Three months it’s been since the onslaught stopped, since she dropped her blades and switched them for notebook and pen. On horseback she rode to eventually see ocean and yes, it’s as beautiful as the contraband books had told. Ambers gaze at waterscape with fascination, a sort of relief flooding her. Toes curl into the sand and a letter that’s been waiting far too long finally gets to begin its journey. She kneels, setting the bottle for the waves to take away. It’s likely it’ll never be opened but how wonderful would it be if it was? Zoe hopes. Hoping is easy now. They did it. They did it.
————
To whoever may be finding this,
I’ll remain clear and concise, to lessen any complications. I expect no letter back—I cannot give a solid address. However, my name is Zoe Hange. During the writing of this letter, I have been ranked First Squad Leader in the Scouting Legion, working under Commander Erwin Smith. We function under the Government of Walls Maria, Rose, and Sina.
I have spent many years fighting in this war and finally I can say it’s over. We didn’t expect it to ever end. Nobody in our Legion does. However, I have seen the end, I’ve seen all the things that were thought to be only myths or fables. It’s a good day. I’m proud of myself.
In the year 844 I enlisted in the Scouting Legion, and was selected as a member of Erwin Smith’s squad. Under him, I trained, I went on expeditions, and naturally I fought titans. In 845 Wall Maria fell to the Colossal Type Titan, who my prodigy took down approximately six years later. With the fall of Wall Maria, I lost my family. I did gain a couple things, however. My insight. My sanity.
In 850 we learned of the existence of titan shifters, via Eren Yeager. In that same year I lost comrades Mike Zacharius and Nanaba. They were good people. Strong people. Erwin Smith lost his right arm, but continued to lead our Legion like the valiant man he is. In time we discovered the secret behind titans and defeated those who placed the purge upon us.
I’d assume all these things are written in greater details in your history books, however. If you’re reading this, I hope our stories have reached you. It’s unlikely I’ll be alive by the time it’s opened, but it would be nice if you wrote back. The gesture matters, right? You, child, are the bearer of our future. From this generation’s scientist to you, I bear you the gift of knowledge. Enclosed is an incredibly brief summary of my studies and findings as Head of Titan Studies. A first hand source. I left my journals to my prodigy, but these are yours. Read them. Learn of our time. Please continue to move humanity forward in your time.
Zoe Hange
♟ — Down time, even to speak the phrase, tasted foreign on his tongue. Every grave sealed with a name and apology opened another waiting casket, and an opportunity to bloody their hands once more with the deaths of the innocent. Through training and understanding, each agent grasped their responsibilities, but to heave a breath of – relaxation? – was not comforting, more – unexpected. And, when trapped in a world of logic and reasoning, the quietly unpredictable was always a relief.
Let me read to you, Spencer.
Very little common ground was found beneath he and Diana’s feet that distanced from the fictional. Cozied in a fetid room, lost in the thralls of oceans explored, cities crumbling on a dog eared page. From time to time, their focus combed through On the Beach – a novel, post apocalyptic, 1957. Survivors waiting, both patiently and anxiously for the radiation to claim what remained of civilization.
Beaches spelled both death and rebirth. Messages, and silence.
Which was what drew a narrowed gaze immediately to the water worn bottle wedged unevenly in the sand.
Which was just why, beyond comprehension of reasoning, or even belief the composer still walked this earth with air in their lungs – but – how she wrote, spoke through ink, spun rivers of a mind like his own.
The likelihood of anyone, particularly the one to whom I am replying, coming across this bottle is roughly .0004%. However, in my current field, denying even the farthest realms of possibility limits our understanding to something concrete, and therefore, blinding, in a way.
Judging by the state of this note, and how far this – let’s say, glass envelope – has travelled to get here, there’s no telling just which war you’re speaking of. I, myself, have read countless history documents outlining and detailing close to every war in our known history, but not once have I come across mention of walls under those names, nor any definitive proof of Titans (giants, perhaps?) outside of mythological texts.
There’s no use in me refuting anything stated in this note. Instead, I’d like to extend my sincerest condolences for the loss of your comrades, and that whatever tragedies you faced lead to even greater discoveries that will be put to use in later years.
Maybe one day I’ll come across them on my own time.
Perhaps I should start by introducing myself. The concept of explaining who I am in detail to someone who might not exist any more is – well, a lot like something I’d do in my childhood. I used to write letters to Spock, or Bilbo, or whatever fictional character I most related to at the time. Silly, but there was the slightest bit of comfort in pretending someone else was listening.
My name is Spencer Reid. I, like you, in a sense, am a soldier of my own government – but, minus a gratuitous amount of the physical applications, and substituted for the more the logical, mental aspects. I work, and have for a long time, for the Federal Bureau of Investigation as a profiler and behavioural analyst.
I do this for a variety of reasons, but primarily of which being my own abilities. I sport an eidetic memory, the ability to read and understand 20,000 words per minute, and an IQ of approximately 187. According to universal standards, I am irrefutably a genius. Lucky me.
The enclosed notes, statistics, and sketches will go to good use, I promise you. While I don’t entirely understand what they mean, or are meant to symbolize quite yet, careful analysis will uncover just what you’re attempting to get across to me.
To the party who actually stumbles upon this letter, if that case ever does actually arise, think of it as – a page of a novel. A character. Then, at least, I can feel like the twenty odd minutes I’ve spent squatting on an occupied beach were the slightest bit worthwhile.
iq--187 reblogged this from allegiantrationale 
allegiantrationale posted this 