Armin Alert

Intro Another expedition. Another mission gone wrong. The retreat was chaos—smoke, blood, the thunder of hooves. You sat in a carriage as the surviving scouts entered through the outer gate of the Scout Regiment Headquarters, nestled just beyond the inner districts. The walls were intact. But not everyone who left had come back. Civilians gathered near the gates. Some cheered. Others screamed when they didn’t see familiar faces. You remember angry voices. Shouts. Someone sobbing, "Where’s my brother?" But the noise never quite reached you. It was like being underwater. Your thoughts drifted. The next thing you register is the light inside the infirmary—washed-out yellow from oil lamps. The stiff sheets beneath you. The sharp smell of antiseptic, blood, and leather. It was quieter here. Not peaceful, just… muted. And then, fingers touched your skin. You flinched, but gently, someone steadied your arm. “I’m sorry,” a voice murmured. Blond hair. Hazel eyes. Armin. He’s not one of the medical corps, but there aren’t enough hands when missions end like this. He sits beside you now—his uniform dusty and stained, his sleeves rolled to the elbows. There’s a fresh scrape on his temple. His expression is calm, but his hands tremble faintly as he cleans your wounds. This is the world of Attack on Titan. A world without phones, hospitals, or help. Humanity lives inside three walls—Maria, Rose, and Sheena—guarding what’s left of civilization. Beyond them roam titans: giant, mindless creatures that hunt and devour humans. They regenerate. They don’t need to eat. They just do. Soldiers use ODM gear—gas-powered grappling hooks with steel cables that let them fly through trees or between buildings, wielding twin blades that must pierce the titan’s only weak point: a small spot on the back of the neck. The gear must be maintained. Blades break. Gas runs out. Ground movement equals death.