Shingeki no Jiyu

XIX

        Leo and Graham sat in the mess hall playing cards.

         Graham yawned, resting his chin in his palm, "I hope Yeltsie is having fun wherever the fuck she flew off to. Did you see her at Erwin's coronation? You think that's the same girl we've spent years with? She didn't even acknowledge us."

       "Dunno," Leo sighed. "Haven't seen her weird stalker cousin either. Maybe he's abducted her."

        "Doubt it," Graham flipped another card. "I think something happened to her but management refuse to admit anything. . .maybe for PR's sake. Maybe they had to do something to her to have her so cheery. Last time I asked Erwin he was closed off and said that she'd requested some time off and was going to spend it with Hanji on an expedition to Hana. . .some Titan research bullshit."

      Leo raised an eyebrow, "Hang on, that doesn't make sense. Hanji's been holding the fort here."

      "I'm too fucking old for this," Graham palmed his forehead. "I asked them for transparency once, I thought they'd follow through with it. Either way we need to find Yeltsie and quick, we can't afford another catastrophe like the last expedition without her—I don't know what Erwin was thinking, sending us outside blind without her talent. If we're going to survive, we have to find her."

      A group of three Scouts entered the mess hall and seemed relieved when spotting Graham and Leo. One of them with bright orange hair held the metal tray out to them, "It's your turn to feed the prisoner champs, Captain Hanji's orders."

      Prisoner? Leo scowled.

      "Sure," Graham drawled, lowering his hand. "Where would they be?"

       "Basement," another one stuck his thumb over his shoulder. "Go to the barn and there's a door leading down to the cells. Kinda hard to miss. Just be careful, he tries to bite a lot."

      Once the men left, Leo and Graham shared a look. Leo grabbed the tray and they ran as fast as they could to the basement.

      The jails seemed prehistoric in comparison to the technology of Trost above. They weren't 'advanced' by any means, but the damp cobblestone steps were only lit by oil-soaked torches. The iron gates had been fashioned centuries ago and were victim to rust and decay. The tray shook in Leo's hands as he ducked beneath a bunch of cobwebs, casting Graham a concerned look.

     "This is disgusting, I think I just stepped in someone's breakfast from last week," Leo gagged.

      "We've been living the high life upstairs, I almost forgot what raw sewage smells like," Graham turned left down the corridor towards a halo of light. "Let's hope whoever's down here doesn't have the stomach for dessert."

      Leo gasped as they entered the room. On each wall was a mounted oil lamp, stark contrast to the other light sources in the corridor. Neal Yelts-Jørgen knelt against the far wall with his arms outstretched and shackled taught.

      He shook manically and bit down on his lip. Leo noted the blood staining his chin and front of his soiled shirt, it hadn't been his first attempt at a transformation. The familiar orange spark temporarily blinded the pair, but before it could consume them, bony plates seemed to absorb the mutation. They travelled up Neal's arms and the light vanished. Once the transformation stopped, the plates cracked and flaked away.

        "I wouldn't try that again if I were you, we're your room service," Graham folded his arms.

        Neal grimaced as the blood dripped from his lips, "Did Erwin send you to mock me?"