Chapter 12 The Slaughter At The Warehouse

New Chapter. More Powerstones

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Trost – The Warehouse

"Open up. The cargo's arrived."

The warehouse doors swung open. The same familiar cart that had arrived every night for the past few days rolled inside.

"Tch… How nice of them to finish up early this time."

Thomas, an MP officer, clicked his tongue as the doors shut behind the cart. The traffickers had returned earlier than expected. That meant their work for the night was already done.

"Yeah. Trost security's been tightening lately…" another officer muttered, taking a long drag from his cigarette. He exhaled a cloud of smoke before continuing. "From the looks of it, this should be the last run…"

Their early return signaled that they wouldn't be leaving again. Since the operation was scheduled to end tomorrow, this effectively marked the mission's conclusion.

Much to everyone's relief.

The Military Police weren't good people, but even they found this job hard to stomach. The risks involved were far too great—no matter how much they were paid.

"I hear you. No more of this hellhole. Once the captain gets back, we can finally talk about leaving…"

Thomas gazed off into the distance.

"Speaking of, why hasn't he returned yet?"

The others exchanged glances. Some scoffed.

"Probably drowning his worries at a bar. Leading this kind of shit takes a toll on a man."

"Who knows? Maybe he went to the Red House to blow off some steam."

The conversation gradually shifted to less serious topics.

"That's enough." Thomas sighed. "The carts are back, so he needs to know. We should start making plans. Who knows? Maybe we can leave tonight."

"No problem, but who's going to fetch him?"

They all looked at each other, clearly reluctant to take on extra work.

"… Is it that hard?" a female voice cut in.

"Let the newbie do it ..."

"I mean, she's gotta pull her weight eventually, right?"

Saria turned her gaze toward the quiet girl standing apart from the group—Ren.

"Unless," she added, "you'd prefer to help unload the merchandise…"

The word carried weight.

Images of tearful, terrified women and children flooded Ren's mind. Her stomach churned.

No. She didn't want to see that again. She couldn't see that again.

"… S-Sure…"

She accepted the task without resistance, quickly straightening her uniform before heading out.

Watching her leave, Thomas chuckled.

"Do you have to keep targeting the poor girl? Her mind's already unbalanced enough as it is."

Saria leaned against a stack of crates, arms crossed, an amused smirk tugging at her lips.

"Oh, please. If she's that fragile, she shouldn't be here in the first place."

"Not everyone is cut out for this," another MP muttered, taking another drag from his cigarette.

Saria shrugged. "She made her choice. We all did. I'm just helping her adjust faster."

There was a cold certainty in her voice—one that made the others slightly uncomfortable.

No one really knew much about her. They were all stationed in Ehrmich, but Saria had been transferred in nearly two years ago with little fanfare. She never spoke about her past. Never got too close to anyone.

And that was fine.

Because beneath her playful, carefree facade lay something else.

Something calculating.

Even among corrupt soldiers, there was something about Saria that felt… off.

She wasn't in this for the money or the connections. It was like she was playing a role—fulfilling a purpose only she understood.

Not that anyone cared enough to question it.

Saria Hale was a competent teammate. In this line of work, that was all that mattered.

"Enough talking. They'll need help inside with the cargo. Two of you, come with me. Saria, Lina, Scot—you're on lookout."

A Few Minutes Later

Saria stepped out into the cool night air, stretching her arms with a yawn as she moved toward a deserted corner.

Even though she had no real reason to worry, checking her surroundings was second nature. A good informant never got careless.

She rounded a broken-down structure and leaned against a wall, out of sight from the main doors. Taking a slow breath, she began unbuttoning her pants.

'Just a little longer. Then I can report back'.

Her thoughts drifted.

Among this group, she had one more mission—one no one else knew about.

To observe, act, and report.

Trafficking was an open secret among the nobility. Destined to remain one. And something this delicate couldn't be left entirely in the hands of random MPs.

Her job was simple:

If any teammate showed signs of jeopardizing the mission, eliminate them.

If the trafficking ring was exposed, eliminate them before they could be arrested.

If she couldn't, retreat and report to the informants in Trost.

Spies planted in the Garrison would handle the rest. Her team wouldn't live long enough to talk.

This was her role. To cut them down if necessary. Of course, it would be best if things never got to that point.

It would be tiring to change to another team again.

'Just one more day and we can all walk away'.

Her real concern, though?

Ren.

The rookie wasn't built for this. Not to blame her, though. Many people weren't. Nevertheless, if it became a problem, then she would have to deal with it.

The sound of running water filled the silent alley before stopping moments later.

Saria adjusted her clothing, straightened up, and turned to leave—

Then froze.

Footsteps.

Her senses sharpened instantly.

Oh? Back already?

She exhaled slowly, leaning back against the wall as she tilted her head slightly. The steps were faint but deliberate.

Not a drunkard stumbling through Trost's back alleys. Not the casual stroll of a civilian.

Maybe it was the little rookie returning with the captain? Right on time, too…

Meanwhile – Outside the Warehouse

"Sigh… Nothing ever happens around here."

Scot yawned, rubbing his arms in the cool night air.

Lina rolled her eyes. "What more do you want? The Colossal Titan to show up?"

Scot chuckled. "I don't know about that, but I—"

SQUELCH!

Blood splattered across Lina's face.

Her eyes widened in shock.

Turning, she saw it—a blade, embedded deep in Scot's skull.

What the—?

Before she could scream—

THUNK!

A kunai whistled through the air, stabbing straight into her chest.

Lina's body collapsed with a soft thud.

In the distance, Saria's eyes went wide in horror.

Did… did they just—?!

Her thoughts cut off.

Because at that moment—

A figure materialized out of thin air in front of the warehouse.

Her breath caught in her throat.

The stranger strode forward, not sparing a glance at the fallen corpses, and pushed the doors open.

A beat of silence.

Then—

"HEY! WHO THE HELL ARE—?!"

A shout.

Followed by a crash.

Then—

Gunshots.

Saria's blood ran cold.

No.

Gunfire rang out again and again. The unmistakable sounds of fighting—yelling, crashing, chaos.

And then—

The sound of shattering glass.

A body was flung through the warehouse window—eight meters high—before crashing onto the ground.

Saria's breath hitched.

That body…

It was an MP.

From this distance, she couldn't tell who.

But she no longer cared.

Her instincts screamed.

She stumbled backward, heart hammering, before turning on her heel and running.

She didn't need to know who or what was inside.

The warehouse was under attack.

Her teammates were dead.

The mission had failed.

I need to report this. Now.

Saria Hale ran for her life without a second thought.

Things had gone south. Very, very south.

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Meanwhile,

Not far away __

The sound of silent sobs faded away as the creaking door was closed.

"Sigh! I hate doing this the most."

Listening to the sounds of the weeping family, a man with dark hair and steel blue eyes muttered blandly under his breath.

He stood at 160 cm, weighed 65 kg, wore the standard military uniform and long young for his age.

"Captain." His gaze was drawn not far away. A group of four waiting for him as he stepped out of the house walking towards them.

"… How … How did it go?" The blonde female among them asked.

"As you can expect. Not good at all …" Uttered Levi with a frown. No surprise, he was humanity's strongest soldier.

Levi Ackerman.

"That's the last one? …" he asked, a bit of weariness in his tone.

"Yep. That's the last family Captain. We've paid visits to all the deceased Family members."

Petra responded. Her tone similarly downcast.

Petra Rall. Member of The Special Operations squad, also known as Squad Levi.

It had been Two days since the last Survey Corps expedition.

Nearly half their total numbers had been wiped out in a single run. Leading to a lot of grieving families.

During this time, Levi and The Special Operations squad consisting of Oluo, Petra, Eld and Gunther had been making house calls to all the deceased.

Bringing their condolences and letting them know their deceased family members had died heroically in service to mankind.

The reactions varied.

Some broke down and fell into wails immediately. Some took it much better, simply excusing them before sobbing.

Others ..... Were much more confrontational about it. Mother's and Father's, screaming hysterically at them that they had murdered their children.

These were the most uncomfortable. Luckily, this one wasn't one of those. Nevertheless, the reactions of a grieving family still left Levi uncomfortable.

He had never been much of a sentimental person. Especially after his friends died years ago.

The air was heavy, thick with the lingering weight of grief. Levi let out a slow exhale, adjusting the cuffs of his uniform.

"Captain…" Petra hesitated. "You think they'll be okay?"

Levi didn't answer immediately. He had seen too many families like this. The weight never got lighter.

"Doubt it," he finally muttered, eyes dark. "But that's not our problem."

The squad shifted uncomfortably. Oluo crossed his arms, scowling. Eld remained silent, though his jaw was tight.

Then—

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Gunshots.

The squad tensed instantly. Levi's eyes snapped toward the direction of the noise. A second later, another shot echoed through the streets.

"That's close." Gunther muttered.

Levi's stance shifted.

"Trost is supposed to be secure," Petra said, confused. "Who would be—"

Levi didn't wait for her to finish. His body moved before the words fully formed.

"Move." His voice was cold, sharp as a blade.

Without hesitation, the squad fell in line. Their exhaustion, their grief, all of it was forgotten as their training kicked in.

Quickly heading towards the direction of the Gunfire.

-------

Ren's boots hit the cobblestone streets with soft, hurried steps. The chill of the night air clung to her uniform, but she hardly noticed.

She just wanted to get away from that place.

The warehouse. The stench. The quiet suffering.

Even if she was only heading out for an errand, it felt like a reprieve.

"Find the Captain," Saria had said. That was easy enough. Gregor wasn't hard to track down—he had two favorite places: the bar or the brothel.

It was the same for many male Officers of the Police Brigade.

Ren hated both, but she hated the alternative more. So she kept walking.

Plus, it didn't really mean she would see him there. After all, just based on what they were doing, it was unlikely that the Captain who had been telling them all to stay focused all this while would suddenly indulge himself.

If anything, he should just be taking a walk to clear his mind.

'It shouldn't be hard to find him'. She thought. And she was right.

Barely walking five minutes, she saw the person she was looking for. Just, not in the way she expected.

Not far away.

A small crowd had gathered in a narrow alley, just past a dimly lit street. At first, she ignored it. Then she caught a few muttered words from the onlookers—words that froze her blood.

"—Military Police—"

"—It's him, right?"

"I thought they were guarding some warehouse at the end of the street. What happened to this one?"

"… No clue. But from the looks of it, it seems he's gone …."

Ren turned sharply, her breath hitching as she strode toward the alley.

"Excuse me. Make way."

Pushing the crowd aside, she made it to the front. Then, The scene she saw made her stomach drop.

It was the Captain alright. Just … Gregor was there—sitting slumped against the filthy brick wall. His eyes were open, blank, and unfocused. Drool trailed from the corner of his mouth, his uniform wrinkled and stained.

"C-Captain?"

Ren was dumbfounded. Not understanding what was going on. Gregor looked … wrong.

Like a puppet with its strings cut.

Two Garrison soldiers stood nearby, keeping the growing crowd at bay. One of them noticed Ren approaching.

"You," he called out, frowning. "MP, right?"

Ren forced herself to nod, her mouth dry.

"What happened to him?" she asked, her voice coming out weaker than intended.

"I was hoping you could tell me." he said and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "We don't know the full details yet. We were on our rounds a few minutes ago when someone called us. Apparently, they found him like this. No signs of injury, no signs of drugs. He's breathing fine, but… well, you can see for yourself."

He finished with a frown, not knowing what to call this. Unconscious? The man's eyes were clearly open. Not to mention he had drool coming out of his lips.

It seemed he had gone mad.

Ren hesitated before stepping closer.

"Captain?" she tried, kneeling in front of him.

No reaction.

His eyes twitched slightly, but there was no recognition—no sign that he even registered her presence.

A sick feeling coiled in her gut.

This wasn't drunkenness. This wasn't exhaustion. This was—

"… Is he—?" she began, turning back to the soldier.

"We planned to take him to the hospital before calling you guys," he said. "To decide what to do with him."

Ren barely heard him. Her mind was racing, not knowing what to do at the moment. Something had gone wrong with the Captain.

This was bad. Like really bad.

Then, before she could even process further …

BANG!

The sound of a Gunshot resounded in the air.