Attack on Titan: Survival and Dedication - Male Reader

PART FOUR

It was a straight shot back to Trost. One-hundred whole kilometers of Titan-infested land lay before Y/N like a raging fire. He was reluctant to go in, but now that the snow had set in, it was a matter of life or death.
   From Wall Maria, he could see the winding river, lush forest, and towering wall all in one glance. But what interested him now was shelter.
   To his right, nestled beside the frigid waters, was a mill. Its creaking wood was still in all this wind, making it a sign of more death. However, to Y/N it was much-needed shelter.
  That's at least twenty kilometers. Y/N sighed. The grass he wrapped himself with kept a good bit of the cold out, not that it mattered. Right now he was aching for a bed.
   "Alright..." He grumbled with reluctance. Drawing his gun, he pulled the trigger, latching himself to Maria's ledge. Still unsure of himself and the equipment, he slowly lowered himself until he hung by the extended pistol grip.
   He took a deep, reassuring breath before pushing the lever on his extended hand. The machine responded, unspooling the high-tensile wire until Y/N had to shoot another and repeat the process.
   With his boots on solid ground, he continued toward the village.

Y/N's boot met the wood of a door with all of his weight put behind it. The outcome was enough to send the door forward, even if a little, and create a loud crash on the other side.
  The small, remote village was like many others behind Wall Maria, abandoned, left for nature to consume and erase.
  This house in particular was the closest to the forest. If he needed to, he could make a run for it and hide in its lush interior. But so far, no Titan had strayed this far. If they had, at some point or another, the snow hid it underneath thirty centimeters of its course ice.
  And as it just so happened, Y/N wasn't the only one who thought this way.
  The door was barricaded and the windows covered. As if that weren't strange enough, he was lured here by a makeshift pole outside holding a long length of green canvas. A sign of life or a cache set up by logistics. Y/N hoped for the latter.
  The house was spacious, as was the village. From the looks of it, a family or two had settled here. They made grain and raised horses, a humble setting with nothing to brag about. It was a simple life that could only be imagined now as the mill stood frozen and the horse stalls empty.
  Shelter came first and supplies second. Unfortunately, the home was ransacked. A thought flicked through Y/N's mind as he shut the door and stepped over a whole mess of furniture. He wondered if the people made it out in time, took everything they could, and settled somewhere in Trost or beyond. Or had bandits come by long before the wall was breached? Was that why the door was barricaded?
  Y/N let the thought slip with a misty sigh. He was relieved to see that the house was intact. Only the whistle of the wind managed to make its way inside.
  He didn't need to scrounge around the kitchen, searching unopened drawers and cabinets. He doubted anything was left.
  He instead walked a long and dark hallway with doors spaced out in between. And again, the visage of a green cloth consisted.
  Coming upon the last door, he laid his hand on the metal knob and sighed. He could smell the distinct stench of decay on the other side.
  Pulling his face cover closer, he gave the wood a push and blanched. In the far corner of the room were a couple of Scouts huddled close together. One had his sword clutched tightly underneath his cloak and the other was limp, her head leaning peacefully on his shoulder.
  The pair were frozen solid, their skin a ghostly white. The woman, maybe someone a bit younger than Y/N, had a mass of dried blood over her left thigh. Upon closer inspection, he noted that the wound was stitched up but an artery was likely nicked.
  As for the boy, an aspirant, nature had claimed him. His cheeks were sunken, eyes gaunt and cloudy. He would've died much later than the woman.
  "Poor bastards..." Y/N uttered to the pair near a whisper. With respect, he approached and rummaged through their pockets. The boy had nothing of interest but the woman had only one thing to give.
  Underneath her cloak, and just barely hanging onto her hand, was a letter and pencil. Taking it from her, Y/N noticed that it was addressed to anyone who happened upon it. It read with a weak air surrounding each word: