Armin Arlelt shifted his weight forward, leaning heavily on his crutches as he made for the door. He hadn't been expecting visitors this early in the morning. He certainly hadn't expected to see Sasha Braus at the door. It had been 11 years.


"Oh my god…" Historia Reiss inhaled sharply as she gazed upon the most adorable baby girl she'd ever seen. "She's… yours?"

Levi Ackerman smiled – a rarity, to be sure – and nodded. "8 months tomorrow," he remarked. "She's every bit as beautiful as her mother, who I hear knows you quite well."

"Miss Ral – or rather, Mrs. Ackerman! She was Miss Ral the last time we met. She was my mentor at the Academy!" Historia, the demolitions officer for Paradis' Special Operations Squad, reflected fondly upon Petra Ral, once a military ace who had since retired to care for her newborn daughter. "What's her name? Your daughter, I mean."

"Margaret," the commander of the Special Operations Squad replied; he smirked at Historia's raised eyebrows. "Not exactly a warrior's name, I know." He smiled as he gazed at the photograph. "But that's what I'm hoping for, anyway. I hope we can end this war before she has to grow up in the middle of it. We're on the clock, Reiss." He said the last portion with a soft smile in Historia's direction.

Historia looked back down at the photo. "She has your eyes," she remarked. It was partially true. They held the same brown hue, but Margaret's were far brighter, perhaps even iridescent. She truly was a beautiful baby.

"And my temper," Levi snorted. "Luckily, she gets everything else from her mom." Historia laughed, a feminine wind-chime laugh that one might not expect from a highly skilled soldier. She released her grip on the photograph; Levi tucked it away into the pocket of his officer's jacket.

"Only 8 months?" Historia queried. "They have you back awfully soon, considering you're the father of a newborn."

"I'm 35, Historia," Levi replied. "I'm at the tail end of my physical prime, but I'm getting over that hump. Pretty soon, I'll be more of a liability in high leverage missions, and I guess the brass wants to put me to use while I'm still young."

Historia nodded in comprehension. She understood that Levi was called the greatest soldier in Paradis' military history for a reason. His prowess under duress and his dexterity with firearms were nigh unmatched in the ranks of the army. And, of course, he was still alive after 16 years of service in the military; nearly since the start of the War. Not many other soldiers could say as much.

"In any case, the War needs to end soon," Levi remarked, almost as if reading her mind. His voice had become colder. "I don't know if the higher-ups have discussed this with you, but there's going to be a covert operation in the coming days. Commander Erwin wants to dispatch us to the outskirts of Marley to seize Fort Tybur in the Liberio District." Historia didn't need to see the grim look on Levi's face to know that the success of that mission could dictate the outcome of the War. "If we can manage that, we might be able to jam the Navy through the teeth of the enemy."

Historia gritted her teeth. "May the Walls guide us, then," she replied.


"A blaze of glory," grinned Connie Springer. "That's the dream, isn't it?" The weapons sergeant tossed a wink at his best friend and fellow Special Operations officer.

"You're a moron, Connie," medical sergeant Sasha Braus shot back, smacking him in the shoulder with the manga novel she carried. Shingeki no Kyojin, it was called; it was compelling, but she couldn't quite wrap her brain around it at the moment. She'd have to finish it next time. "The real dream is to be a hero and to live. Have you ever seen a single war movie where the hero dies at the end?"

"Have you ever seen a war movie where the hero doesn't die at the end, Braus?" Connie started to rattle off the relevant films. "Braveheart. Saving Private Ryan. Armageddon–"

"Armageddon's not a war movie, moron," Sasha growled. "But I get it. I get it. I guess I don't really like war movies, okay?" She lapsed into silence momentarily but looked up as she felt the pressure of Connie's eyes on her. "What, Springer? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Sorry, Sash," he replied. "I guess, after all these years we've known each other, I didn't know that. I always just kinda assumed you did."

"I don't know, man. They're just not that interesting, I guess." Sasha's voice was curt and a little strained. "I guess… there's no meaningful character development. Who likes a story where everyone dies at the end?"


"Go fish," Ymir Fritz crowed triumphantly. Intelligence sergeant Armin Arlelt wailed sorrowfully, drawing a three from the deck before him. He really should have asked for fours or eights instead of aces.

"You're so loud, Ymir," lamented a decidedly hungover Jean Kirstein. "You're so loud, all the damn time."

"Bug off, horseman," Ymir, the team's primary sniper and lookout, shot back. "You're just as loud any morning after you don't get drunk off your ass. The whole neighborhood knows; they sleep soundly once a week, whenever you're drunk." Ymir was the oldest outside of Levi, but she was hardly a mother figure. Most of that responsibility fell on Armin.

"But when he's drunk, all he does is complain about how Mikasa doesn't love him like he loves her," lamented Marco Bott, the communications sergeant of his assistant communications officer. "Seriously, you just try to cheer him up when he gets on his Eren vendetta."

"I mean, it's not Eren's fault," Armin chimed in. "It's Mikasa's choice, after all."

"Don't try to tell him that, Armin," Marco sighed. "Do you have any fours?"

Armin sighed. "God damn it, yes I do." He turned back to Marco, who triumphantly declared his book of fours. "I'm just saying, if Jean knew how Eren treated her behind closed doors, he might not blame her for choosing him."

"Behind closed doors? Too much info, shrimp." Ymir mocked forcible vomiting.

"Not like that, Ymir!" Armin protested. "They're not even officially together. Mikasa's in love with Eren, naturally, but it's not like that."

"It better not be. She's mine," growled Jean.

"For an assistant communications officer, you sure are thick," Ymir chuckled. "What's your take, Tommy? You've been awfully quiet."

Tomas Wagner, Historia's assistant demolitions officer, grinned back at Ymir. "Just enjoying the banter. That's all. Armin, any eights?" Armin groaned and handed him two cards. "That's a book of eights!"

"Speaking of relationships," Marco pressed. "How are things with Mina?"

Tomas groaned in response. "Still messy. It's been easy to dodge her these days – these barracks are big – but if they put us on a mission together, I hope it doesn't go south."

"You think she'll let it?" wondered Armin. "She's a professional, after all." Tomas and Ymir smirked.

"You clearly don't know Mina," Ymir chuckled. "She seems all nice, but she's a bitch."

"At least she seems nice," grumbled Jean. Ymir chucked a pillow at his prone form.


"Harder, Eren!" Mikasa's lungs were burning from her constant goading of the love of her life, but it was for both of their benefit that he push himself past his limits. "You can do it! Push harder!"

"I'm trying, Mikasa," he shot back between gritted teeth. The grueling physical labor wasn't fun, per se, but he had an agenda. Mikasa's – his childhood friend and his biggest supporter – had always exceeded his own capacity for, well, everything. First, she'd beat him in their childhood footraces and wrestling matches. Then, she'd outscored him on all of their middle school tests. Now, she was the head close combat sergeant, and he was her direct subordinate. Perfect.

"You can do it!" She called out to him. He was attempting a 10th rep of 250 on the bench press, and it wasn't going particularly well. Mikasa's shouting wasn't helping, but he didn't have the heart or the energy to tell her that. He appreciated the effort, anyway. It was times like these that he felt bad that her superiority irritated him so much. He really did treasure her; she was his best friend in the world, after all.

He did not, however, treasure the pain coursing through his biceps and shoulders. Finally, his muscles relented and the bar came crashing down on his chest… but only for a split second. Mikasa was there in a heartbeat, yanking the bar back up to the stand with ease.

"Thanks, Mikasa." He smiled at her through his frustration. She smiled back.

"You're not getting killed on my watch, Eren." She said it with such conviction that he almost believed her.


"Reiner! Bertholdt!" Annie shrieked from the couch in the common area. Reiner came crashing in, Bertholdt hot on his tail. Annie smiled up at the technology specialist and his assistant. "Sit with me!"

"Jesus, Annie," Bertholdt wailed. "You scared the crap out of us. We thought you'd hurt yourself or something."

"So you do care about me," she smirked. "Come sit, guys. If we die tomorrow, let's make today a good one."


Character Key:

Special Ops Squad Leader: Levi Ackerman

Tactician: Armin Arlelt

Assistant Tactician: Annie Leonhart

Subordinate Tactician: Tom Martin

Close Combat Sergeant: Mikasa Ackerman

Assistant Close Combat Sergeant: Eren Yeager

Subordinate Close Combat Sergeant: Nac Tius

Sniper and Lookout: Ymir Fritz

Assistant Sniper: Mylius Zeramuski

Demolitions Sergeant: Historia Reiss

Assistant Demolitions Sergeant: Tomas Wagner

Medic: Mina Carolina

Assistant Medic: Sasha Braus

Subordinate Medic: Hannah Diamant

Weapons Sergeant: Connie Springer

Assistant Weapons Sergeant: Samuel Linke-Jackson

Communications Sergeant: Marco Bott

Assistant Communications Sergeant: Jean Kirstein

Subordinate Communications Sergeant: Franz Kefka

Technology Specialist: Reiner Braun

Assistant Technology Specialist: Daz Krauss

Subordinate Technology Specialist: Bertholdt Hoover