Throughout the decades of misery, only two things had been keeping humanity alive, well and breathing: the desire to preserve oneself, ones culture and pride, and the acceptance of fear. Fear ruled every decision made in the daily lives of millions. Every small choice, sold product, robbed market stall, fired gunshot and day of patrol was riddled with anxiety, torment and the brutal reality of the world's true face. Under a shadow of darkness, humanity was but a rat's den in the monstrous sea of titanic wolves, beasts beyond human scale and comprehension. Even in social dismay, where the crumbling decades of society would fall apart into anarchy, it was driven as it always was - by the acceptance of fear. Scared of dying, withering out like a candle inside a jar, the light of man's own destiny was already breathing its last loads of air. Humanity was dying; no, it was already dead. Come the inevitable, the walls could and would not protect them forever. Even with swords and shields braced for the charge, at the end of it all survival was always a lit fuse of dynamite. Death speaks in all eras, in all languages, and suffering is its tongue.
The year is 846 and the autumn has begun. In search of solidarity, financial stability, prestige, purpose and a plethora of excuses, droves of boys, girls, men and women approached the recruitment halls. A promise of a better life, a promise of a chance to save humanity - many banked on making a difference. For as long as millions could remember, the walls had kept out the terrifying threat lurking on their doorstep. Beasts mimicking, parodying and defacing the human identity stormed in hordes. Selected individuals had faced them, especially along the exterior Wall Rose. Stationary Guardsmen were tasked with cleansing the wall's foundation of stray beasts whilst the infamous Scouting Legion ventured out into the unknown, returning only with disappointment and death. However, with the walls standing tall and strong, unable to be penetrated by the relatively thin waves of Titans that approached its base, humanity could breathe a little easier. Those complacent to their lurk retained little regard for their discomfort, lavishing themselves in a rich lifestyle within the interior. Many trusted the military to hold the line forever. Many trusted the military to break humanity out of its shell. Thus, many joined them, becoming soldiers only two years before the world they knew came crashing down in fire and flame, blood and anguish.
Training Grounds | 122nd Trainee Corps | Inside Wall Maria
"A man sometimes does unspeakable things for the ones he loves; he shapes himself, moulds those around him and kills for them. To hell and back, he walks barefooted, stripped down of all clothing whilst heated metal prods are stabbed into his backside, all for the people he adores. He spends years in the service of all, learning the ins and outs of the world through violence, terror and blood. He loses comrades and he loses lovers. Most importantly, a man is sometimes willing to lose himself for those he loves. Yet in those sacrifices, he sometimes goes too far and loses the ones he loves. What is he then? A shell? A husk? No, he becomes a teacher.
So what does a man sometimes do when he has lost those he loves? He forges new ones, new children, breathes new life and begins to take the mould of himself as a template. Those he leads become him, only to be improved over his own shortcomings. A new generation. A new breath of life. We become stronger because the current man has failed. The next one will rise up, but even if he fails he will give birth to yet another improvement. The man lives on by this. He creates people to love, and in turn they may love him back, or despise him. He may become their enemy, but if he's fulfilled his eternal duty to the ones he loves, then he is ready to pass the torch onward. When you've given your life, your world and your everything for the things you believe in, you stand in these fields today and you ready yourself. Until they are ready, they shall be prepared."
Silence. The early morning sunlight beamed down upon the deforested plains the recruits stood upon. Some whispered amongst themselves, avoiding the eye contact of the instructors pacing around them. Many weren't sure of what was to come. In a hut, some two to three hundred metres from their formation, Philip Maurer enclosed his musings in the seal and placed it upon his shelf. The 122nd. They were assembled, readied by reasons he would drag from their lungs. Upon his wall, he nodded to the familiar face of one subordinate, one who gave him the leverage and comfort to train and teach. Every morning, he looked upon the portrait before making his way outside. The door creaked open gently, and two musket-wielding sentries stood to attention, turning to the left and preparing to escort him across the dusty bowl to the front of the group. For the first twenty seconds, he could still hear the noise of chatter spreading through the Cadets, all of which were unaware of his rearward approach. His body came into view, and so Maurer's attendees were snapped to attention by the violent call of an instructor.
"Corps, 'shun!" A hesitant synchronisation of boots stomping against the ground and arms tightly clasping behind their backs quickly brought the ranks to his attention. For a few seconds, there was no other noise, just the sounds of Maurer's boots scraping across the stones beneath him. Making his way to the front, he daunted with slow movement, his eyes scanning over the hundreds of new recruits stood before his very eyes. Whilst the 122nd Trainee Corps would be spread all over the walls, this was going to be his unit, his class and his chance to create genuine fighters, ones who could excel. He didn't know it, but making the best breed of soldiers possible was needed now more than ever, with a looming threat slowly making its way across the world to the wall's doorstep.
Maurer's eyes rest upon the Cadets. They were small and young. Some were spirited in their glances of honour, others looked drained of life and colour. Some looked tired and some looked healthy. Some were weak and some were strong. Like any class, his first duty was to inspect them as individuals, singling them out and breaking them down until they would realise their own shortcomings, before it was too late. Root out those who were complete, already defined as uninspired individuals - there he would find the incomplete and turn them into soldiers. He waited. In silence, he stood, watching them from afar. For a while no one responded to his silence, unsure of if he was ignoring or had forgotten protocol. Speeches were usually the defining introduction, the thing that brought the cadets comfortably into the new world. Many of his underlings and other instructors hadn't worked alongside Maurer however. Things were different in his presence.
And with a bellowing voice, he finally spoke his first words, yet not all of them. He walked forward to the back left of the formation, starting where the sun barely shone on them. In his mind he singled out a voice, one that chattered in the now fifteen minutes of silent inspection. Once it was heard, he honed in on the prey, moving in and out of the recruits slowly, his head poking over most of them. Maurer's 6'2" stature towered over most of the recruits, especially at their early ages. His demeanour was one of fear, one of superiority. He was the master and the commander, the writer and the speaker, the king and the deity. A smirk crawled onto his face as the first cadet had slipped, initiating his shakedown of the recruits mentality.
"Congratulations, Cadet. You've become the catalyst to a world you'll wish your sorry arse was far away from. Speak! GIVE ME YOUR NAME." His address was...different. He didn't completely shout, more talk down to them aloud. His voice was booming, fuelled by bass and complimented by their outdoor environment. Maurer's tone was reliant on rooting out their problems right away, and so he did.
"R-Roger Martirou, Sir!" The identified cadet could feel the sweat pouring from his brow as Maurer approached him, closing the void between them by mere centimetres. He smiled to himself, chuckling at his anxiety and turning around to the rest of the formation.
"Cadets of the 122nd Trainee Corps, to me you are all the same. You are all a 'Roger', a nobody. I don't care about your names until you prove to me you aren't just a failed copy of this mindless, frail child." He turned back to Roger, looking at him with glaring inquisition. Every soldier had their weakness. He wanted to know it, there and then, without them explicitly telling him. If they admitted their fears on the spot, then it wouldn't be genuine. If they were to survive, the only thing they should have feared was himself. "Why are you here, boy? Why have you desecrated my training ground with your filthy presence?"
"I...I..."
"You what? Spit if out, go make mummy proud and answer what I fuckin' asked." Roger seemed struck by his comment, and yet Maurer didn't seem to bat an eye or any ounce of care towards the comment. Deep down, his comments were spoken with meaning, with intent, but who could see that. They were essentially children and teenagers. And they would remain that until they alleviated their disobedience.
"I want to serve humanity as a soldier, Sir!" Of course it was. It was an admirable, common goal that the majority of cadets had. They weren't the interesting ones, really. They could be promising, obedient but also creative. However, he really preferred the ones with flair, with something to say. It gave him more fuel to add to the fire of his verbal barrage.
"Congratulations, you're as interesting as a fucking brick wall, son. I'll have my eye on you, shitstain. Maybe you'll also have a chance at proving you're not some boring 'Roger Maritrou'." Even though his introductory barrage was light compared to what he usually did, he moved down the line, starting to hassle the cadets one by one. Each one he encountered, his aggression would grow. One spoke back, taking an elbow to the gut and crumbling to the floor. Once he'd fallen, Maurer saw the fear of the younger cadet's eyes spark up. He had their undivided attention, at least some of them. Finally, he turned up to a meagre, average height girl with auburn hair and emerald eyes. Even with a shiny complexion, he felt no brightness glisten upon his own face. He stood before Lauren, following his chain of not asking for any more of their names. "Holy shit, I'm bewildered at just how innately boring you all are. Look at yourself, Cadet, and tell me I'm looking at a soldier! I want to hear you tell me you're worth more than the shits I leave in the morning, or if you're worth anything at all!"
To his surprise, he didn't actually get a response. She stood there, staring at him with a tightened throat. Ten seconds passed, nothing. Eyes of cadets around her tried to roll in their sockets to get a glimpse at her, as if to mouth for her to say at least something. No matter how many pairs rested onto her, she didn't say anything. Was it reluctance? Was it intimidation? Maurer couldn't specifically narrow it down, but what he could take from it was who she was as a person, and so he started laughing aloud. He turned, bellowing out his chants of jovial mockery. His laugh lasted for thirty straight seconds, some of the other instructors joining in. Any cadet who joined in the laughter beyond anything of a visible smirk was immediately shot down by the other advisers.
Maurer turned back to the insignificant girl and cracked yet another smile, amused by her lack of a response. Fear, he finally deduced. She was plucked out from the rest by virtue of shock, the first of a few individuals he'd come to see as genuine from the start. It wasn't exactly a trait he liked, but he had a lot to work with now.
"You're already pathetic. Perhaps actions will speak louder than words. When I fall the entire formation out you will do three laps of the parade grounds to prove that you're a soldier. And you will do it without question? Do I make myself clear?"
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