Pacific Rim AU for Attack on Titan. I know it's been done before, but I had an idea and decided to run with it. It's 3rd person, changes POV every so often, and jumps around on the timeline, eventually reaching a single ending. Please comment and leave some constructive criticism!
It happened when he wasn't there. Jean Kirschtein was in Alaska at the wall with Commander Erwin Smith. Since he hadn't found anyone he was drift-compatible with yet, Jean was being informed on command and tactics. Therefore he had to know everything there was about the world-wide Kaiju security, thus making a day at the wall in Alaska necessary.
While he was gone, Sasha Braus and Connie Springer were in their Jaeger fighting a Class 3. Neither Jean nor Erwin knew of the attack—not that they had to be worried under normal circumstances—and they wouldn't have cared much anyway. This was just another day in the drift in case of an attack.
Well, not for Connie and Sasha.
"I can't get him to wake up!"
Static. "You need to try harder, Braus." More static.
"I can't wake him up! I keep trying! We need to get out, now!" her voice was screeching, her head was spinning and hurt so badly.
"Braus, listen to me, you need to get out of there."
"S-sir," a smaller, meeker voice came through, "Get Sasha out of there."
"I'm not going without Connie, Armin."
"Sasha," his voice was louder now, "You need to get out of there. We can't deploy his pod, it isn't responding."
"I told you, I'm not leaving him, he'll die!"
Static again.
"Sasha…" Armin's voice was soft, like down feathers in the cold. He didn't want to hurt her, but he didn't want her to get hurt either.
"Armin, I can't."
Mike's voice was back: "Braus! Get the hell out of there!"
Static instead of silence. A sound: screaming. Crying.
An alert on the screen: Pod 1 deployed.
"Listen up, you shitty brats," a short, raven-haired man stood in front of a line of new recruits for the Jaeger pilots, "You're here for the sake of humanity, and if any of you dumbasses make a mistake, it will cost not only you your life and your drift partner's life, but the lives of hundreds of thousands of civilians. Think about that for a minute, let it sink in your thick, idiotic skulls. If any of you can't handle the pressure, get out."
"Captain Levi…." The small, blonde woman standing next to him reached a hand out, about to gently place it on his shoulder, but the man took a step forward. With a sigh, she dropped her hand and scowled. "You're going to scare them off."
"Good," Levi took slow steps in front of the recruits, "If you can't handle it, you'll die. Simple as that. Or have you forgotten, Miss Ral?"
She shook her head, copper-blonde bangs falling across her cheekbones. "Will you stop calling me Miss Ral? Have you forgotten I have a first name? We work together, old man."
"Petra," his voice was rough, yet soft in an odd way, "I'm not old." The young woman rolled her eyes and waved him off.
"Enough. Let's show them their quarters and let them eat. Training starts tomorrow morning at 0-Seven-Hundred." Petra Ral swiftly and gracefully turned before looking over her shoulder as the young trainees began to follow her, parting into pairs and thirds, talking.
Levi watched them go when a black-haired girl stepped up beside him with a Germanic-looking boy, "Sir, may we discuss drift compatibility with you?" she asked him sternly but with respect.
"No. We'll talk about it tomorrow. Go."
His curt response was enough for them to walk away, trailing behind the rest of the group.
"What a jerk," the boy muttered to his companion.
"Eren, don't be that way. You used to worship Levi."
"Shut up, Mikasa. He isn't all he's made out to be." At that, Mikasa didn't say another word.
The next day began their first day of training. When the recruits stepped into the sparring area, Captain Levi was already on the mat with another, older man: Commander Erwin. The two took turns with their bamboo fly rods, stepping forward and backward in time with one another, never laying a blow on the other that cannot be countered; though both of them were fighting their hardest. They were perfectly in sync, ending the mini-match two to two.
Murmurs rose from the crowd about how the two were such amazing combatants.
"You see, everyone, we are what you know to be as Drift Compatible," the older man began, "My name is Erwin Smith. Commander Erwin Smith. I will be viewing your training and helping you pick out your Drift partners. Being Drift Compatible means more than just being in sync physically—you must also match mentally and emotionally. The deeper the bond between two people, the better the more they trust one another, the more compatible they are."
More whispers rose from the crowd of trainees. After a while, Erwin was able to quiet people down with a raise of his arm. "Now, now," he dropped his arm, "We're going to have you partnered up. Remember that the objective to fight your best, but if a hard blow is landed, the two of you are not compatible. It is a conversation: knowing the other's moves as well as they know yours. You will be equals. Neither can be better than the other. Is anyone willing to step up first?"
Silence. Heads turned, eyes looking side to side as the students wondered whether or not they should volunteer. Then a hand rose.
"I'd like to try, sir."
A young man with two-toned copper blond hair stepped up toward the mat. Erwin offered him a handshake: manly and a single shake with a clap on the shoulder. "What's your name, kid?"
"Jean Kirschtein," the young man smirked a cocky grin.
"Thank you for volunteering. Who will spar with this brave soul?"
More quiet from the trainees, until someone stepped forward. A thin, lean girl came out of the crowd. She had long, auburn hair tied up in a ponytail, doe-brown eyes, and a curious yet fierce demeanor as she spoke, "I'll give 'em a go."
A single nod and a small smile from the commander, and he shook her hand. "And you are?"
"Sasha Braus, sir."
"Well, you two prepare yourselves: wrap your feet and ankles, and knuckles. Fly rods are against the wall. Pick one based on your height—they're organized by centimeters."
Rolling her shoulders back, Sasha Braus slipped off her zip-up hoodie, revealing a purple sports bra and just her black skinny althletic pants. After grabbing a fly rod, she sat down and quickly wrapped her feet, ankles, and knuckles in athletic tape. Reliving her dancing flexibility (she was trained in ballet before choosing the life of a Jaeger pilot), the young woman stretched herself against the wall, starting with a supported needle, the splits, and then other muscle-loosening positions.
Meanwhile, Jean was slowly recalling the steps of his martial-arts training he'd received. His knowledge in actual technique was limited, but it he was at no disadvantage, for he was rather good at assesing situations and fighting accordingly in response.
"Alright, kids, get on the mat," Erwin commanded, nodding toward where the two would begin their combat. They acknowledged him by stepping up to the mat. They stood on opposite ends looking at one another. Jean rolled his neck and adjusted his shoulders before taking a strong stance with his fly rod in front of him, held parallel to the floor. Sasha, on the other hand, smirked and gave Jean a small wink before spreading her legs so her feet were shoulder-width apart and held her staff angled by her hip.
"Begin."
The confident faces of the young soldiers suddenly turned serious, all arrogance washed away by the single word to advance. For a moment they studied one another, weighing their options of how to take down their opponent. Strengths and weaknesses were considered in quick flashes of thoughts as synapses fired in their quick-thinking brains.
Suddenly they clashed. The boy moved at her first, jabbing toward her ribs with the end of his fly rod. Sasha blocked the move incredibly well, quickly pulling her rod perpendicular to the floor to block him, twisting his staff and tossing him to the floor.
"One – Zero," Erwin called out, "Prepare once more."