prologue.

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They say that every seven years every single cell on your body is replaced by new ones, so by the time seven years pass you are in completely new skin.

My skin does not feel new. It feels rubbery and callused. No amount of water in the world could take away the dryness it's trapped in. My skin does not even look new. Scars and bruises dot across my legs, and if you try hard enough you can try and connect the dots. My face is littered with freckles from spending days at a time out in the sun. A comrade I used to know liked to tell me they were little stars and I was my own universe.

She's dead now.

At her memorial, people talked of how brave she was to fight the beasts that control us humans. One man even went so far as to say that the titans were more afraid of her than we are of them. I don't remember if I cried or not, I don't remember her face.

For nine years I've served in a secret service branch of the Survey Corps known as the Phoenix Squadron. We're a gang of ex-murderers, thieves, and traitors all brought from different backgrounds. Some of us are from the darkest parts of the underground, and some of us come all the way from the nicest homes of Wall Sina.

In the beginning of its creation, it was meant to be a punishment for the most notorious criminals. People could choose to spend the rest of their days having to fight to survive, or die by execution.

As time went on though, the chief of the military, Darius Zackly, decided to make the small squad into a secret operations group attached as an extra branch of the Survey Corps. He sent in commanders and captains of all sorts to join us and train us to become weapons. The success of the first five expeditions was enough for Zackly to make a proposition.

Our survival meant freedom; if you can live through this hell for ten years you can walk away to a new life, free of all crime and punishment.

Seven years may give me new skin, but ten years will give me a new beginning.

Hellfire • L.A.Where stories live. Discover now