"𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐈'𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐒𝐎 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓"
Some people wish they could ꜰᴏʀɢᴇᴛ parts of their life. Johanna wishes she could ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ.
ᴀᴛ ᴀɢᴇ 6 , she woke up under a bridge in Trost with no memory, not a single recollection of who...
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❝ You may not be interested in war but war is interested in you❞
-Leon Trotsky
✱ ✱ ✱
ALL I COULD do was watch.
A tidal wave of hot steam billows over the wall.
The force hits me like a wall— and suddenly I know nothing. No light, no shapes... numb to the very tips of my fingers.
"Johanna!"
Someone somewhere is calling my name. But they sound so far away. Almost intangible. Like an echo from a distant memory of a life I haven't lived.
I am weightless. Hurling like a rag doll, every inch of my body scathing against the heat, I don't know up from down or left from right and what little part of my brain hasn't been fried is desperately trying to figure out oh Godwhere is the floor? Grab on, grab on to anything, find some solid ground.
Except the wall was gone long ago. I am in free-fall. As clouds of steam disperse and I can finally crack open my eyelids, all I'm met with is the image of the wall's edge getting farther and farther.
"Johanna!"
Funny. Falling to your death is actually quite nice. Like a one-way express ticket to oblivion.
My body is in shock but my mind has snapped back in the moment, Oh my god oh my god I'm gonna die this is it I'm already dead—
A body slams into me out of nowhere, and I'm no longer plunging.
I gasp like I've had the life knocked back into my lungs. "Eren?" I struggle to find my voice again.
Through the steam I recognize the outline of his face. But most notably— the incandescent teal eyes. He supports my weight with one arm, pinning me flush against him, struggling to maintain balance on his cords.
"Your gear!" He grunts as his own gear screeches under the weight of two, "Activate your gear!"
For a brief second I don't register— the idea stunts me. But quickly common sense returns.
Of course. What I've trained for the past 3 years.
With shaking hands I flick the switch at my sides and shoot my own anchors into the wall, supporting myself.
"Are you okay?" He asks.
I'm shaking. I'm clinging onto the cords so tightly they burn the flesh of my hands. I don't know what to answer.
I'm dreaming right? This is a nightmare, right?
"Samuel, don't move!" I see the vague outline of Sasha further west, propped against the side of the wall, one of her anchors hooked straight through the leg of a Samuel's body. He dangles, unresponsive.
