Chapter Text
Cover Art by Mysh
"Alcestis: I see him there at the oars of his little boat in the lake, the ferryman of the dead, Charon, with his hand upon the oar and he calls me now. ‘What keeps you? Hurry, you hold us back.’ He is urging me on in angry impatience."
Euripides, Alcestis 252 ff (trans. Vellacott) (Greek tragedy 5th B.C.)
There are no stars in the Underground.
No rain either, aside from the dirty runoff that drips from Above, down from the shining city of Mitras. But on nights like this one (not that there’s ever been a night quite like this one), Furlan and Isabel like to reminisce about the muddy, rundown playgrounds and derelict slums of their childhood — token gestures of self-proclaimed goodwill from the government they are now sworn to serve and propel toward a new world.
Levi takes a swig from the brandy bottle and passes it to Furlan, wincing as the sweet alcohol hits the back of his throat. He resents the taste of it as much as he enjoys Isabel and Furlan’s company. Unwilling to waste the evening’s good humor, Levi swallows all of it, both the conversation and the swill. There isn't any point in drinking or dredging up the past, but it seems like the best thing to do on their last night on Earth.
Apart from Kenny and his favorite tea blends, Levi won’t have much to miss about his mother nation, Eldia. And since he hasn’t seen his uncle in well over a decade, the tea is much more of a loss.
“Lee,” Isabel says.
The redhead to Levi’s left tilts her head back against the base’s terracotta rooftop. Isabel extends her hand toward the night sky and admires the gleaming pinpricks of light that slip between her fingers. Around them, orange and brown tiles stretch as far as the eye can see, and beyond that there is only the night sky, tall warehouses and a massive oblong starship looming in the distance.
“Which one’s Paradis?” she asks, shifting the conversation’s focus from the past to the present.
Levi smirks. Unlike the well-bred, overeducated idealists who volunteered for this mission, his head isn’t filled with dreams or stardust. He doesn’t care where Paradis is as long as it’s far, far away from where he started.
“Izzy, have you ever known me to give a shit ‘bout astronomy?”
She hums in that good-natured, placating way that’s put Levi at ease for as long as he’s known her, 10 of his 27 years. “Nah, guess not.”
Levi glances sideways at Furlan just in time to see his eyes shift between Levi and Isabel. Furlan takes his turn with the brandy bottle and wipes his mouth on the sleeve of his civvies. Head tipped back, Furlan’s Adam’s apple bobs as he examines Isabel’s hopeful gaze.
Lan grins lazily. “‘s that one.”
He points to the brightest star in the sky, and Levi smirks to himself, knowing one of Furlan’s easy lies when he hears them. Isabel doesn’t seem to catch on, or if she does, maybe she prefers it this way. She “ohhs” and “ahhs” about definitely-not-Paradis’ friendly glow and the wondrous adventures that await Squad Levi. She’s too busy talking to take a drink from their liquor.
With a stern, pointed glance, Levi takes the bottle from Furlan and tosses back more of the amber spirit. His cheeks feel a little warm. Perhaps that’s just his nerves.
“It’s almost like we’ll be there tomorrow,” Izzy says. “Like we’ll just blink, take a lil nap and then BAM! Rockin’ our gear all day every day on Paradis. Explorin’. Buildin’. The first thing I’m gonna do when we get there…”
Levi listens as Isabel chatters on, and call him a hypocrite (no better than Furlan), but he won’t stop her. Not for all the iceburst in Mitras. Not when she conjures such an idyllic future for the three of them in a little secluded cabin within spitting distance of a shopping center. Imagination alight, Izzy spins pretty yarns about Paradis’ unspoiled parks and its good restaurants where she and the fluffy pet bird she plans to adopt will be on a first-name basis with the waitstaff. Isabel has such hopeful dreams.
The little voice inside Levi’s head is not so optimistic. "If," he thinks. "If we get there, Izzy."
Fifteen years in hypersleep on a starship is more than just a nap. The 10% chance of pod failure is only outweighed by the damn-near certainty that Earth’s resources cannot keep up with humanity’s demands. There will be no parks or restaurants on Paradis for many years to come. No pet birds either. Just work and struggle.
Still, it will be better than Earth.
Already, the strain is noticeable in the little things — the chipper propaganda the Eldian government churns out (too little, too late) to conserve, reduce and reuse, and the sketchy bills pushed through Congress to limit population growth and restrict resource allocation. Tension spreads from Mitras outward, seeding class conflict in every layer of society, from the humble homes of ordinary citizens to the fine rooms of the palace and beyond.
It’s in the air, the ground, the water. Even the meat served in the base’s commissary says more of famine than feast, all dwindling portion sizes and synthetic substitutions. Soon, Earth will not have enough. Not Above, in Eldia, or in its capital city, Mitras. Not in the military. And sure as shit, not Underground.
Thankfully for Levi, he’s the best on the gear, a standout in the military’s special operations division since day one. And as the person chosen to captain the special operation squad on this mission, Levi thinks Furlan and Isabel are — as he memorably phrased it to the higher-ups when questioned about their credentials — non-fucking-negotiable if they want his ass within ten light-years of Paradis.
“You got big plans there, Izzy.” Furlan looks over at her with a softness about his eyes that he’s never had for Levi. “It’s gonna be paradise after those big brain scientists do their terraforming. That’s why they’re callin’ it Paradis.”
Levi’s pretty sure that’s not why they call it Paradis, but he’s happy for Furlan and Isabel. Really. Thrilled (mostly) that they’ve had each other to lean on while Levi spent the better part of his 20s making a space in the military that he alone could fill.
Two stolen sets of ODM gear and rigorous training when he could scrounge up an off-base weekend pass were the most Levi could offer his friends back then. By the time Furlan and Isabel had the skills to join him, they’d grown closer than friends. Their bond — once a three-way connection of companionship and trust shared with Levi — had changed.
Love is no stranger in the Underground, least of all to Levi, whose mother sold sex to keep a roof over their heads. Some embrace it through vice; others fear it by way of religious fervor. And still, parents love children; neighbors band together to withstand hardship. So love is familiar, a notorious spectre that wears many masks and has countless callings, some friend and others foe.
But the romantic kind of love — the type splattered on the pages of cheap paperback novels with their fluttering hearts, tearful vows and multiple orgasms, the kind of love that makes smart people do stupid things — remains a mystery. Levi gets the gist of it; he doesn’t think he’s missing much. Though it’s always amusing to witness white lies slip from the lips of honest people or naysayers pluck strands of hope from a tapestry of propaganda in the name of romance.
Furlan, for example, is a practical person. He understands the mission’s risks and can spot a falsehood before it’s spoken into being. Even so, he indulges Isabel’s imagination and allows the prospect of plenty to take root. And Izzy eats it up because she, more than anyone else Levi has ever known, has more love in her heart than she knows what to do with.
Of all the members of his squad, Levi worries for Isabel the most.
She stands and stretches. Her back bows inward as she twists to tease the soreness from her spine. The wispy ends of her pigtails catch the evening breeze.
“We should go to bed,” Isabel says. She turns toward her friends and throws Furlan a mischievous look, unmistakably fond and wanting, before training a friendlier gaze on Levi. Isabel isn’t the least bit tired. “How ‘bout it, Lee? Just this once, do you wanna? I don’t mind sharin’.”
Sex is what she means. Does Levi want to have sex with Furlan while she pretends it doesn’t matter? Were Levi almost anyone else, the offer wouldn’t be so strange. Not with the way people think of it nowadays — casual, like scratching a little itch. If Levi would care to listen, he could probably hear the sounds of little gasps, curses and rustling sheets coming from every barracks on the base. And years ago, Levi wouldn't have minded the offer. He and Furlan have been there before. Lan knows what he likes. But when it comes to Izzy…
Levi’s nose wrinkles; his toes curl in his assiduously shined boots. The calluses on his fingers catch as he picks at the brandy bottle’s pretty label, and Levi mulls over how to phrase his answer.
It’s no, of course — a hard pass, a hell no. Levi detests the offer, resents that Isabel feels the need to make it in the first place. Her words reek of pity, and Levi isn’t pitiable.
“Nah,” he replies. “You and Lan go have fun.”
But it isn’t just fun for them. Or lust. It’s something else, even if they haven’t put a name to the little touches and lingering glances they share, or let Levi in on the secret they’ve been keeping. It will come out in time, and then all three of them will have to navigate it. But now is not that moment, so they all continue to pretend.
“It’s nice up here,” Levi says.
That’s true enough. Former Underground brats appreciate the stars more than most.
“And I wanna finish the bottle.”
That’s a lie. He’s going to dump this useless swill the minute Furlan and Isabel leave.
Levi holds back a shiver of disgust when he swallows another mouthful of brandy. He pulls his mouth into a strained smile that won't show his crooked teeth. It shouldn’t be enough to fool Isabel and Furlan, but perhaps they’re relieved that he isn’t interested. Or maybe they're eager. Either way, they scurry off, giggling as they descend the roof’s steep pitch and slip through the window of their barracks. Levi’s face promptly falls back into its customary scowl.
Then, it is just Levi and the bottle. He is alone with his thoughts, hopes and fears — an uncomfortable place to be when there’s nothing left to do but wait for tomorrow’s reveille.
The night sky looks down on him just as much as he looks up at it, beautiful and boundless. An ancient abyss older than time itself, embellished by distant points of light that twinkle in the ether. For the first time in a long time, Levi’s mind wanders through his past to his mother, who told him bedtime stories filled with hope and adventure. It might have been nice to share this trip with her. Levi hopes she would have been proud.
The ghost of her rich alto rings in his ears. She sings a childhood lullaby Levi had all but forgotten. "If only, if only, the woodpecker sighs, the bark on the tree was as soft as the skies...."
He pushes the memory aside and takes another sip of brandy.
Alcohol was Kenny’s vice, though Levi has never known what was so special about the bottom of a bottle. It’s a terrible distraction. When he was younger, he preferred lovers. But for the training and focus it took to bring Isabel and Furlan this far, Levi might have found someone to settle down with. If he had cared more. If he had looked harder.
Tonight, it might have been nice to have someone to take Levi to his room and press him against their scratchy sheets. Levi’s legs might have wrapped around his waist and slinked down his body to hook around a pair of muscular calves. Someone, any well-built guy from Above with half a brain and a hard cock could have pushed away the memories that roil in his gut and filled the void with something else besides trepidation.
If only for a night, Levi might have liked that.
A gust of wind blows from the east and pulls Levi from his reverie. It hits his face, and the chill grounds him in the moment. On instinct, he scans the base’s rooftops and catches a distinctive scent in the air: spicy clove and sweet vanilla.
Levi spots the source, and now that he’s seen him, Levi cannot look away. Even from a distance, it’s hard to miss the broad shoulders and the muscular build of the man sitting two buildings off, smoking a cigarette, exhaling into the breeze, looking like he’s never missed a meal in his life. The person sitting opposite Levi has everything he lacks — blond hair, tanned skin, a striking jawline that belongs on billboards and he looks younger than Levi too. No doubt, he is from Above.
Levi dislikes him on sight. Because he’s not just lucky, he’s beautiful.
Why this prime example of privilege and good genes is smoking on a godforsaken rooftop instead of knocking boots with someone equally attractive or enjoying the company of his many friends, Levi can’t begin to guess. All the same, he can’t help but wonder what Mr. Lucky might think of the small dark-haired man who sits across from him with a nasty bottle of brandy in hand.
Mr. Lucky takes another drag of his cigarette, and Levi’s gaze falls on the silhouette of his full lips under the pale moonlight. Through a smoky exhale, Levi notices how the man’s thick digits dwarf the cigarette poised between his thumb and index finger. Levi watches, transfixed, as a smug smirk crosses Mr. Lucky’s rugged face, and he nods in Levi’s direction.
This man’s allure — the heat in his gaze and the sinful pucker of his mouth around his cigarette — might be an invitation. His interest could also be imagined, nothing more than a friendly gesture sent to the only other person spending their last night on Earth alone on a goddamn rooftop. And Levi knows this riddle would be easy to unravel.
His footing is sure. It would be easy to jump across the way, play coy and flash his scars. A little story or two about his upbringing Underground. Wanting glances stolen through his dark fringe. A proposition with all the circumstances working in Levi’s favor. He has so little to lose.
Mr. Lucky is the type of man Levi likes: big and strong with eyes that smile like they’ve seen wonderful things that Levi cannot fathom.
And still, it isn’t enough.
Levi doesn’t smile back. Defiant, he juts his chin out and stands. He turns away and kicks the brandy bottle over. The green glass wedges in a groove between two tiles and amber liquor spills down the rooftop in rivulets. Levi doesn’t look back at the man with the cigarette or up at the night sky as he slips through the same window Isabel and Furlan climbed through and lands back inside their barracks.
The beds are empty except for one. Sasha lies prone in her bunk. She groans, no doubt nursing a sick stomach from gorging herself at supper. Sensing that she isn’t going anywhere soon, Levi crosses the room and heads toward the small adjoining suite — his private quarters (for all the good privacy will do him). He snatches the lone tablet off his desk and marks Sasha present.
Curfew isn’t for a few more hours, and by that time, Levi expects his squad will be accounted for — half drunk and reeking of sex or smoke, but otherwise alive and reporting for duty. And though he will scowl at their sorry state, Levi will not complain, so long as they hold their alcohol.
“Hey, Captain!”
A cheery voice calls to Levi from the doorway of the barracks. Petra peeks around the corner. Her eyes are bright, the color of honey, and her damp blonde hair is tucked behind her ears in curly clumps. The scent of lavender body wash grows stronger when she enters Levi’s room.
He settles into the old chair opposite his desk. Its meager cushion flattens. The damn thing is uncomfortable, but Levi has slept in worse.
“Surely, you got something better to do tonight than take a shower, Petra.”
A little crease forms between Petra’s brows. “But I’m your vice-captain.” She eases herself into the chair next to him and straightens up, unwilling to lean against the chair’s hard back. “I thought I could help you with curfew call and keep you company.”
Levi isn’t stupid. He knows why Petra stayed behind instead of joining Eld, Oluo and Gunther. Levi’s soft spot for Petra isn’t fair to anyone. It’s too platonic, too easy for a nice girl with a silly crush to misconstrue. Good though Petra is on the gear, she’s not Eld. And that’s to say nothing of Oluo, who would give his left nut to spend a single night with her.
“My squad’s got 25 people,” Levi says. He looks at the yellowed ceiling tiles — somewhere, anywhere other than the hopeful, heart-shaped face that’s turned toward him. “I don’t need you.”
The chipper, teasing lilt to her voice tells Levi that she remains undeterred. “Don’t be a grouch, Captain. Surely, you don’t want to be alone. Even Izzy and Lan are—”
“I know where Izzy and Lan are.” Levi’s words come out rougher than he means them to, laced with a sentiment he can’t (won’t) place. “You should be with your friends.”
“Well, you’re my friend, aren’t you?”
Levi tries not to look at Petra as if she is very stupid. Furlan tells him that he does that, and it would be cruel to offend Petra tonight of all nights. Sometimes, Levi wishes he could just sleep with Petra, Mr. Lucky or Isabel and Furlan without making too much of it, if only to prove he’s an enlightened sort of person, someone who understands the difference between sex and love.
Petra must think he’s an old-fashioned romantic, a surly man with a secret bleeding heart, but the truth is simple. It’s something that could be explained with a shrug, were it anyone else’s business. Vanilla sex does little for Levi that his hands cannot accomplish on their own. Levi Ackerman is no blushing virgin either. He’s acquainted with it, of course, as a tool and a game.
Hookups and fuck buddies were a nice distraction during the early days of basic training when Levi found himself stressed, touch-starved and missing Isabel and Furlan so much it hurt to think about them. But all those quick fucks with well-built boys from Above had been unsatisfying. Utterly ordinary even when they did end in a good orgasm, which was not as often as Levi would have liked.
Neither Petra, Mr. Lucky nor Isabel can quiet his doubts and push Levi toward that perfect, wrung-out stillness he craves. And Petra deserves someone sweet. Levi can’t give her that. Even if they are friendly, he cannot say they are friends. And even if they do manage it someday, friendship will not lead to something more. Levi has never wanted a woman, never craved soft curves over hard lines.
Not even with Izzy. Especially not with Izzy.
Levi struggles to phrase his racing thoughts in a way that won’t make Petra blush. But he risks revealing more than she is due or sticking his foot in his mouth. Thankfully, the conversation takes another turn.
“How about a game of cards, Captain?” Petra says. She pulls a new pack of playing cards from her pocket and slips her fingernail through the seal. The cards are slick, gleaming white around their flat corners. “Name the game. But I have to warn you; my father says I’m quite the card shark.”
“That so?”
A corner of Levi's mouth ticks upward in a smirk. He takes the deck from Petra and shuffles it just like Kenny taught him.
“Gin?” he asks.
Levi takes Petra for all she’s worth — which isn’t much considering that the entirety of her worldly possessions are stored, like his, in a small black trunk at the foot of her bunk. He wins a small tin of premium tea, vacuum-packed per ship regulations, but refuses a dog-eared book of poetry that she used to hedge her bet. Levi has no use for pretty words.
The next morning, there are more pretty words, but this time, Levi cannot give them back.
Expression stoic, he stands among a dense crowd outside the hangar, feet spread 30 inches apart and fingers interlaced behind his back, alongside his squad. Their black spec ops uniforms are brand new, perfected for interstellar travel with their ship’s insignia stitched on the collar. His gear is stowed with the rest of his belongings aboard the Scout.
Levi listens to a wrinkled, balding man in a white wool jacket drone on about the importance of their mission and the great achievements spurred by mankind’s innovation. The metal endcaps of the golden cords on his shoulder and his colorful medals clink together throughout his predictable oration. Next to the balding captain, a representative from Eldia’s royal family sits on a makeshift throne. Her bodyguard stands behind her, and behind them, four decorated minions occupy the back of the dais.
The minions wear the same uniform as the Scout’s captain, albeit with fewer service ribbons and aiguillettes dripping from their shoulders. Three of the commanders have unfamiliar faces, but Levi almost laughs when he places the fourth. It’s the same man who smirked at Levi while smoking clove cigarettes on the rooftop the night before.
Mr… No, Commander Lucky is quite the lucky boy, indeed, to be that far up the food chain at so young an age.
After the speeches have concluded and the salutes have been given, Levi boards the Scout with his squad. They endure a slow, solemn march through the silver interior of the ship toward the medical bay. There, in a spotless white room, the medical staff inject medicine into their veins and triple-check their vitals in preparation for the long voyage.
Levi pretends it doesn’t phase him. He also pretends not to notice Furlan and Isabel clasping hands as they board the turbolift. Their knuckles blanch white as they whiz down to the pod storage bay, where they’re directed to a row of sleek pods crowded by chattering scientists in blue coats.
And when sleep finally comes for Furlan, Isabel, Petra and the rest of his squad, courtesy of chemical oblivion, Levi oversees their transition before stepping into the pod between Isabel and Petra. He leans back, and the blue coats strap him down and hook him up to more monitors than Levi thinks is necessary, connected to so many blinking lights that they almost look like their own set of stars.
The pod’s overhead door lowers with a mechanical whine. Hissing, it seals shut. Except for the rough rhythm of Levi’s inhales and exhales, the cramped space is dark and silent. He feels the medicine fill his veins, spidering outward from the port in his chest as numbness slithers down his spine. A paralyzing feeling coils around his lungs like a serpent until his breathing turns shallow, gentle, faint.
Levi isn’t tired, but his eyelids grow heavy and slip shut. For the first time in a long time, he slumbers deeply, alongside the Scout’s complement of 499 other souls. And with his last flicker of consciousness, he hopes against hope that they are, indeed, headed toward paradise, not perdition.
t h u m p
Levi knows this room. He remembers the stiff, yellowed curtains and the rhythmic creak of the rocking chair in the corner. Empty cups and festering dishes fill the sink. It’s July, and the summer heat radiates through Mitras’ metal infrastructure, baking the subterranean city’s residents until they grow as anxious and agitated as a stray cat skittering across a hot tin roof.
Kuchel Ackerman rocks slowly back and forth in her chair, too frail to move. Her empty eyes watch dust motes dance in the sliver of artificial light that cuts through the gap in the curtains. The small, dirty apartment Kuchel shares with her young son bows in on itself as the floorboards groan.
The world tilts to the slow tempo of a haunting lullaby: “If only, if only, the woodpecker sighs, the bark on the tree was as soft as the skies.”
t h u m p
Kuchel was soft, in life and in death, but Levi isn’t soft. He doesn’t have that luxury. His feet stick where he stands as the room tilts. Suddenly, Levi is blinded by the light from Above. He looks down to see a pair of dirty boots caked in mud. His old fatigues from basic training bunch around his ankles. Harsh voices call him runt, Underground rat, whoreson. All true.
Kenny said worse. His lean, lanky frame does not appear before Levi, but his shadow moves across the changing scenery like an eclipse. A cold presence washes over Levi and whispers barbs that sting worse than the cadets’ jeers. ‘You’re a burden, kid. And I ain’t no parent.’
Kuchel’s voice continues, “While the wolf waits below, hungry and lonely, crying to the moon, ‘If only, if only.’”
t h u m p - t h u m p
When Levi blinks to shake Kenny’s growl from his ears, he does not find himself in the Underground. On the contrary, he is Above at a party, a sumptuous banquet filled with low light and finely pressed uniforms. Pretty young things decorate the arms of old money, hungry but unable to eat for the tight cinch of their corsets.
Wine and gravy flow freely at a buffet overstocked with fruit, meat and sweets. Portly officers crowd around to stuff their swollen, red faces. Levi's stomach turns at the thick stench of decadence and waste. Disgusted, his eyes settle on the officers’ wet fingers, the specks of meat caught between their teeth and the juice dripping down their chins.
When Levi tries to turn away, a swarm of slender hands accosts him. Wide eyes dance around him, blocking his retreat at every turn. A small choir of wizened socialites demands to know if Levi really lived there… below Mitras. They giggle and speculate that they might have been neighbors. Upstairs and downstairs, that sort of arrangement.
The vices of these people speak plainly when they do not, and Kuchel agrees as she continues her ominous serenade. “If only, if only, the moon speaks no reply. Reflecting the sun and all that's gone by.”
thump-thump
Levi’s dirty boots do not belong at this banquet. The old leather shrinks around his ankles, and in defiance of gravity, he is pulled away feet first from the flock of vultures picking at his past. Levi’s world turns over on itself, but try as he might, he cannot move. He looks past the bulbous toes of his boots, but does not see a gauche chandelier or a delicately painted ceiling. Instead, there is a gulf of grey nothingness, and on the other side, Kuchel’s apartment with its dirty dishes, artificial light and his mother’s ceaseless rocking.
He feels another tug as his mother’s song reaches its final bars. “Be strong my weary wolf; turn around boldly. Fly high, my baby bird, my angel, my only.”
thump-thump
The service ribbons pinned on the right side of Levi’s dress uniform anchor him back to the haughty banquet just as his boots pull him Underground. He is caught in the smoky abyss between the two worlds. And through it all, there is another voice, and a decision that Levi, somehow, knows he must make.
It’s like fighting to use a broken set of ODM gear — an impossible balancing act. But no sooner does the thought occur to him than Levi feels the straps of his harness, summoned from nothingness, tighten around the chest, hips and legs. Now that he feels the comforting weight and pressure of the gear on his body, Levi can fight for control. He can refuse to surrender or sink deeper into the void that blurs his vision.
He can choose.
With renewed vigor, Levi tries to dispel this terrible dream that’s at odds with itself. And all at once it comes to him, not a gentle warmth, but a sudden rush of light and sound. Levi finds his center and seizes his reward, his answer. He knows what he wants, what he has always wanted through everything his mother and Kenny and the military have put him through.
Levi wants to live.
THUMP-THUMP
The first thing he feels is metal grate flooring pressed against his cheek. Sensation ekes its way through the rest of his body, and numbness is replaced by all manner of unpleasantries. Levi blinks the foggy dizziness from his eyes but has no choice but to remain slumped forward on the floor in front of his pod. Unfocused, his vision continues to swirl, and his ears ring.
A flat voice echoes in his ears. “Captain Ackerman, can you hear me?”
Levi’s lips dither, but he cannot speak. Yet, something prideful and defiant within him responds to the question. Levi’s heartbeat thuds steady and strong. It pushes blood through his veins and coaxes movement into his limbs.
Yes, he is alive. Weak and disoriented from coming out of hypersleep. But alive.
Breathing. Thinking. Feeling.
Alive. Alive. Alive.
“Body temperature at 97.8°F and rising,” the monotone voice says. “Pulse, 55 beats per minute. Respiration rate is 14 breaths per minute. 99% oxygen saturation. Blood pressure is 109/69. Oh, good. I thought we had lost you.”
Levi looks up at the source of the even voice rattling off his vital statistics as if they were items on a grocery list. He lifts his cheek off the grate and blinks away the last vestiges of vertigo. A mop of brown hair pulled back into a haphazard ponytail, a pair of foggy glasses and a pointed, curious face converge in his line of sight. They peer down at him with a bemused expression that Levi cannot place.
With great effort, he turns to look up at the pods next to him, the ones keeping Isabel and Furlan safe. Levi can see their faces through the small window near the top of the pods, and they are both exactly how he remembers them — peaceful, flushed pink and asleep. The green indicators on their pods confirm as much.
Relieved, Levi closes his eyes and lets his forehead fall back against the grate. He takes several slow breaths and allows the mess of sensations in the pod storage bay to overwhelm his senses. A single voice, clear and calm, cuts through the clutter again and reverberates in his ears.
“Get up, Captain Ackerman,” the person standing over him says. “Your assistance is required.”