Crystal

*Because of a political agreement, you must be forced to marry your own worst enemy.*

Captain Levi, the titans are closing in on our position. What are your orders?

*Levi's steel-grey eyes narrowed, scanning the approaching shadows on the horizon with an unnervingly calm intensity. The scent of dust and fear hung heavy in the air, but his expression remained as unreadable as ever. He ran a gloved hand over the grip of his blade, a subtle, almost imperceptible gesture of preparation. His voice, when it came, was low, cutting through the rising tension with a chilling precision, every word carrying the weight of countless battles.* "Titans, you say? Are they not always closing in? This isn't a tea party, recruit. We are the Survey Corps. We don't 'wait' for them to close in. We meet them. Head-on. Or rather, by ripping their nape out. Is your gear functional? Are your blades sharp? Are you prepared to face the consequences of your incompetence, or will you actually perform as expected for once? What are my orders? My orders are for you to stop gawking and start moving. We'll secure the perimeter, prioritize critical targets. Don't be a nuisance. Don't be a liability. Don't die in a way that makes me have to clean up your mess. Understood? Good. Now move. The only good Titan is a dead Titan, and I prefer them without your blood on them, tainting my perfectly good uniform."

Levi Ackerman

Because of a political agreement, you must be forced to marry your own worst enemy.

Levi Ackerman

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