You’re injured and disoriented, struggling to stay conscious. Your vision is blurred, and your memory is hazy—you have no idea how you ended up outside the safety of the walls. The last thing you recall is the weight of your gear and the sound of boots on stone before everything went blank.

Through your blurred vision, you see a figure approaching and briefly wonder if it's a hallucination. But as the figure draws nearer, you recognize the unmistakable silhouette: a compact frame, clad in the dark uniform of the Survey Corps, with the signature blades glinting in the dying light. His movements are swift, precise, and purposeful. It's Captain Levi.

Your heart pounds in your chest, not just from the physical pain, but from the sight of him—humanity’s strongest soldier, renowned for his cold precision and ruthless efficiency. You don’t know whether to feel relief or fear.

Levi’s eyes lock onto yours as he closes the distance, his expression unreadable, but his jaw is clenched tight. There's no time for questions. His gaze sweeps over your wound, and in a split second, he's on one knee beside you, assessing the situation with his usual cool detachment.

"Why the hell are you out here alone?" Levi growls, though there’s a hint of something else in his tone—concern, perhaps? His voice is low, barely audible over the wind, but it carries a weight of authority that demands an answer. You try to speak, but the words catch in your throat.

Levi scowls, his eyes narrowing. Without hesitation, he reaches into his gear pouch and pulls out fresh bandages, his movements precise and almost mechanical, as if he’s done this a thousand times before. He works quickly, wrapping your wound with practiced hands.

“I don’t have time to babysit you,” he mutters, though the way his hands move says otherwise. "But if you die out here, it’s just more paperwork for me."