Something snapped inside Joe's mind, sharp and final. He looked at Martha—really looked at her—and for the first time, he didn't see his aunt. He didn't see family. He saw just another person who wanted him gone, who blamed him for everything wrong in their life, who would rather see him dead than deal with him for one more day.
His fist connected with her nose before he realized he was moving. The cartilage gave way with a wet crunch, and Martha screamed as blood poured down her face. But instead of fear, Joe felt... relief. Finally, someone was getting what they deserved.
"You want to see a monster?" he snarled, his voice not sounding like his own anymore. "I'll show you a fucking monster!"
His hands found her throat. Martha clawed at his face, trying to push him away, but Joe was beyond reason now. Every cruel word, every accusation, every year of being told he was wrong, cursed, unwanted—it all poured out through his fingers.
The kitchen knife was on the coffee table where Martha had left it earlier while making dinner. Joe's hand closed around the handle without conscious thought.
"Keep my family's name out of your mouth," he whispered, raising the blade.
The first thrust was clumsy, catching her shoulder. Martha screamed and tried to roll away, but Joe followed, the knife finding its mark again and again. Her struggles grew weaker with each impact, her blood pooling beneath them both, mixing with the tears streaming down Joe's face.
When it was over, the house fell silent except for Joe's ragged breathing. Martha's eyes stared at nothing, her mouth slightly open as if she'd been about to say something else.
Blood splattered across the coffee table, across the remote control, across Eren's frozen face on the television screen.
Joe stumbled to his feet, looking down at what he'd done. His hands were shaking uncontrollably now, covered in blood that was already starting to dry under his fingernails.
But even as he stared at Martha's lifeless body, another part of him—a darker part—felt satisfied. She had finally gotten what she'd been asking for all these years. She'd wanted to see the monster, and now she had.
The cool night air hit Joe's face as he walked out of the house, but he barely felt it. His arms swung loosely at his sides like a marionette with cut strings, his feet carrying him forward without direction or purpose. The world around him felt muted, distant, as if he were watching everything through thick glass.
"She was right," he whispered to the empty street, his voice flat and emotionless. "I am a monster. I just proved it."
The neighborhood was different at night—more honest somehow. Streetlights flickered and buzzed overhead, casting sickly yellow pools that barely pushed back the darkness. Broken glass glittered on the sidewalk like fallen stars. Chain-link fences rattled in the cold breeze, and somewhere in the distance, a dog barked incessantly.
Joe's feet kept moving, carrying him past the abandoned lots and boarded-up houses, past the graffitied walls and rusted playground equipment. His shadow stretched long and distorted beneath the dying lights.
"A curse," he muttered, his arms still swinging limply. "Born wrong. Born to kill."
He didn't realize where he was walking. Didn't notice when the residential streets gave way to industrial buildings, when the cracked sidewalks became gravel paths. The city's sounds grew more distant—fewer cars, fewer voices, just the low hum of electrical transformers and the whistle of wind through metal structures.
The railway tracks stretched out before him like two silver lines disappearing into the darkness. Joe stepped onto them without thinking, his feet finding the gaps between the wooden ties. The metal rails gleamed dully in the moonlight, and he could feel their vibration beneath his shoes—a low, almost inaudible humming that seemed to come from deep in the earth.
"GET OUT OF THERE!"
The voice reached him as if from underwater, distorted and echoing. Joe looked up slowly, his zombie-like trance broken for just a moment. He could see figures in the distance, waving their arms, their shouts carrying on the night air.
"MOVE! GET OFF THE TRACKS!"
But their voices seemed to come from another world, hollow and meaningless. Joe turned his head and saw it—a bright light rushing toward him through the darkness, growing larger and brighter with each passing second. The vibration in the rails was stronger now, a rhythmic pounding that matched his heartbeat.
It was a train.
The light was beautiful, he thought distantly. Pure and white and inevitable. Like a fallen star racing along the earth, coming to take him home.
The train's horn blared, a deafening sound that seemed to shake the very air around him. Joe stood perfectly still on the tracks, watching the light grow brighter and brighter until it filled his entire vision. The massive locomotive bore down on him at full speed, its brakes screaming against the rails but unable to stop in time.
Joe spread his arms wide toward the approaching train, as if trying to embrace it. His voice came out as a broken whisper, lost beneath the thunder of steel on steel.
"Mom... Emma... I hope I find you. Just to tell me I'm not what they think I am."
The impact was instant and devastating. Joe's body was thrown through the air like a ragdoll, tumbling end over end before crashing into the gravel embankment beside the tracks. He rolled down the slope, hitting rocks and debris, until he came to rest at the bottom, broken and bleeding.
His vision was growing dark around the edges, and he could feel his life leaking out onto the cold ground. Everything was going gray, like an old television losing signal.
As consciousness slipped away, Joe's last thought was of Eren, lying in his own blood, having failed to destroy the world that had destroyed him first. Maybe they weren't so different after all.