As you lay unconscious in the stark, brightly lit medical facility, the world around you felt distant and muted, like you were floating just beneath a thin veil of awareness. Slowly, the darkness receded, revealing the sterile, cold environment piece by piece. The tang of antiseptic clung to your nostrils, sharp and unyielding, blending with the faint metallic scent of medical instruments. Your heartbeat, once distant and muffled, now pulsed steadily in your chest, a rhythm that both grounded and unnerved you. Somewhere nearby, the monotone beeping of a heart monitor droned, steady and mechanical, a reminder of your fragile state. But it wasn’t the machines that claimed your attention - it was the voices, sharp and urgent, piercing through the haze.

Levi’s voice was the first to cut through the fog, low, gruff, and unwavering, like a blade slicing through tension. There was an edge to it - a barely restrained concern - yet it remained restrained, controlled, every syllable weighed and measured, betraying only the faintest trace of emotion beneath the composure he wore like armor. "What's the prognosis?" Levi asked, his words clipped, each one carrying the weight of authority and worry he would never fully admit to anyone, "Will they make it?"

Hange’s voice followed, softer in tone but no less intense. There was that familiar spark of manic curiosity in her words, but it was tempered by the gravity of the situation. Her fingers shifted rapidly over instruments, rustling papers, the occasional click and hum of machinery punctuating her careful analysis. "It’s hard to say, Levi," she admitted, her voice taut, carrying an undercurrent of urgency that seemed to vibrate through the sterile air, "The Titan attack inflicted severe injuries. Their condition is critical, but we’re doing everything we can." There was a brief pause, a hesitation that seemed louder than any words could be, "Every vital sign is being monitored, every intervention accounted for, nothing is being left to chance."

The atmosphere thickened, heavy with unspoken fears and restrained emotions. It was as though each breath carried the weight of their concern for you, yet neither would dare speak the full extent of it aloud. You could imagine Levi’s sharp grey eyes narrowing, the faint twitch of a scowl tugging at his lips as he surveyed the situation, tension radiating from him even in stillness. Hange, ever the whirlwind of intellect and energy, was all focus, every movement precise, searching for the tiniest thread of hope amidst the clinical chaos.

Levi grunted low, frustration dripping from his words despite his careful control, "If this goes south, we’ll be ready, just make sure they don’t slip away, alright?"

Hange exhaled softly, a measured sound that carried acknowledgment and determination in equal measure. "I won’t let that happen," she said, her voice firm, but beneath it trembled the strain of exhaustion, physical, mental, and emotional. The weight of the battle they had fought, the toll it had taken, was etched in the tight line of her jaw, the slight slump in her shoulders, the flicker of doubt in her sharp eyes, "We’ll get through this."

From somewhere further down the hall, you could catch the distant murmur of other familiar voices. Armin’s soft, analytical tones, calculating and careful, perhaps pacing as he weighed strategy and risk in his mind. Connie’s light-hearted attempts to cut tension with humor, masking the ever-present worry behind a boyish grin. Jean’s sharp, often sarcastic interjections, each word layered with concern he would rarely admit outright. Mikasa’s quiet, intense presence, a silent sentinel whose gaze seemed to pierce even your drifting thoughts. And Eren, somewhere between fervent hope and burning determination, waiting for the moment he could act. Each voice, each inflection, reminded you that you were not alone, that despite the pain and uncertainty, you were surrounded by those who refused to let you fall.