objects.ย
Upon entering the politics department's office, you see a blond man, hunched over his typewriter, typing frantically while reading scribbles in an old notebook.
"Colt, we have visitors, don't frighten them."Pieck says in a teasing little voice, drawing Colt's attention from behind his desk. He stands up and looks at you and Jean simultaneously before lifting his chin in recognition, his eyebrows raising slightly before returning to their initial position.
"Oh, Jean and Y/N Kruger, the new employees, yes. Pleased to meet you." Colt first shakes Jean's hand and winces slightly when the young man gives him a warm handshake. He then turns to you. You shake his hand formally, then take a step back, preferring to analyze the room in the most important department of the establishment rather than join the conversation.
"I hope one of you will be assigned here. We've been desperately short-staffed since the field reporters left during the war. People are afraid of the dangers in the field." Colt nervously rubs the back of his neck, trying to convince you that his job isn't dangerous. If only he knew all the things you've had to endure in your life, he would freeze like a statue.
"We'll let you get back to work." Pieck says, smiling and waving to the boy before leaving the room and heading for the stairs. She walks a little ahead of you, and you and Jean begin a conversation, half a flight behind her.
"I don't want to go to entertainment." You whisper in his ear and he lets out a little laugh loud enough only for you to hear.
"Why? It's the one where you make the least effort." He asks and you glare at him, wondering if he's genuinely being clueless or just trying to provoke you. Knowing him, chances are it's the latter.
"Well, I don't like that employee. She's totally infatuated with you." You scoff, and he puts his arm around your shoulders as you continue walking slowly down the stairs behind Pieck.
"I understand her. Did you see me?" He moves closer until your faces are practically touching, and you push him away by placing your palm on his chest.
"Yes, I've seen you enough." You roll your eyes.
"Well, my charm is working on her." He smiles.
"Equine charm, I presume?" You let out a mocking laugh as he frowns at your little insult.
"Hey, it's not just horse, it's Stallion." He wrinkles his nose like a child, and you chuckle softly at his disgruntled expression.
Suddenly, you hear Pieck's voice interrupting your conversation, and you rush downstairs to join her.
"So, which department would you like to join?" She smiles, and you repeat the sentences Ackerman advised you to remember by heart in case you were ever asked this question. You can even hear his deadpan voice in your head.
"Entertainment and Politics are the best departments for this assignment, so you'd better pretend to be really passionate about them to get assigned there. Understood, brat?"
"Politics wouldn't bother me. Unlike most people, I wouldn't be afraid to go on the field if it meant serving the nation." Jean puffs out his chest, displaying an exaggerated nationalism for a country he doesn't even belong to.
"Personally, I would prefer working for the entertainment department. In order to stay up-to-date on trends and know which events I could attend." You let out a polite and soft laugh to show your relaxed attitude to Pieck, who tilts her head to look at the ceiling, lost in thought.
"Oh yes, it's one of the most appreciated departments. We welcome many new employees each year. Well, you will have your answers tomorrow." She pushes open the door, and you finally enter the lobby after what feels like an eternity.
"You can bring pencils, notebooks or anything else that might be useful for your work. You begin tomorrow morning at 8:00. Have a good day." You and Jean leave her and head toward the entrance, crossing the gleaming lobby floor and passing past employees rushing to their office before finding yourselves in the bustling streets of Liberio once again.
When night falls, your mind dwells on the events of the day, focusing particularly on the discussion between Jean and Porco.
In your sleep, you are transported to a day that marked your life forever. A day you would do anything to forget, a peaceful afternoon four years earlier.
The day of the battle of Trost District.
"Has it really been five weeks since the last Marleyan attack?" Eren asks you as he looks at the world beyond Trost District, distant grasses swaying in the light afternoon breeze, flower petals drifting into the sky to perfume the air and make the landscape magical.
You are both standing atop the ramparts surrounding the city, these 15-meter-high walls offering an unobstructed view of the verdant lands stretching as far as the eye can see, a landscape untouched by war. Compared to the wasteland that Shiganshina has become, Trost is a small haven of peace where you and your comrades make the most of your days, trying to forget the horrors you witnessed in the past by playing cards and singing together late at night around a campfire.
It has been five weeks since you last heard from the Marleyans and the soldiers have begun to relax, enjoying card games and glasses of whiskey in the evening, convinced that the threat has been eliminated.
You do not share this opinion; you would have been notified if an armistice had been declared. However, no messenger came, no one conveyed any information describing the current situation to you.
Even with your limited experience on the front lines, you know that silence can be deceiving. Silence cannot be trusted, it is synonymous with something greater, the awakening of a sleeping giant, the calm before the storm.
[Play Zombie by The Cranberries]
A storm is coming, a storm that will destroy everything you have built in recent months, ravaging everything in its path and leaving behind only chaos and destruction.
"Look at us, ready to stand tall again. We will end this fight once and for all." Eren puffs out his chest as he cleans the barrels of the cannons placed atop the wall, protecting the city from any enemy threats that dare to approach.
"This nightmare will finally come to an end." Suddenly, you are thrown backward as an explosion roars through the air, the shock wave hitting you with full force and nearly bursting your eardrums.
"Y/N!" Eren shouts as your vision blurs around the edges and you feel yourself falling to the ground. He catches you just before you fall from the rampart, holding your arm tightly.
"What just happened?" You whisper weakly, coughing to clear the dust that burns your throat.
"The enemy is here! They are attacking us!" He pulls you to the other side of the rampart and turns your head toward the outside of the city, watching the large army who is marching straight in your direction.
The Marleyans are far away, but the machines scattered among the legions of soldiers are titans, almost as tall as the wall, rocket launchers as ferocious as a pride of lions.
"They broke the wall! The wall is breached!" You run to look over the edge of the wall, hearing the voices of your comrades on the ground fifteen meters below.
"Our friends...Eren, look." You tug on his sleeve and point down. He follows your line of vision and you feel him tense beside you as he sees the horror resting near the gate.
The gate in the wall is completely destroyed, reduced to dust and obliterated by the brute force of the weapon that struck it. Your comrades who were on guard duty today are crushed beneath the debris of the wall thrown up by the explosion.
Thomas Wagner, a tall, blond boy who was in the cadet corps with you, is crushed under a huge block of concrete. His body is entirely covered in blood, the liquid slowly spreading around him to form a large, dark red pool.
Crushed organs litter the ground around him, pieces of his digestive system scattered as if he were a torn rag doll, unrecognizable fragments of each of his organs lying just a few feet away from his body.
He is still alive, coughing and spitting up blood with every breath. His head bobs painfully with each respiration, his lungs collapsed and destroyed, pierced by the shattered bones of his ribcage.
"Y/N, Y/N!" You snap out of your thoughts as Eren roughly shakes your shoulder, pulling you from your daze and nodding his head at the approaching army.
The horror of Shiganshina is about to be repeated. Trost is teeming with citizens who haven't yet evacuated, believing themselves safe from the war and the merciless generals.
They will all die under the bombs and bullets.
They will all die, and you will be powerless to save them.
Hundreds of soldiers appear from the hills surrounding Trost district. The synchronized rumble of their footsteps shakes the ground and announces the arrival of a giant.
Armed with grenades at their belts and brandishing their rifles, they advance, proud and boisterous, crushing everything in their path.
"I'll kill them all." You grit your teeth and grab the cane you had placed on the ground. Ever since your leg was nearly torn off during the Battle of Shiganshina, you've had to walk with a cane to aid your recovery.
Running is difficult, but you can walk without any problem, even if you limp slightly. The doctor said that, given the extent of the damage, it would take at least two years for a full recovery, and that you would bear the scar for the rest of your life.
You are suddenly pulled back, grabbed by the collar by Eren, who glares at you angrily. "Your leg is too weak; you won't be able to run. You stay here and stand guard!"
"My comrades are dying down there, and the enemy is approaching. They need me!" You shout, push him away, then head for the stairs leading to the base of the rampart to go join your comrades before Eren can stop you.
"Why are you being so stubborn? Do what you want, but you'd better stay back as much as possible." He threatens you before shoving you out of his way so he can go down the stairs.
Your hand trembles as you grip your cane tightly, staring at the soldiers marching toward your city where you forged new memories, ready to trample this land too.
"Shut your mouth, Jaeger." You drop your cane and sit down on the edge of the rampart, between two merlons. You grab the binoculars from the watchtower and the walkie-talkie from the crate that was beside them.
You press on the PTT button and transmit your message. "L/N to ground troops, L/N to ground troops. Enemy approaching between 10 and 2 o'clock, large area covered by numerous heavily armed soldiers. Powerful rocket launchers and new weapons concentrated in the center and at the extremities."
"This is Smith. We've observed extensive damage near the gate and numerous casualties. Remain on duty, soldier." Erwin Smith, your commander and head of all operations for your unit, is speaking to you on the other end of the line.
He is the best leader you've ever known, always ready to sacrifice himself and his troops for the good of the nation, ready to relinquish his humanity to save other human beings.
"Yes, sir." You press the PTT button again and place the device on your lap, taking a deep, shaky breath. Helpless, you can only watch as the enemy troops appear. Your soldiers emerge from the broken gate, cannons in front of them, ready to inflict maximum damage.
The moment the first four soldiers light the fuse, the enemy fire, and you see a massive rocket hurtle straight toward the men.
They vanish in seconds, their bodies turning to dust and spraying the rampart with fresh blood the moment the missile strikes, destroying the cannons and triggering another explosion that shakes the entire wall.
You clutch your binoculars and spit your observations into the walkie-talkie's microphone, your voice growing hoarse with each word.
You watch the soldiers enter the city and head to your watchtower to block access to the stairs. They'll want a strategic entry point to launch their raid smoothly, and you won't allow it as long as you're alive.
You approach the crate filled with explosives and weapons that you and Eren were preparing and take out a grenade, which you normally only use as a last resort.
"Why won't you leave us alone, you filthy dogs? Why do you want to kill innocent people? WHY?!" You yell as you see Marleyan soldiers coming up the stairs, their faces covered in shadows.
"Die, you bastards!" You give them a sinister smile before pulling the pin on the grenade you're holding and throwing it with all your strength toward the base of the wall.
You witness the explosion that occurs as soon as the grenade hits the ground. The dozen enemy soldiers within its blast radius explode simultaneously, their skin melting instantly in the flames before they disintegrate completely before your eyes.ย
Their bodies burn with intense heat as their remains collapse to the ground. Carbonized corpses, reduced to ashes in a second.
This section of the wall is almost completely destroyed, but not enough to collapse. The force of the explosion throws you backward, but you immediately get back on your feet, ready to report enemy movements to your commander.
You glance over the rampart and see that all the Marleyan troops have entered the city; the worst of the battle is about to begin.
"L/N to ground troops, the enemy has entered the city. Should I remain on report duty?" You hold the walkie-talkie tightly in your hand as you feel your blood rush through your veins and arteries while you wait for a response.
"Come to the front line, soldier. We'll try to trap them in the city." You recognize Commander Erwin's voice, even though his words are distorted by static.
"I will join you in a few minutes, Commander." You tuck the walkie-talkie into your pocket and grab your rifle. You head to the other side of the rampart, where the staircase still stands, its steps undamaged compared to its twin, now a pile of rubble.
You limp down the steps, your rifle pointed at the ground like a makeshift cane, and scan your surroundings. On the muddy and bloody ground, you find your comrades, all reduced to smithereens of flesh and bone by the explosions. Fire rages everywhere, flames destroy houses and send thick black smoke billowing into the air.
You enter a narrow alley and freeze, petrified by the sight before you. Mylius, one of your closest friends, a blond boy who trained with you in the cadet corps, is kneeling on the ground, blood pouring from his mouth. He is struggling to breathe, rattles escaping his throat.
"Mylius!" The moment he looks up to see who called him, a Marleyan soldier appears behind him, a machete in his hand.
"No, no, no..." You whisper, running toward him, but the Marleyan soldier has already raised his weapon and, with a swift movement, slits Mylius's throat.
His head lurches and rolls to the ground, his eyes wide open, pupils dilated, as life ebbs away from his eyes while the sky reflects in his pupils. Less than a second later, his body falls to the ground with a thud, blood spurting from his neck as his body convulses, the final moments of his life unfolding before your eyes before he becomes a motionless corpse.
"YOU BASTARD! I'LL KILL YOU!" A cry of rage escapes you as you rush at the Marleyan, rifle raised. Before he can retaliate, you fire twice: one bullet into his chest, the other into his face. His face explodes, leaving a hollow mass of flesh, bone, and blood in its place as you watch the remains fall to the ground, his mandible dropping with the mass of skin, then his body collapsing, forming a fresh pool of blood near Mylius's.
The adrenaline had made you run without thinking, but now your leg is throbbing with excruciating pain, your muscles suddenly contracting as if you're seized by a cramp. You gasp and squeeze your calf to ease the tension. Your leg isn't fully healed yet, but you can't let your comrades die on the battlefield; you've already failed Mylius.
The walls around you are covered in dark red blood stains and mangled flesh. You look away to hold back your tears as you walk toward your friend's headless body.
"What's that smell?" You sniff the air and a terrible, acrid odor hits your nostrils, the smell of something burning. You look up and see smoke rising into the sky, a dark gray, almost black smoke, which does not bode well.
You take off Mylius's vest and cover your comrade's body with it before taking his head and placing it above his neck, where it is supposed to be. How strange it is to hold someone's head; it is much lighter than you expected, but the significant blood loss is surely the reason.
His blood pools on your hands, making them clammy, but you won't wipe it off; this blood is proof that you failed to save a friend.
You limp out of the alley and pass numerous corpses, friends and foes alike, some with broken legs or arms, others completely mutilated, others covered in blood to the point of being unrecognizable.
You take ammunition from your comrades' bags to be well-armed and steal a few knives and other weapons from a Marleyan soldier you find cut in half on the muddy ground, his intestines crushed under his body.
You hear the sounds of your friends fighting in the streets and houses, even though you can't see them, and sometimes you see soldiers riding by on horseback, firing at the enemy.
You rush toward the source of the smoke and see immense flames rising high into the sky, engulfing everything in their path.ย
"They wouldn't dare..." Your eyes widen as you discover the source of the fire: three Eldian soldiers in a car.
They are trapped in the car. You hear their cries, heart-rending screams mixed with fits of coughing, as smoke begins to fill their lungs. Little by little, they shrivel up like withered flowers as the fire chars their skin and muscles, gnawing deep down to the bone in its final assault before it turns them into ashes.
As you stand there, rooted to the spot by this macabre scene, helpless in the face of this desperate situationโthe doors are shut, burning hot, and impossible to touch without risking third-degree burnsโyou hear a cry for help.
A little girl is standing a few feet from the car, her face covered in blood and her skin flaked because of a fire, revealing raw flesh just beneath: she must have been caught in the attack.
Her face, streaked with tears, is expressing excruciating pain; her eyes close for a moment before struggling to stay open and she collapses to the ground, her eyes fluttering shut once more.
You run to her and pull her close, checking her pulse. It is weak, barely perceptible, and you notice the third-degree burns on her back, revealed underneath her torn purple shirt.
"Give her to me, I'm going to the hospital with the second squad." You turn at the familiar voice and see Jean standing before you, blood all over his clothes, dirt and scratches on his face.
"Be careful." You thrust the trembling girl into his equally trembling arms, but he regains his composure, not wanting to frighten her further, determined to reassure her.
You turn around and see a small group of Eldian soldiers heading toward the wall, led by Erwin Smith. They carry enormous objects wrapped in blankets, clutching them tightly as they slap their horses' flanks to urge them into a gallop. Your eyes widen as you realize what they are holding.
Bodies. The bodies of their comrades.
You run after them, slipping and stumbling over corpses, as many comrades as enemies. It's a true carnage: limbs and bodies litter the ground. Organs, disfigured faces, torn clothes... the acrid, metallic smell that permeates the air makes you nauseous.
You dive to the ground when you hear a hoarse voice, hiding yourself behind a body whose ribs protrude from its chest like bloody wings.
A Marleyan soldier staggers into view. A young man with brown hair whom you recognize as an Eldian soldier, is grabbed by the collar of his uniform and dragged along the ground by the Marleyan. You recognize the young man; it is Nack Tierce, a boy who was part of a squad with Eren a few months ago and who had dinner with you and the rest of your friends once.
He looks dead, his head lolling on his neck like a broken doll. "You really thought you could trick me, you filthy Eldian?" The Marleyan hisses through his teeth, his breath coming in gasps from the physical exertion of dragging Nack.
He hurls the soldier's body to the ground, then you see the Marleyan pull out a large, razor-sharp knife. He plunges it into Nack's leg, but Nack doesn't react, confirming once again that he is indeed dead. "You killed my fucking comrades, I'm going to kill you now, you bastard."
He plunges the knife repeatedly, blood gushing from your comrade's femoral artery and spurting down the Marleyan's face like a madman in a slaughterhouse.
You freeze, afraid of meeting the same fate as Nack if the soldier sees you, and remain hidden, listening to the sound of flesh being stabbed repeatedly.
You glance over and see that the Marleyan soldier has seized Nack's leg and bent it like a twig, severing it from his upper body. He then attacks his arms, his torso, his head, hatred blinding his better judgment as he unleashes his fury on the poor corpse.
You feel vomit rising in your throat, but you hold your mouth shut with your hand, tears of terror and fear welling up in your eyes as you watch your comrade being treated like a rag doll.
The thirst for revenge drives humans to commit terrible, unspeakable acts. During war, this hatred swells within each of these men with explosive tempers until their bodies can no longer contain it, and their rage becomes a volcano, their actions like molten lava destroying everything in their path.
You sit in silence, struggling to breathe, your hand over your mouth, tears streaming down your cheeks as a plethora of emotions overwhelms you simultaneously. After a few minutes, the man finally leaves, judging Nack's body sufficiently mutilated to have satisfied his thirst for revenge.
You stagger slightly as you stand up, your head dizzy from the terror you felt during the minutes you spent hidden behind a corpse. You place your palms on your knees and empty the contents of your stomach onto someone's mangled leg, your stomach acid rising and burning your throat painfully as the meager rations of food you ate earlier are expelled from your body.
You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and continue walking to find the Commander. Stepping over bodies, you pray that your friends are safe, avoiding lingering on faces that seem familiar to not shatter into pieces.ย
You see civilians crushed beneath the rubble of their homesโmothers, children, babiesโbut you can do nothing for them, too weak to lift the debris. You can only stare into space, walking with a pitiful gait toward your troops.
You turn a corner and discover another scene of carnage: several of your comrades are lying on the ground, their bloodied bodies pale as bedsheets. At the end of the street, lying on the ground with his head against the wall, is Marco Bodt, your friend.
"Marco!" You run to him, ignoring the pain in your leg, and kneel beside him. His right eye is covered in blood, revealing nothing of what lies beneathโif, hopefully, his eye is still intact in its socket and not sitting in pieces of bloody flesh.
His entire right side is covered in blood, scratches, and open wounds that threaten to become infected. Marco is unconscious, his good eye closed, his chest rising and falling weakly.
"Marco... Please, don't die." You plead, tearing a piece of your uniform and rubbing it against his face, around his bloodied eye. You're relieved to see that his eye socket isn't badly damaged, but a deep scar runs across the right side of his face, from his eyebrow to his cheekbone, leaving a trail of blood that cuts right through his iris and pupil.
You dab his wounded side, clearly slashed with a knife, but blood pools with each squeeze, and you have to stop the bleeding. His body is half-burned, as if someone had deliberately set him ablaze. His skin is charred in places, peeling away to reveal bubbling blisters.
"M-Marco..." You sob, a tear rolling down your cheek and falling onto his dirty face, covered in blood and dust. Suddenly, you hear heavy footsteps coming from an alley near you and you pull out your knife, ready to attack whoever seems like a threat.
"Y/N?" Jean appears before you, his uniform stained with dried and fresh blood, the sleeves torn. His hair is matted and disheveled as if he'd just walked through a barbed wire field, and his cheek is scraped. He's out of breath, his pupils dilated, his eyes bulging.ย
"It's Marco..." Jean rushes toward the boy, taking his fragile head in his calloused hands and trying to wake him by shaking him gently.
"Marco, it's me. Wake up, we're almost done, we're going to win." He murmurs, his voice breaking with sobs that make his shoulders tremble.
"Y/N, go ahead. I'll take care of him." Jean whispers to you, his voice barely audible, wiping a trail of blood from Marco's wounded face.
"N-no, we have to stay here. I have to help him too." You cry, tears blurring your vision as you stare at your friend's barely alive body.ย
"I SAID GO, Y/N! WHY WON'T YOU LISTEN TO ME?!" Jean suddenly cries, tears streaming down his face like a raging torrent, falling onto Marco's uniform.
"I'll leave you alone." You sniffle and limp away, leaving the alley to pursue your first objective: finding Erwin Smith. Just as you walk out of sight, you hear Jean let out a guttural scream that could split the earth in two, a scream so hoarse and heartbreaking that the sky itself might weep, bleed, and share his painโa pain unbearable for a single human being.ย
You take cover behind destroyed cars and rubble and reach the destroyed section of the wall. There you find Eren, Levi, and Erwin, surrounded by a pile of corpses.
"Y/N!" Eren exclaims when he sees you. He takes you in his arms and hugs you tightly as you cry on his shoulder.ย
"What's going on here?" You look at the small pile of bodies. Some faces are familiar, others are too disfigured to be identified. A heavy silence falls, and you notice the torch Levi is holding.
"We'll burn the bodies to create a fire powerful enough to seal off this entire area. The enemy will be trapped, and we'll kill them one by one until the city is free." Erwin declares, his voice devoid of emotion, solemnly staring at the corpses of your comrades as you felt your stomach clench at the thought of burning them.
"We have no choice, Y/N." Eren places his hand on your shoulder, and you collapse to the ground, overwhelmed by the horrors you had witnessed today. Levi brings the torch close to the body of someone you would surely have recognized if their face hadn't been so mutilated, their blank stare fixed on the sky.
The fire spreads in seconds, consuming skin, clothing, and blood in a hellish show. You watch helplessly as your comrades' bodies decompose, their skin turning a vibrant red while their muscles and fat melt away, their bodies curling up like fetuses.
Thick black smoke billows out in swirls, and a nauseating stench fills the air, sending a fresh wave of nausea through you. The smell of burning flesh assaults your nostrils, and you take a step back, but your eyes remain fixed on your fallen comrades, a final, heartfelt tribute.
A hand slips out of the pile and you watch its flesh melt before your eyes. When the bone appears, you can no longer hold back and dig your hands onto the blood-soaked floor, your body shaken by violent coughing fits as bile rises in your throat once again.
You sit up in bed, sweating, breathless, frantically searching for flames or bodies nearby. Your hands grip the sheets so tightly you fear they will tear.
Jean wakes with a start beside you, looking at you with confusion, before slowly sitting up, rubbing at his sleepy eyes. "Hey, are you okay? What happened?"
"Trost. I-I was there... in my dream." You stammer, panting, searching for words, struggling to form a sentence as the blood and corpses flood back into your memory.ย
"Hey, we're not in Trost. We're in our apartment, don't worry." Jean places his hand carefully on your back, keeping his body a safe distance from yours, in case you want to be alone.
"I-I saw Thomas, Mylius and... Nack and all the others. I didn't save them, I didn't do anything for them." You tremble, your body is out of control, cold sweat trickles down your back, and goosebumps rise all over your skin.
Jean suddenly pulls you tightly into a hug. His strong arms envelop you like a soft blanket. "There was nothing you could do, you didn't choose to do nothing. It wasn't your fault."ย
"I didn't try. Maybe they would have survived if I had been braver." A tear rolls down your cheek and falls onto Jean's arm. He holds you tighter, pressing your forehead against his chest while gently stroking your back.
"Why me? Why aren't they here?" You whisper to yourself, causing Jean to take you by the shoulders and pull you away so he can look you in the face.ย
"They could have survived, couldn't they? They weren't hurt, they were alive and strong, but I was a burden to everyone with my leg." Tears stream down your cheeks as you glance at your leg under the covers, thinking about the scar across it.
"I should have died instead. They were useful." You push back the covers and pull up your pajama bottoms, revealing the reddish, jagged scar that runs along your shin. The hollow, curved muscle around it is evidence of the operation you underwent to save your leg.
Jean looks at you in disbelief and caresses your scar, gently running his fingers over the skin. "You weren't useless. This scar says nothing about your worth. Everyone gets hurt, but the strongest are those who keep fighting even when injured. That's what you did, that's what you've always done."
"You weren't supposed to die there. Look at you now, you're saving our island. We would be doomed if you had died in Trost." Silent sobs shake you at his reassuring words, and you hold him tight, afraid he might leave and disappear, but you know he won't.
"You can't change the past; some things happen for a reason. You just don't know it yet." He runs his hands along your back and rests his chin on top of your head.
"You are the most precious person in my life. Don't think your life is worthless because next to you, even the moon and stars seem dim." You freeze, eyes wide, stunned by his declaration. Your heart slows, your body relaxes, and the trembling finally stops
Jean has always been there for you.ย
"The war won't happen again." You repeat to yourself, snuggling against his chest for comfort as his fingers gently stroke your hair, his touch soothing you and chasing the nightmare from your mind.
No matter how many times you repeat that war is over, you still fear that it will break out again, that you will face more horrific deaths, and that you will see your comrades die before your eyes. You fight every day to preserve peace in your country, and yet, this fear remains deep within you.ย
But with Jean by your side, you fear nothing. He dispels your anxieties and reassures you with his words alone; like a ship on a calm blue sea, he is a symbol of peace and serenity.
You smile as soft tears of relief roll down your cheeks. You wet his shirt, but he remains still, letting you release the excess feelings that were tormenting you until you are too tired to do anything but breathe, sleep gently enveloping you in the safety of his arms as you close your eyes.
At precisely 8:00 a.m., you are already outside Theo Magath's office, waiting for his signal to enter.
"You may come in." His deep, resonant voice echoes from the other side of the door, and you and Jean enter his office. He greets you with a nod and turns toward a small stack of papers on his deskโtwo stacks, one for each of you.
"Jean Kruger, you've been assigned to the politics department." You smile as you see the satisfaction shining in Jean's eyes as his shoulders slump with relief. With this privileged access to the politics of Marley, you'll be privy to real-time updates on what's happening in the country.
"And you, Y/N Kruger, you've been assigned to entertainment." A crisped, forced smile spreads across your face while you clench your fists at the thought of being under Hitch Dreyse's command.
"You two will be interns for two months. At the end of that period, we'll see if you have the necessary skills to choose your preferred department." Magath grumbles from behind his desk, his hands clasped together, his chin resting on them, staring at you like a hawk.
"Now get to work. From 8 to 5. Lunch break from noon to 1." With a wave of his hand, he dismisses you, but Jean raises his hand slightly, signaling that he has a question.
"Yes?" Magath turns to him, his gaze icy, acting like the commander he once was.
"Will we be paid during this internship?" Jean asks, arms crossed, while the boss stares at him like he's a beetle he wants to crush with his fist.
"Yes, but only a quarter of the salary." You frown, annoyed by these ridiculous words and the paltry wage, but given the fact that your entire mission depends on this job, you are not going to argue with him.
Maybe one day you'll be entitled to a better salary and won't be treated like a mere machine, toiling away for its own pleasure rather than to earn a living.
On Paradis, salaries increase year after year, but it seems that in Liberio, inequality is still rampant. With these meager wages, employees simply can't provide for their families or even themselves.
You leave Magath's office, calmly closing the door behind you. "Ah, at least we have standard hours. Even a nice little lunch break, too." Jean tries to cheer you up as you grumble, disgusted by the miserable salary you're about to receive.
"How does he expect to recruit if the employees are underpaid like that? It's pure and simple exploitation!" You seethe, your fists clenched, as Jean tries to calm you down.
"That fossil is lucky we have an agency budget, because the ridiculous salary he pays us doesn't even cover our rent here." You turn and glare at Magath's office door before giving him the finger.
"Considering how women are paid even less, he should be ashamed of cutting interns' salaries so much. I'd like to see him work for me, for free." Jean places his large hand over yours to cover your middle finger and pulls your arm back down to your side before Magath can decide to open the door and find you making rude gestures in front of him.
You know he won't open this door; this man stays in his office all day like it is his own fortress.
"Y/N, calm down, please. There is nothing we can do for now, okay? I will share my money with you, of course, so we can have the same salary. Is that alright with you?" He looks you straight in the eye and you reluctantly nod.
"You don't have to do all this." You glance down the corridor and see that it's empty. But suddenly, you hear footsteps and see two of your colleagues turning the corner and entering the corridor where you and Jean are standing.
You place your palms on Jean's chest, rising onto your tiptoes and lightly kissing his cheekโa gesture of affection intended to ward off gossip from your colleagues about any potential arguments between you two.
Jean smiles and kisses you on the forehead as the two women walk by, squealing like teenagers, no doubt already on their way to tell their friends in the other departments what they just saw.
"I hope I will be able to see you during break. Work well, no arguments, and have fun." Jean turns and blows you a kiss before heading toward the politics department where he will be working for the time being.
You sigh deeply and head to the entertainment department, repeating the same sentence to yourself like a mantra to stay calm and avoid getting into any argument with Hitch while you will be working.
You won't see her forever; it's only for a few weeks.
"Calm down, it was only for the mission." Jean covers his mouth with his hand, trying to hide the blush rising to his cheeks.
He hadn't expected to act like a teenager whose crush had just confessed their feelings, but here he was, at his age, smiling foolishly over a simple kiss on the cheek.
He reaches his department in a few strides, anxious not to be caught blushing, and his shoulder hits the doorframe with a dull thud. He masks the impact with a small grimace before heading to his desk.
"Good morning." He nods quickly at Colt and stares at the white wall of his cubicle, lost in thought.
Grant me the wisdom not to act like an idiot.
You were both Jean's curse and his antidote. Without you, he would already be dead, having thrown himself into the heart of the battle four years ago in Trost district, believing Marco to be dead.
But because of you, Jean also suffers from constant headaches, the result of his unspoken feelings growing within him like weeds in a neglected garden.
He has been in love with you for years; for as long as he can remember, his heart always races a little in your presence.
Sometimes, his feelings overwhelm him, and he drowns them out by acting in a seductive and charming manner, knowing that by constantly playing the seduction card, you'll eventually believe he doesn't mean a word he says and that this behaviour is simply part of his personality.
But you had no idea he truly meant everything he said. Every. Single. Word.
He doesn't know if he'll ever find the courage to talk to you seriously, without being afraid to reveal his feelings. And even if he did, he would probably bury himself alive afterward.
His love is like a noose around his heart; some days it is loose and allows him to breathe properly, but other times it condemns him to agony, tightening the rope around the muscle that keeps him alive, threatening him to confess his feelings or else his heart will stop beating as punishment for being a coward.
But Jean is a scared man. If he ever confesses his feelings to you, what will he do if you don't reciprocate them?
Being rejected is one thing, losing your best friend is another. If he took the risk of declaring his feelings and they weren't mutual, the situation would inevitably become tense between you and him. And Jean could never afford to lose this friendship.
But Jean would rather live with a rope around his heart than risk losing you by changing the status quo. He is happy living with a secret that weighs on his heart heavier than a ton of metal, but as long as you're by his side, he'd gladly carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, as long as you don't leave.
A light tap on the shoulder pulls him from his thoughts, and he looks up to see Colt standing by his desk, a small, shy smile on the boy's lips.
"I'll explain the basics." He says to Jean, pointing to a stack of papers placed on a desk a few meters from him.
"Oh uh yeah, sure." Jean stands up, hitting his knee just under his desk and biting back a cry of pain as he follows Colt over to the papers neatly placed on the wooden surface.
"For now, our department is focused on the new projects of the mayor and the political parties of Liberio." Colt taps the pile of papers and drafts like a proud father.
"Here are all the exclusives our colleagues obtained. I need you to collect them all and write an article about what they contain. Three pages maximum." Jean glances at the blond man, tilting his head as he searches for what he's going to do while Jean will be writing his article.
"Do you not go on the field?" Colt frowns at this question and rubs the back of his neck as he looks at his desk where many papers containing various reports are scattered across the surface.
"Yes, it is just that I got assigned to the office for today." He pats Jean on the back and turns around but the latter's voice stops him in his tracks.
"What was the best trip you took in your entire journalism career?" He looks up as Colt stares at the ceiling while scratching his chin.
"I would say it was when I went to the countryside to report the hiding place of a war criminal." Jean's eyes widen at this statement and the blond boy notices the shocked look in his light brown eyes.
"Impressive, yeah I know." He proudly crosses his arms across his chest, a smug smile playing on his lips before nudging Jean in the ribs with his elbow.
"I won't waste your time anymore, enjoy your work." He returns to his desk and gets lost in the piles of papers, typing quickly on his typewriter as he begins to write his own article.
Jean lowers his headโdamn, he is already on the verge of exhaustionโwipes his face with his hands before straightening up in his chair and turning to the reports piling up on his desk. He sets up his typewriter and begins to write, slowly but surely so as not to waste too much ink.
While he's working, only one thingโor rather, one personโlingers in his mind. Subconsciously, he scans the room for you, searching for your warm eyes, your laughter, your witty remarks, but then he suddenly realizes you're on the other side of the building, probably having a fight with Hitch.
I wonder if Y/N killed her already.
You push open the glass door of the entertainment department and a chill runs down your spine, as if you've just plunged into a bucket of ice water, the moment you step onto the burgundy carpet.
The reason for this icy chill? None other than Hitch, who's staring at you from across the room, like an ostrich wondering if you're getting too close to its eggs.
Just as you are about to make a witty remark, her demeanour shifts completely, and she breaks into a bright smile, her cheekbones jutting out from smiling so much.
"Hello Y/N! I'm going to show you how things work in this office today." She gestures for you to follow her, and you observe the few other employees standing behind their desks, their noses buried in stacks of papers or engrossed in typing notes. The clicking of their fingers on their typewriters echoes through the room.
"Here, we stay in the office most of the time and write our articles. Every now and then, news comes to us or we get a call. The only thing we have to do is shut up and do as we are told." Hitch beams as she walks around the room and you roll your eyes at her condescending behavior.
"In other words, shut your mouth and be a dog?" You smile at her startled expression at your sudden vulgarity and she gives you a smile so cold it could make the temperature drop below zero.
"Good, you know what to do then. Here are the latest reports." She picks up a huge stack of papers and throws it into your hands, causing you to almost fall to the ground under the weight of the entire pile.
"I need you to sort them from oldest to newest. All these articles will then go into the archives."She waves her hand and skips over to her desk, happy to have left you with the excruciating task of sorting through papers as if you were her secretary.
"Is this a real job here or are you using me?" You call and she turns around, her face frozen in that same terrifying smile.
"We don't have any exclusivity today, we still need you to work. It will be good for your dexterity." You clutch the papers in your hand at her childish retorts and smile.
"You should work on yours too, your mascara is smudged." She lets out a cry of indignation before taking a step toward you, tilting her head to the side as if what she is about to say will ruin you.
"Your husband has been sent into politics." She emphasizes on the first word, as if you were supposed to be affected by the department he got assigned to when you know Jean is probably having the time of his life talking to everyone in the office like the magpie he is.
"Is there a problem with him being in politics?" You keep your voice calm and steady, not showing the slightest hint of emotion even as your heart races, wondering what could have happened to have Hitch talking about politics in such a worrying way.
"Aren't you afraid for him?" The light brown haired girl asks, feigning a hint of worry in her eyes as you clench your jaw in irritation at her pathetic attempts to scare you.
"Why would I?" You raise your chin and she scoffs before stopping right in front of you to whisper in your ear in a voice meant only for you to hear.
"They go on the field a lot, he risks being injured or worse." She pulls back and gives you a viperous smile, her expression resembling the reptile so much you check to see if her pupils have turned into slits.
If she wants you to show her words affect you greatly, then you will give her the exact opposite.
"Oh really, will he now?" You smile at her innocently and watch her confident facade shatter at your lack of concern for your husband.
"Yes, if I were you I would be worried."
"Thank you for thinking you know my husband better than I do, but I think he will be fine."
"Aren't you afraid for him? Not even a little?" Hitch presses even more and you clench your jaw, your patience disintegrating completely and you give one last blow to end this conversation once and for all.
"I just know my husband isn't stupid enough to run into a minefield." You smile at her, baring your teeth as she purses her lips and returns to her desk, letting out a haughty laugh before starting to type violently on her typewriter.
Minutes feel like hours, like you are imprisoned in an hourglass where the sand is stuck in the middle, taking its time tumbling down to the bottom.
You were looking for a way to efficiently sort documents starting with dates and months, but some papers were so old that the ink had faded and you had to read their articles completely to find out their age.
Your back started to hurt after a few hours, causing you to slouch on your desk as you checked paper after paper, the boredom almost putting you to sleep better than a lullaby.
In all your years as a spy, you have never been so glad that this office job you are doing is temporary. You can't imagine how depressed you would be if you chose a life like this one, working in silence for hours with only the sound of scribbling and typewriters as sole company.
"Ugh, my neck." Hitch groans from the other side of the room and stands up, walking away in the direction of the hallway to probably get a cup of coffee and pass by the politics department by pure coincidence.
You scoff as you watch her walk out of the room and turn back to the dozens of papers that still need to be sorted.
"If only they were interesting." You murmur as you read about the announcement of a new film and a high-class gala at City Hall from eight years ago, just a month before the war began.
Your other colleagues left scattered throughout the day, and Hitch had to explain that they can leave earlier as they gain seniority. But most importantly, the schedule at The Liberio Gazette is made in such a way that a few days a week, half of the employees can work from home and go on the field if they get a call and the rest work in the office and vice versa.
But as a newcomer, you are forced to work when asked and your schedule remains a complete surprise.
At least it adds some dynamism to this boring place.
So you find yourself alone in the office, leafing through the endless pile of papers as you feel your eyes slowly closing only to open once again to fight against the drowsiness caused by the many hours of repetitive work.
"Boring, boring." You don't even bother to read the newspaper because it always contains the same thing: theater, events for the rich, films or plays.
"Borโ" Your eyes widen and you sit up straight as you read the title of the article from three months ago that is in your hands.
"This isn't entertainment." You stare at the article and realize that it can only come from the Department of Crime and Justice, which means someone made a mistake and put it in the wrong pile.
"Tragedy at the grand Theater." You begin to read, your eyebrows pulling close together as your eyes latch on a few words in the text that catch your attention.
"On the peaceful night of July 25, 1947, on the first balcony of our beloved Grand Theaterโdo they worship this building?โour esteemed police captain was brutally murdered." Your blood stops flowing in your veins and arteries at the end of this sentence, your entire body freezing while your mind is spinning as a thousand theories race through your head, wondering who could have committed such a crime.
"While attending a play with his wife and two children, a masked man appeared behind him and stabbed him twice in the neck, severing his jugular vein and carotid arteryโoh this must have been a bloodbath." You wince at a mental image of the police captain's wife covered in blood and their two children looking at their father in horror. Your mind can't help but wander back to what Eren would say while reading this article, knowing how much he appreciates the work of an assassin and the knowledge that comes with it.
"Slicing the main arteries is just stupid, you only do that if you have no choice. Other than that, everyone knows that blood spurts everywhere and you can get caught in two seconds because it splashes all over your body like you're in a slaughterhouse."
"It's best to stab in the lower abdomen or center of the chest to reach a vital area, with a fair chance it will pierce a lung or even go straight through the heart."
"So it was not the work of an assassin, but of someone seeking revenge." Just from the first details, you could tell that the killer is just an amateur. Assassins never wear masks, they use their own appearance as a disguise because their work is so clean and they kill without being noticed.
The person who killed the police captain was reckless, someone motivated by revenge and who had not thought hard enough to learn human anatomy before committing his crime, otherwise he would have known that severing a major artery would result in large amounts of blood loss.
Quite the opposite of a quick and discreet death.
You bring your attention back to the paper in your hands and continue your reading, remembering every single information you are going to tell Jean when you will see him at the end of the day.
"The blows were fatalโobviouslyโand the man succumbed to his injuries within seconds, bleeding to death before the terrified eyes of his familyโthose poor kids are going to be scarred for life." You feel a pang of empathy for his children who are probably very young and how much this death will affect their lives. This is what happens every day, people become angry and families end up as collateral damage, without anyone caring about the repercussions of their heinous acts and how they ruin lives.
"A potential suspect, known to the police, may be involved in this case..." Your eyes stop on the name that follows this sentence.
Your gaze slides to the black and white image located on the right of the page, just above the article. A sullen-faced, tight-featured young man, eyes shadowed by his eyebrows turned in suppressed anger, but there's no denying from the way his jaw is clenched and his mouth is downturned that he is seething with rage in the photo.
"...a notorious drug trafficker who made the streets of Liberio his playground." You almost drop the newspaper when it mentions Marcel's profession. A drug dealer is a jackpot for this mission, he is the type of person who knows everything about the city and its inhabitants, staying in the corners and in the shadows, listening to everything that is said and watching everything that is done.
"Having been arrested and imprisoned for six months, two years ago, Galliard may have harbored a personal grudge against our highly respected police captain." You feel like your dreams are falling apart when you read this section of the article. If Galliard is currently behind bars and rotting in a cell, it will be much more difficult to contact him.
"He is known for recruiting people living in poverty, manipulating them until they are completely under his control, ready to follow him blindly and obey his every command." You tighten your hands around the paper, crumpling it slightly in your grip.
"What a bastard." You know most organizations do this, they all do it, especially after the war. Hiring people in the most precarious situations and using their desperation to do their job, using them only as pawns and finding other people when they are no longer needed.
"The suspect has not yet been apprehended, but the police are doing everything in their power to solve this crime, which has deeply shaken our community. I dare say the contrary." If this police captain has been brutally murdered, he might not have been really appreciated in the community.
"Where the hell are you, Marcel Galliard?" You whisper. You look at the scowling face of the man in the paper, wondering if he has been arrested or if he is still at large.
"Don't worry, because wherever you are, Jean and I will find you." You mutter to yourself and look around to see if Hitch or anyone else is in the room, then fold the paper into quarters and slip it into the hidden inside pocket of your skirt.
You flatten it to give the impression that there is nothing under your skirt and at the same time you hear Hitch's footsteps coming back. A second later, the girl appears in the doorway, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand.
"Have you made progress with your work?" She asks while she watches you continue to pile the papers on top of each other, giving her an annoyed look in response.
"Yes." You smile and turn your attention back to the newspaper articles but she apparently hasn't finished talking to you.
"If you don't finish today, you can always continue tomorrow." She smiles, looking at the pile in front of you with a gloating look, clearly happy to see you struggling.
"Don't worry, I will." You look at the clock on the wall, just above the window, its hands ticking as the seconds tick by at an unusually slow speed. Your first day at the Liberio Gazette ends in an hour, and you've been so busy looking for any other article that might not be entertainment-related that you forgot to take your lunch break.
No problem, you can starve for days if necessary.
You ignore Hitch and turn to your papers, the weight of the one that is folded and hidden beneath your clothes weighing on you as you think about the hopes it represents.
You've finally found a potential lead, hoping that it won't take you down a dead end and force you to backtrack, shaving off precious hours of work as you race against time.
You continue reading the articles, the seconds blurring in your mind until the world around you is nothing but a cacophony of distorted sounds. Your eyes are fixed on the articles and the rustle of paper as you place them on their designated pile.ย
Hitch stretches in her seat, letting out a loud, deliberate yawn, her arms raised as if she worked all day. Finally, she sits up, her face light and at peace with relaxation.
"Ah, it was a long day." She stands up and heads for the door before turning to you.
"You can go home, you know? The day is over already. There's no point in pretending to be a diligent employee; everyone can see you're putting on an act." Her condescending tone almost makes you crumple a piece of paper in your hands. How audacious of her to think that this stupid office job could possibly interest you in the slightest. You are not here to impress anyone.
"I'm absolutely not trying to copy you, don't worry, you can keep this role." You smile and gather the papers from your desk, ready to take them home to finish sorting them and, with a bit of luck, find some more important articles.
Hitch seethes with rage, and you hear her knuckles tighten on the handle of her porcelain coffee mug as you brush past her before heading down the corridor toward the elevator.
In the elevator, you stare at the ceiling, a thousand thoughts and theories racing through your mind as you feel the weight of the article in your pocket.
Understanding the internal tensions of the Marleyan society could prove invaluable, and even the history of drug trafficking might help you identify other branches of the trade, particularly arms trafficking.
You will need to find this Marcel Galliard quickly, whether he's in prison or freeโhopefully the latter. You must speak with him and obtain information about Liberio's smuggling network.
The elevator doors open with a soft "ding," and you step into the lobby, heading toward the fountain by the bay windows to wait for Jean.
You tap your foot nervously, staring at the stack of papers in your hands; each one might potentially be holding a new lead in your investigation.
"Hey, you were actually waiting for me." A large hand taps you on the top of your head, and you look up to see Jean smiling at you, the setting sun piercing through the clouds and illuminating his face, forcing you to squint to protect your eyes.
"We have to get out of here, hurry up." You head toward the revolving doors, closely followed by Jean, who looks a little puzzled, worried by your strange behaviour.
You glance to your right and immediately turn onto the usual path you take to go home, eager to tell Jean about your discovery.
"What's the rush, mon amour?" He catches up with you and gives you a shy smile when you turn to him before looking straight ahead once again.
"Nothing strange, just some papers that confused me. I see things more clearly now." He pauses to consider your words, trying to say as much as possible without attracting the attention of passersby if he mentions anything that might be considered a taboo.
He leans down to your ear, his soft lips brushing against your lobe as you walk. "You're the best." He straightens up and gives you a warm smile before slipping his hands into his pockets, whistling happily as you head home.
You arrive at your apartment after a few minutes of walk and lock the door behind you before heading into the small living room, where you place the stack of papers you brought with you on the coffee table.
"I think I've found something that might help us." You tell Jean, who is sprawled on the sofa, his hands patting his thighs absent-mindedly while his eyes are fixed on you and the articles.
"Really? What exactly did you find?" You smile and pull the crumpled sheet of paper from your pocket, unfold it, and lay it flat on the table. You smile again as he reaches for the article, waiting for him to read it.
He gives you a puzzled look before beginning to read in a low voice; occasionally you hear snippets of the text when he speaks a little louder to indicate which paragraph he has reached. "Theater... jugular... suspect... apprehended..."
When Jean finishes reading, he looks up at you, his brows furrowed. "This is amateurish work."
"I thought the same thing. What if it was someone seeking revenge? It cannot be an assassin, otherwise they are truly incompetent." You wonder aloud, arms crossed, pacing the room.
"The crime rate in Marley is among the lowest, but judging by this article, I suppose it's because the police are a little too efficient. Almost everyone hates them, you know, the number of people they've been able to arrest is staggering." Jean sighs and rests his elbows on the back of the sofa, watching you pace back and forth. You bite your nails, lost in thought.ย
"This could be useful. We need to explore this lead for now, while we wait for something else." You nod and go sit next to him on the sofa before getting up suddenly and heading back to your room without a single word.
"Y/N?" The boy calls, but you ignore him and open your drawers, searching for the object you have in mind: a map.
More specifically, a map of Liberio.
You also pick up a box of pins from your bedside table, then return to the living room where you find Jean sitting with his eyes closed.ย
"Wake up, I have an idea." You tap him on the back of the head and he yawns loudly before sitting up.
"What's this for?" He nods toward the rolled-up map and the pins you're holding. You gesture for him to wait before heading to the wall opposite the sofa, unrolling the map, and placing a pin in each corner.
"We need to find places in Liberio where we could talk to people and obtain information safely. Any ideas?" You take a marker from the porcelain jar next to the kitchen and remove its cap. You stare at the numerous locations on the map while Jean, his head thrown back, stares at the ceiling.
"It would mostly be places of debauchery: casinos, nightclubs, bars, cabarets, maybe galas. But that one is risky, because only the rich go to galas and they never stop gossiping. Our names would be known everywhere on Liberio in less than a night." He hums softly as you consult the map, searching for the places he mentioned.ย
"There's the Founding Inn, the Rumble Casino, the Grand Theater, and..." You circle each place as you spot them on the map, your eyes swiping from left to right to locate them one by one.
"Centurion Cabaret." You circle the place twice with a dark red marker: the temple of entertainment, debauchery, and encounters, a place renowned for its luxurious decor, extravagant dancers, refined cuisine, and all-night shows. In other words, the perfect place to gather information.
"Shall we go tonight? The sooner the better, right?" Jean suggests. You turn to him, tilting your head while a teasing smile plays on your lips.
"You seem eager to go, don't you?" His cheeks flush at your direct accusation, and he stands up, stammering to justify himself.
"I-I, no... it would be useful. Y-yes, it would allow us to make progress on our mission." You can't help but laugh at his beet red face, and you put the marker back in its place before joining him.
"I was jesting, don't worry." You pat him on the shoulder and head to your room to choose your outfit for tonight.ย
"What time is it?" You ask from the bedroom. Jean's voice booms from the living room.ย
"Twenty past seven. The Centurion opens in about an hour." You nod and close the door behind you, taking a lovely red dress from your closet. Its plunging sweetheart neckline, puffed sleeves, and cinched waist make it particularly elegant, with a pleated skirt that falls to the knees.
You leave the room after a few minutes and find Jean drinking a cup of chamomile tea at the kitchen table when he notices you.
"Oh wow... you look absolutely stunning." He exclaims, his gaze lingering on your figure as you spin around to show him your outfit.
"Now it's your turn to get dressed. We're taking the car this time." He nods and heads to your room. While he gets dressed, you look at the map of the places you circled, silently hoping to find some answers tonight.
You feel like you haven't spoken to Ackerman in years, even though it's only been three days. You're itching to call him as soon as possible and as often as you can to show him you're making progress and that the mission is going perfectly. You want him to be proud of you.
"Let's hope everything goes well." You sigh, and Jean leaves the room at that moment, dressed in a dark gray tuxedo with a black tie and a crisp white shirt. His black shoes are so polished they could be used as a mirror. He's holding a pot of hair gel and runs his fingers through his hair to keep them in place.
He combs his hair with the gel, gently pulling at a few strands to position them perfectly, before glancing in the small mirror near the front door to make sure he looks sufficiently aristocratic.ย
"My lady." He places the pot on a small table and extends his arm. You intertwine your arms and leave your small apartment, calmly descending the stairs before heading to your car. He opens the door for you, of course, before getting behind the wheel.
"The Centurion Cabaret apparently has a collection of century-old wines." You lean your head back in your seat, and Jean chuckles softly, keeping his eyes on the road.
"Don't even think about drinking more than a glass of wine. You don't hold your liquor very well, Y/N." His gaze meets yours for a moment, and he shakes his head, a mixture of mockery and amusement in his expression.
"I can hold my liquor, I just need to get home before the symptoms of insobriety start." You retort, crossing your arms and playing with the small pendant around your neck, nestled just above your cleavage.
"Two drinks is the most I'll allow. Any more than that, and I'll tie you to a chair to stop you from acting like you usually do when you're drunk. You need to stay sober tonight." You roll your eyes at his commanding tone, but you nod anyway, knowing you're not exactly in your right mind when you've had a few drinks.
"Big Brother Jean is back, everyone." You try to hide your amused smile by putting a hand to your mouth, just as Jean realizes what you've said and glares at you.
"You're lucky I put up with you, otherwise you'd be walking to the cabaret right now." Jean tilts his head forward before turning his attention back to the road, stopping behind cars that are waiting at red lights.
"And no matter how annoying I can be, we're still friends. Anyway, I don't even need to drink to put people at ease. I use my charm to get information out of them." You rest your elbow on the windowsill and your cheek against your fist as you watch the passersby, most of them dressed in luxury clothes on their nighttime stroll, followed by servants carrying bags and umbrellas.
"You use it all the time, constantly." Jean taps the steering wheel with his fingertips as he rounds a corner, turning onto a sumptuous street lit by gleaming white lampposts and lined with palatial boutiques. Their facades glitter with gold and valuable goods, alarms are mounted above the doors, and security cameras are fixed to every floor.
"Centurion Cabaret is right here." You point to the scarlet building with its glittering lights and monumental door. The lack of windows on the facade suggests that the opulence hidden behind these walls is only accessible to those who can afford to come here.
Fortunately, the cabaret doesn't require a membership card, but two bodyguards stand at the entrance, thoroughly inspecting every single person before letting them in.To gain entry, you have to look wealthy and drop enough money into a red metal box that has a centurion drawn on it: the cabaret's logo.
$10: Personal waiter for the evening
$15: Front row seat, personal chef
$30: Suite for one night with a king size bed, hammam, living room, and all amenities included.
"These are the kinds of offers you see in hotels, aren't they?" You glance at Jean, who's parallel parking his car. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple as he tries to squeeze between the cars parked in front of and behind him to avoid a collision.
"It's the biggest cabaret in the region; I assume it's the kind of establishment that can afford to make offers like these." He sighs with relief as he finally manages to park his car properly. He gets out and approaches your side, offering his hand to help you step out of the car. His hand gently smooths the front of your dress.
You observe the line of people in front of the building and position yourself behind two young men who appear to belong to Marley Academy, the most prestigious institution on the continent. They are wearing expensive suits and their shoes gleam brilliantly, but their speech lacks the refinement expected of young men of high society.
"I'm sure I can take one of those girls home." A brown-haired boy says, grinning arrogantly, while his friend glances at the people ahead to see how much longer they would have to wait before getting in.ย
"I'd love to see what they're hiding under their skirts. If I could, I'd go backstage and give them a taste of money. These girls are poor; they'd surely dream of sleeping with a rich man." You can't hide the contempt and disgust you feel at their words, which treat women like objects to be touched, manipulated, and discarded.
These men behave like dogs in heat, following their instincts and thinking the world revolves around them, while women want nothing to do with them. That is how they are in this society. And because they are young, they are respected, considered young adults preparing for real life, having fun while they still can, becoming real men.
What a loathsome vision of the world.
"These ladies aren't here for you, gentlemen. They're just doing their jobs to get paid; you don't interest them at all." Jean suddenly speaks, drawing the attention of the two young men who look up, realizing he is much taller than them, towering over them with his giant stature, half his face shrouded in the shadows.
"Who are you, sir? Aren't you here for the same reason? Stop playing the moralizer." The brown-haired boy's friend, a stocky young man, with greasy black hair that are slicked back, a lock falling over his forehead, retorts, irritation coating his voice, while he glares at Jean as if challenging him to repeat his words.
In response, your fake husband put his arm around your waist and pulls you close, smiling at the two students. "I'm here with my wife for a meeting with an important business partner. Unlike you, I'm here to drink and do business, not to ogle."
He only receives silence from the two boys for response, so he continues to insult them virulently. "You're not ready for society if you still don't understand that women deserve respect, love, and protection. They are not meant to be used and looked at lustfully by trash like you. Understand?"
The two young men nod, stunned, their faces frozen in shock at the torrent of insults they had just received. The brown-haired boy swallows and leaves the line, immediately followed by the black-haired one. They return to their car, deeply humiliated by Jean's words.
"Why did youโ" You begin but Jean gently places a finger to your lips to cut you off and smiles.
"Idiots like them should be taught a lesson. I was disrespectful to my own mother when I was young, and I learned the hard way that women should be respected as equals. I'm simply helping them improve. And I sincerely hope they'll keep what I just told them in mind." You nod, a wave of gratitude washing over you at the fact that Jean had stood up for women he didn't know without hesitation. You glance back at the front of the queue where you are, unaware that all the people ahead of you have already entered the cabaret.
"Your names?" A tall, handsome blond guard asks you at the entrance. You and Jean present your fake IDs. He examines them carefully, glancing at the papers and then at both of you before nodding toward the board of offers.
Jean slips two five-dollar bills into the man's hand. You've both opted for the cheapest option, which will allow you to move freely between the tables and chat with as many people as possible. If you choose the more expensive options, all eyes will be on you and your wealth. Rumours spreads fast, it's best to keep a low profile.
You smile at the man at the entrance who opens the door for you. As soon as you step into the lobby of the Centurion Cabaret, you realize that this place surpasses anything you could have imagined. Even in your wildest dreams, you never would have believed you could see such a place in real life.
The beige walls are crisscrossed with golden cracks that give them a shimmering and magical appearance. The domed ceiling is adorned with paintings of Roman centurions battling tigers, animals, and even other enemy soldiers. Gladiators are depicted above the twenty columns placed at regular intervals around the room, some with swords, others with other weapons such as daggers or tridents and nets.ย
A huge burgundy carpet covers the entire hall, its plush fabric muffling the sound of your heels. An attendant stands near a small board displaying the evening's program. You have two options: the French cancan or the magic show.
Most of the young people head to the French Cancan, so you and Jean follow them, knowing it is the perfect place to strike up a conversation.ย
You enter the grand hall on your left and discover even greater luxury. The walls are red, and crystal chandeliers, suspended from the ceiling, cast a soft golden light on the tables. About thirty tables are arranged in the room, covered with cherry red tablecloths, and wine glasses are already placed on those where members of high society, who have come to enjoy themselves this evening, are seated.
At the front of the room is a raised stage made of solid wood, designed so that the click of the dancers' heels echoes throughout the hall. A red curtain, embroidered with gold lettering spelling out the establishment's name, Centurion Cabaret, in elegant calligraphy, covers the back of the stage to hide the dancers before the show begins.
"I wasn't expecting such splendour." Jean whispers to you as you find a table in the center of the room and sit. A waiter brings you glasses of wine as soon as you take your seat in the plush velvet armchairs, their backs upholstered in embroidered dark red fabric.
"Let's split up. You go talk to everyone, okay? We need to know what happened to Marcel Galliard. I'll sit here and watch the people coming in." You whisper to Jean and take a sip of wine before swirling the Burgundy in your glass, all while watching the men who enter the room, searching for anyone who looks like Galliard.
"Take care and stay safe, ma chรฉrie." Jean gets up from the table and walks over to a table where a man is sitting alone, staring at the other people seated at their tables.
Jean walks over to a small table where a man is sitting alone, sipping his wine while staring at the red curtains that conceal the stage, clearly waiting for the dancers to arrive.
"Are you waiting for the show to start?" He asks lightly, sitting down opposite the stranger. He seems tall, perhaps a few inches shorter than Jean, with high cheekbones and a crew cut.
His dark eyes are piercing like a hawk's, and his gaunt face gives him the air of a ghost haunting the place. But when he hears Jean, he smiles and lets out a soft laugh. "I came just for this." The man replies, and Jean extends his hand.
"My name is Jean, and you?"
"Griez. Nice to meet you." The man takes another sip of wine while enthusiastically shaking his hand. His palms are calloused, typical of someone who lifts heavy loads; if this man is not a soldier, he must surely work on a construction site all day.
"It's actually my first time here." Jean tells him, lightening the mood before steering him in the direction he wants to obtain information.
Griez's eyes widen as he looks at Jean before throwing a glance at the stage a few meters away from their table. "You were really missing out, man. This place is heavenly, the dancers are gorgeous, and they even come down sometimes to chat with us."
"Do they come to see you often?" Jean asks, feigning interest before discreetly changing the subject little by little as the man sips his wine.
"Sometimes, especially when I manage to snag a front-row seat." Jean nods and glances around the room, observing the mostly male audience whose conversations revolve around the dancers and their costumes.
"Do we serve anything other than wine here?" He nods toward the bottle on the table, then pretends to smoke something. Griez understands what he means, downs his glass in one gulp, wipes his mouth with his sleeve, and finally answers Jean's question.
"Yes, but the supplier isn't here yet. Do you want it hard or soft?" His voice drops to a whisper, forcing Jean to move closer to hear him clearly.
"For now, just soft. Who can supply me? I've got the money." Griez takes one last look around the room before gesturing for Jean to lean even closer.
"Marcel Galliard is officially the best drug dealer in all of Marley. He was arrested three months ago, but due to lack of evidence, they had to release him. He's still keeping a low profile, though." Jean freezes at the mention of Marcel Galliard, the name of the man you had shwon him in the crumpled news article you had brought home with you. He wants to run to you and announce his discovery, so you would be on your guard and spot this man as soon as he arrived, but he has to remain seated to get as much information as possible from Griez.ย
"I've heard of him. Does he come here often?" He takes a sip of wine to calm his excitement at having found someone willing to talk.
"Twice a week, and you're in luck, he's coming today. I'm close to him, you see, his best client."Griez puts a hand on his chest, as if he should be proud of his friendship with a drug dealer, but Jean pats him on the back to congratulate him and continue extracting information.
"Thank you, my friend. I just saw one of my acquaintances at a table. I'll go talk to them and wait for Marcel." He gets up from the table and raises his glass of wine toward the man as a goodbye before returning to where he left you.
Jean stops dead in his tracks when he sees you sitting alone at the table, the chandeliers in the room bathing your face in an almost ethereal light. He watches your delicate hand holding the glass as you sip your drink, your red dress adding a whole new charm to your complexion and making you a thousand times more beautiful.
His heart races at the sight of you; in fact, it always does when he sees you. He breathes slowly and approaches you, sitting opposite you with a knowing smile.
"Galliard will be here tonight." He tells you, and a radiant smile lights up your face, sending a whirlwind of emotions through him.
"I came up with a plan while you were talking to that man." He places his elbows on the table to move closer to you, his eyes fixed on you.
"I have to go home with Galliard."
Jean nearly falls off his chair at your sudden declaration and has to grab the tablecloth to keep from falling. His palms become sweaty and he can't help but stutter, his words colliding with each other as they leave his lips. "Ah... uh... w-why? Galliard? What theโwhy are you saying this?"
"We'll get information about his business and more leads if we go to his place. But to avoid any risks, it's best if I pretend to be a dancer and seduce him." You reply matter-of-factly, sure that your plan will unfold exactly as you expect.
The worst part is that Jean can't even claim it's not a brilliant idea, but the thought of you having to go to another man's house hurts him deeply, much more than he'll ever admit.
"And how are you going to find a dancer's costume?" He asks you, even though he already has a little idea of โโhow you're going to solve this problem.
You give him a playful smile at his question, and Jean already knows your idea is risky. Unfortunately, he can't deny that this is the side of you he likes best. Your daring side.ย
"There's a back door for the dancers. I'll sneak in, knock a girl out, and take her place." He wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead and runs a hand through his hair, exhaling through his nose, while you stare at him, waiting for a reply.
"I trust you. BUT, if anything bad happens, you stop immediately. Your life is not a game." You give him a small grin in response to his worried expression before standing up and bowing.ย
"Stay here and watch how everything will unfold smoothly." He watches you walk away toward the exit and prays that Galliard won't get a chance to touch you, but deep down, he knows physical contact will be necessary for your plan to work.
You leave the Centurion Cabaret and turn a corner to reach the back alley behind the building. The small iron door at the end indicates that it indeed leads to the dancers' dressing rooms. You hear their chatter and laughter as they prepare for their show.ย
You open the door, just enough to let in a thin sliver of light, and watch the dancers, waiting for the right moment to slip inside.
You observe their heavy costumes, their tight corsets, and their flowing skirts made of various shades of red fabric, not to mention the garters and stockings they wear underneath.
What have I gotten myself into?
You wait patiently until the dancers have turned away and returned to their dressing rooms for final makeup touches. You enter when they are all behind their curtains and head to the first dressing room, walking stealthily toward the scarlet curtains.
There, you find a young girl carefully brushing her hair, half-dressed. She sees you in the reflection of her vanity mirror and opens her mouth to shout, but you cover her mouth with a hand before a single sound can escape from her lips.
She fights and struggles with all her might as you take a small piece of cloth and press it over her mouth, watching her fight for air. You close your eyes as her limbs grow heavy and she slowly slouches, the struggle waning as her brain cries out for oxygen.
You release her as soon as she loses consciousness, checking that her pulse is still regular before opening the dark red doors of a closet and pushing her inside. As you do so, you steal her costume before slipping a broom into the handles to prevent her from falling and revealing that there is an intruder among the dancers.
You quickly undress and put on her stockings, then her thick skirt. It surprisingly is flowing and very light, but you blush when you realize you'll have to lift your legs in front of an almost entirely male audience, Jean among them.
You take a deep breath to calm yourself as you tie the corset and slip on the small Colombina lace mask that comes with the costume, then the feathered headdress. You lace up your shoes, apply a deep red lipstick to make your lips stand out, and a touch of blush, all in five minutes flat, knowing the show is about to start.
"You can do it, just copy their dance moves and pray for the best. Come on, Y/N." You whisper to yourself in front of the vanity, trying to get rid of the knot of anxiety that just formed in your stomach.
"Louise, come on, stop getting all dolled up!" A deep voice calls to you from behind the curtains, and you jump. You quickly smooth down your clothes and make sure your makeup really makes you look like a French cancan dancer before you leave your dressing room.
"Excuse me." You bow to the man who is standing in front of you and head out with the other girls, stopping just behind the stage curtains. You search for Louise's assigned position, letting the other dancers guide you to the center.
Great, this Louise is the prima ballerina of French Cancan.
[Play Orpheus in the Underworld: Can-Can]
Cheers erupt from the crowd at the first notes of the catchy music, as the curtains slowly rise. A blinding spotlight shines in your face, and you raise your hand high, mimicking a confident lead dancer, a wide smile on your face.
"Come on, girls! Make sure they don't regret spending their money tonight." A girl calls beside you, lifting her skirt. You nod and follow her movements, your eyes fixed on her legs as you try to dance like her.
You search for Jean in the crowd and find him in seconds. He is frozen like a statue, his eyes wide and mouth wide open in shock, his hand clutching his glass of wine.
You glance around the room and lift your right leg high, your skirt billowing in the breeze, smiling to the rhythm of the music. You watch the other dancers who suddenly step aside to make way for you at the front of the stage.
You stare at them, stunned, and are speechless when they gesture for you to make Louise's signature move.
You force yourself to smile and glance at Jean one last time as you step back, hoping to convince them that Louise has decided to try something new.
You start running and perform three back handsprings before leaping high and doing a backflip. Your heels click on the smooth floor as you land perfectly, arms raised to the sky, under the astonished gaze of the dancers and the crowd.
The crowd erupts in applause, and you smile before stepping back with the dancers, lifting your legs high and twirling around, your skirt billowing like a cloud around your knees. A young blonde woman with her hair pulled back in a bun smiles at you.
"That was surprising. I didn't know you could do that!" You let out a small giggle before replying.
"I wanted to do something different." You spin around and mimic her movements, feeling more at ease, even though you keep lifting your legs very high, almost in a split. You feel your discomfort slowly subside, and you continue dancing, your eyes fixed on the tables, searching for Marcel Galliard.
Jean felt like banging his head against a wall until all his memories of the last few minutes faded away. He couldn't believe you'd actually walked onto the stage and started dancing like a real cancan dancer, dressed in the brightly coloured clothes of the Centurion Cabaret's performers.
He couldn't deny you looked absolutely stunning in your costume, with that corset cinching your waist and that full red skirt that made you look so alluring.
He nearly smashed his wine glass, frozen in shock, when you lifted your leg in the air, revealing the sparkly red shorts you were wearing underneath your skirt.
He almost punched a boy at a nearby table when he heard him utter obscenities, like "I'll take her home." after your backflip on stage. A fucking backflip, for God's sake! You were full of surprises, and he couldn't hide his jealousy at the thought of all those men swooning over you and your many talents.
He couldn't help but watch as you twirled, jumped, and spun like a true dancer on stage, your smile shining even brighter than the spotlights.
You hold the girls' hands on your left and right, clicking your heels in time with the dance floor, your skirts swirling in a blue of colours.
Sweat trickles down your back and your legs begin to cramp, but you maintain your radiant smile, keeping your star dancer attitude on stage for the audience.
You spin around, raise your arms in the air, and kick high in the air, taking a few steps forward to form a circle. All the girls simultaneously raise their left leg, their shoes meeting in the center to create a sort of flower with their flowing skirts.
You wince as you try to keep your leg raised, leaning lightly against another girl's for support, as you jump, creating the illusion of a carousel of red fabric and feathers.
After a few seconds, the dancers finally bring their leg back to the ground and step back toward the back of the stage, linking arms to dance together once again. You raise your leg right in time with the music, and their panting breaths reassure you: you're not the only one out of breath from this performance.
The music slows to a more sensual rhythm, and the girls disperse in the direction of the two small staircases on either side of the stage. You realize they're descending toward the audience.
This is your chance to find Galliard before another girl snatches him away.
Three girls approach Jean, which makes you laugh as you watch him backing away in his seat, fear in his eyes, raising his hands to push them away while he tells them something you can't hear because of the distance between you two.
[Play Dirty Diana by Michael Jackson]
You weave your way between the tables, feeling men trying to brush their fingertips against your ribs as you pass by, seeking your attention, but your attention is entirely on one man. You find him sitting at the very back, under a gas lamp, alone at a table, sipping his wine.
The furrow of his brow and the expression on his face leaves no doubt: it is him. He stares at the dancers with eyes filled with lust, which in return fills you with profound disgust. Yet you creep toward him, lifting your skirt just enough for him to glimpse the garter on your thigh.
"Good evening, sir." You say in a soft, honeyed voice, lightly touching his cheek as you position yourself behind him, your chest pressing against the back of his neck.
"Good evening to you, pretty lady." He replies in a deep voice, and you see his hand tremble slightly at his side as he restrains himself from touching you more than is permitted here.
"I sense tension in your shoulders, sir. Would you like me to ease it?" You whisper close to his ear and feel him freeze at your suggestive request. He nods as you massage his shoulders, slowly sliding your fingers down to caress his chest.
"What time do you finish work?" He asks, his voice husky with desire. You stifle a laugh of relief at the success of your plan. Men are so predictable when it comes to a woman's body.
"In ten minute. You'll be waiting for me in the alley behind the cabaret, handsome?" You gently kiss his earlobe before stepping away, leaving him flushed, his hand on his crotch, adjusting his pants, clearly trying to control the effect your words had on his body.
You walk past Jean and smile discreetly to let him know everything's alright. He nods absently, his gaze still fixed on nothing, as if he'd seen a monster.
You return to the changing room, draw the curtains, and quickly undress. You slip into your dress, which you'd tucked away in a corner.
You put Louise's costume back where you found it and finally open the closet door. The girl falls out, still unconscious. You place her on the chair in front of her dressing table and pinch her earlobe. She jumps and opens her eyes instantly.ย
Before she has time to call for help, you slip out the back door and reach Marcel's car, parked near a wall covered in vines and laurel.
You slide into the passenger seat of his onyx black Talbot-Lago T26, admiring the inside of his car and the small decorative flower stickers on his glove compartment.
"You were incredible on stage. You have a knack for attracting attention." Marcel glances at you as he reverses out of the alley and drives off into the deserted streets of Liberio.
You let out a soft laugh and place your hand on his bicep, squeezing it lightly. "And you looked so handsome at your table. I saw you while I was dancing. Your presence caught my attention too."
He smiles at your declaration, and his hand slides from the steering wheel to your thigh, gently caressing it. A shiver of unease runs through you, but you remain still, pretending to be interesting in him so your plan works.ย
As soon as we get to your place, I'll knock you out.
"I'll consider you a gift from heaven." Marcel says, his eyes fixed on the road, as his hand slides up your thigh. You take a deep breath and look out the window, but he adds something else in a low, husky voice, thick with lust.
"I can't wait to unwrap my gift." You force a smile at his infuriating advances, and turn your head to look at him, placing your hand on the one on your thigh to stop him from going any further.
"And I can't wait to see the Adonis body you're hiding under all those layers of clothing." He bursts into thunderous laughter at your bold words and rubs his thumb against your thigh.
"You'll see. You won't want to leave my bed after tonight." He turns into a small street lined with middle-class apartment buildings. For someone so wealthy, you expected a more lavish house, but he probably prefers to keep a low profile considering the police is constantly after him.
He gets out of the car and you follow him up the stairs to his apartment while he stares at youโor rather your bodyโwith a ravenous look of need and desire, nothing romantic, only sexual urges.
He slips a key into the lock and enters, you following him closely. You don't even have time to close the door behind you before he slams it shut and presses his lips to yours, the taste of wine filling your mouth.
You almost push him away, but you remember why you're doing this. You kiss Marcel back with fervour, thinking of Jean instead, who must be in your apartment, worried about you, wondering if everything is alright.
You grab Marcel's collar and stumble back to his room, on your left. You glance around: white walls with no wallpaper, instead covered in photos, receipts, maps, and lists.
His bed is huge, a king-size with dark blue sheets, which he pushes you onto. You prop yourself up on your elbows and watch him unbutton his shirt, licking his swollen lips while his eyes wander over your thighs. "I'll be gentle, don't worry."
He presses his body against yours, his hips rubbing against yours roughly, and kisses you again. He parts your lips with his mouth and slides his tongue inside. As he loses himself in the sensation of your body, your arm moves toward the bedside table where a lamp sits.
You grasp the base and, holding it firmly, strike Marcel hard on the back of the head. He gasps and bites your lip when the lamp hits him, drawing blood.
He sits up and puts his hand to the back of his head. A faint trace of blood appears on his fingers. He stares at you in disbelief before you strike him again, this time knocking him unconscious.
He collapses on top of you, and you groan as you push his body off of you. You wipe your mouth and place the lamp back on the bedside table, gently wiping it with a towel you find on the floor to make sure no trace of blood remains. You'll bring this towel with you so when Galliard wakes up, he won't see the traces of blood on it and remember your face.
You watch him and his steady breathing, a sign that he won't die from the two blows to the head, but that he'll likely be unconscious for at least a day.
Your skirt has ridden up your thighs and you pull it back down to your knees, a shiver of disgust running up your legs at the memory of Marcel touching you, then you walk over to the numerous papers pinned to the wall. You read the order receipts, ranging from small cigarettes to drugs like marijuana and opium.
You stare at the map pinned to his wall and take a pencil and paper from his desk. You jot down each location, from isolated houses to large corporations, and one name in particular catches your eye: Tybur Industries.
Tybur Industries, a company whose name you've never heard beforeโif it really is a company and not a code name. You scan the papers and lists on the walls of Galliard's room and find the name Willy Tybur repeatedly. It appears in almost every document.
You search for the most recent receipt, scanning the walls and jotting down notes before finally stopping your gaze on a portion of wall, right next to the bedside table next to the bed where Marcel still lies unconscious, his faint breathing filling the room.ย
You find a receipt dated two days ago, made out to Willy Tybur, and just below this name, the location of their next transaction.
Jean has been YEARNING for years, I almost feel bad for writing this lol. Thank you for reading and donโt forget to like and comment. <3
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