[ 8PM is signaled by an ominous click throughout the house he has taken refuge in. After a prompt, exhaustive investigation, he determines that the front door and every window has been sealed tight. Not even his strength can coax an opening in any of the frameworks. He doesn’t like it; these walls may shelter him from the unforgiving elements, but he’s become effectively trapped. A lifetime of battling Titans—and more monstrous beings still, humans themselves—has instilled within him the instinctive need to have escape routes readily available. Mindful of the temperature rapidly sinking, he performs a second sweep of the house for supplies but is rewarded with little. Someone has already scavenged this building, it seems.
He has few options. Levi locates the smallest enclosed space, a closet, and beds down there in a makeshift nest of tattered, musty sheets found upstairs. Once situated, he pulls out the strange machine from his pack to make a brief note on his current base. No resources, he types slowly, squinting at the artificial light, no fireplace.
By the hour he checks the messages on the machine, it’s far too late for Mikasa. Levi knows it. Understands it in cold, uncompromising certainty—she’s dead. Only a matter of time now. And yet he’s standing, shrugging off clingy sheets, throwing open the closet door to pace the breadth of the building. He's needlessly wasting energy, he thinks, but doesn't try to still himself. Outside, the wind howls like the stuff of his nightmares. ]
Mikasa. [ Forgoing a text response, he tries to set aside the knowledge that the sound of his voice, too harsh in the eerie silence, is all he can offer her now. It’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. ] Mikasa. Report. Where are you?
no subject
He has few options. Levi locates the smallest enclosed space, a closet, and beds down there in a makeshift nest of tattered, musty sheets found upstairs. Once situated, he pulls out the strange machine from his pack to make a brief note on his current base. No resources, he types slowly, squinting at the artificial light, no fireplace.
By the hour he checks the messages on the machine, it’s far too late for Mikasa. Levi knows it. Understands it in cold, uncompromising certainty—she’s dead. Only a matter of time now. And yet he’s standing, shrugging off clingy sheets, throwing open the closet door to pace the breadth of the building. He's needlessly wasting energy, he thinks, but doesn't try to still himself. Outside, the wind howls like the stuff of his nightmares. ]
Mikasa. [ Forgoing a text response, he tries to set aside the knowledge that the sound of his voice, too harsh in the eerie silence, is all he can offer her now. It’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. ] Mikasa. Report. Where are you?