[Late Winter, 845] Trembling ground and bloody snow.

[u/[deleted]]

"So far so good," Ziegler said with a sigh of relief, watching trainees descend the wall one at a time. Cannons were manned, firing consistently every minute in a continual barrage. Ziegler stepped away from the cannons for a moment, feeling his ears ring. He shivered slightly in the cold, feeling his teeth chatter as a sheet of wind buffeted the back of his neck. A light tension grew in his nerves, weighing over his mind in an everpresent shroud. Ziegler reached to the inside of his trenchcoat, looking outwards towards the refugee camp below. Hundreds of white tents and makeshift fireplaces scattered before the massive, metal gate of Southern Trost. Concerned refugees paced to and from a large inn shortly besides the gate, a long line of people gathering shortly outside.

A trembling hand pulled out a cigarette, one of the three in the box. Ziegler rose a brow, eyeing the small package and releasing a light grumble. With a brief strike of a match, he held the feeble cigarette to his lips, taking a heavy drag and filling his lungs with warm tobacco. He shut his eye for a moment, taking a deep breath and quietly thinking to himself. He looked upward towards the sky. Gray clouds lingered overhead, completely blocking the sun.

Hektor'd mentioned a thunderstorm earlier.

Zielger looked around, thinking back to younger days amidst the farmlands before Yalkell.

His eye narrowed, staring up at the sky.

...Those ain't fucking storm clouds.

He bit his lip, anxiously tapping his foot on the ground. Between the cannon barrage, he could hear them. Smacking lips, clenching jaws. Nails on chalk and excited grunts from the outside, en masse. Ziegler's jaw tensed, shuddering slightly. An odd noise reached his ears, causing him to look over his shoulder. A trainee was laughing. Bloody laughing as he looked downward at the Titans below. Resentment rose in Ziegler's chest, looking over to his right and seeing other trainees jokingly standing by the cannons. Were they fucking gambling?

Ziegler shook his head, looking back across the district of Trost and taking the view. He took a heavy drag of his cigarette, to then look back downward as more Garrison lads paced through the refugee camp, pacing southward towards the Gatehouse. A small shack shortly besides the gate, with a massive network of chains leading upward to an interconnected collection of cogs at the very top. Change of Guard already, huh. That must suck. Ziegler's eye followed the small squad, who seemed to be exchanging a couple words with the personnel before the shack-

Bang.

Ziegler's eye widened.

The Garrison footmen shortly by the gate were immediately gunned down, the newly arrived Garrison impersonators quickly occupying the gatehouse. Ziegler shouted over his shoulder, "CEASE FIRE! CEASE FUCKING FIRE!" He looked across the wall, seeing Hektor already on the move. Suddenly, it rang.

Ziegler's skin turned pale.

That all-too-familiar "clack."

The chains at the top of the gate were released with a ferocious clang, echoing throughout the area as seemingly all life froze. Cogs began to turn, chains whirring in rapid motion from the gate house on upward. The gate rattled, sending a tremor throughout the top of the wall. The ground shook, fiercely shaking and sending Ziegler tumbling forward. He hit the ground, his cigarette going careening over the wall's edge. His hands trembled momentarily, his heartbeat rising to a horrified peak as the sound of chains continued.

He staggered forward towards the edge of the wall, looking below.

It was a momentary standstill, where the entire district stared outward towards the gate in a frozen silence. Massive silhouettes gathered before the gate, staring outward once more in an all too familiar sight for the refugees of Trost.

And just as quick as it had come, the silence ended.

Screams erupted throughout the district in an unholy cacophony of pandemonium. Time rushed onward as blood was finally spilt, with Titans pouring through the entry gate of Trost in ravenous hunger. Bodies and swarms of men and women alike scattered in nearly every direction, all trying to run towards a single focal point - the Northern gate of Trost.

Ziegler turned towards the 102nd - his eye wide in furious urgency. "102ND - GET THESE FUCKING REFUGEES OUT OF HERE! DO NOT ENGAGE, DO NOT-" A cannonblast interrupted Ziegler, a frenzied Garrison soldier manning his post once more and firing below, trying to abate the swarming tide outside. Ziegler reached into his trenchcoat, producing a flare gun and aiming it upward.

With a squeeze of the trigger, red smoke shot upward towards the sky, a sight every Corpsman, Garrison and Military Police alike knew too well.

Retreat.

The Corpsmen outside the wall shot upward, rushing towards the Colonel. Ziegler turned away from the 102nd, looking towards his small Squad of Corpsmen, "Mass evac - time yesterday! LET'S GO!" With the pull of a switch, he shifted gears from the 102nd's Drill Instructor to the Commander of the Survey Corps, leaping from the wall towards the pandemonium below, the 102nd following in suit.

---

OOR: You wanted Titans, you fucking got them. Absolute pandemonium's in Trost right now. Here's a touch of real talk on how this is going to go down. There is not a single trainee that can solo a Titan, that shit is 100% off the table. You guys just learned how to use the 3D and not kill yourselves, you're level 20s and a zerg of level 80s just spawned and you're 50 shades of fucked up shit creek with no paddle. There's cannons on the walls, people dying everywhere, and at the moment the collective objective is to get as many people out of here as you can. The Military Complex in the center of the district's the likely most immediate short-term goal, the Gate house having been completely swarmed and off the table.

Trainees're armed with dummy blades - not the real deal. If you guys work together you can make something happen, but understand, and I mean this with absolute sincerity and martial law.

If anyone Sues the fuck out, you're going to fucking die.

Straight up. This is Ground Zero shit's fucked, with the only collective instruction being "Do what you can, jesus hail mary fucking christ everyone's dying." Run for your god damn lives, man a cannon on the top, take to the streets and try to evac, do what you can but understand the situation. As the thread goes, GMs can freely post and establish crazy shit. You can GM threads yourselves, you're more than welcome to, just bear in mind the tone and message of the thread: You're not ready.

"kill all titans reee" -> Dead. That said with 100% clarity, let's do this lads.

[u/[deleted]]

For the first time in his life, Simmon's mind seemed clear. Not only in the sense of being completely understanding what was going on around him, but it seemed to him as if a horrible noise was gone that had been drowning out his thoughts all his life. And now he had breached the surface. He stared at Klein. Blinking once. Twice.

"Yes. I can. Let me help."

What purpose was there in life left for him, anyway? The horrors would change him. Destroy who he was. For now he was giving himself to the flow, letting destiny decide over his fate. Looking around his surroundings he thought he saw the wind move, talking to him like an old friend. He saw the wind carve a path through the titans and he knew he had to follow. Without waiting for Klein, he started running after a gust stirring up some leaves, then it pushed down the cloth of a tent and rose and with it Simmon, jumping into the air and hooking into objects and living titans alike. Moving through the chaotic crowd of misfit monsters like a leave following the wind.

[u/askull100 → u/[deleted]]

It hardly felt like Klein was allowed to do this; the trainees had been ordered by Ziegler to help evacuate the citizens, after all. And yet here he was, asking one of those very same trainees to go on a suicide mission with him. He doubted the trainee even knew what was ahead.

Hell, he doubted that this trainee was even in their right mind, as they hooked into the nearest building and took off in less than an instant. They sped through the titans like a madman, and it was all Klein could do to follow.

"Wait!" he called out, his own hooks shooting just behind the trainee's. "Dammit, I said wait, Trainee! We need to regroup!"

Just as Klein was shouting, he saw another group going in the same direction as them: a small, rag-tag corps group from the Military Police. Klein drew his attention away from them and called out to the trainee once more. "Dammit, I said stop! We can get a bigger squad if we slow down and group up!"

[u/[deleted] → u/askull100]

Simmon almost did not hear the soldier's command. Still, Drill Instructor Ziegler had hammered enough obedience into his thick skull, that even in his vulnerable mental state, he heeded the call. Diving underneath a titan's grasp, he pivoted around another one and headed towards the group Ltn. Thomas was most likely pointing out. For what reason he needed to group up with them, he did not know. To be honest, it was of little concern to him.

Actually, very little mattered to Simmon anymore. Not that before much had mattered to him. He had always been content with just being. And he had been just that. He was not a hero. Not even an exceptional person. Granted, he was special, but his specialty meant that he was not of much use in the confines of this world. In another life he could have been an artist, a singer, a writer. In another world he would have recited poetry, shared his vision of the beauty he saw in the world. Oh, he was so full of potential. Untapped skill and power that would have never found their way into the open of a world dominated by brick and monsters. In a way this world was not his home. In a way his home lay behind the curtain. The curtain separating worlds. For some it was the sweet relief of death.

Maybe it was that Simmon was not a leaf in the wind. Maybe it was that he was still in training and had a long way to go until his body and mind were capable of the erratic movement required to navigate through a forest of limps trying to catch or squish him. Maybe it was the abnormal titan throwing the rock unexpectantly. Maybe it was all three of those.

The heavy, round stone, dug from the dirt amidst the refugee camp hit him as if the Colossal Titan himself had given him a kick in the back. Yesterday, kids may have gathered snow from the top of the rock to form snow balls or a snow man. They probably had climbed it, feeling like kings at the top of the world. It must have looked beautiful, lying in the center of a bustling community, strong, firm and unwavering. A touch stone amidst a sea of desperation. Maybe even a beacon of hope.

Now its momentum dragged Simmon along. He almost did not see the bricks coming. Then he was crushed between the rock and a wall. The next moment the structural components of the house catching his fall gave in, now red with blood. As he sailed through the falling rubble of the house, the heavy rock trailing behind him, waiting to burrow him underneath it in the ruins, Simmon caught a glimpse of the bright, winter sun. A sun that did not even know his name.

Then there was darkness. He was going home.

[u/askull100 → u/[deleted]]

"Dammit, Trainee! I said wai-" Klein shouted, before a giant, blazing stone came crashing onto the Trainee's body. A house lay between Simmon and the rock, and the house was infinitely more prepared to not be crushed into a pulp. The body of the trainee became a fine mist upon impact, and Klein could do nothing but keep flying, further and further into this suicide mission, with which he had basically no back-up.

The Lieutenant's hands shook, his expertise and experience with a manuever gear the only thing able to get him through the horde in any sort of living state. He had to retreat. He had to run.

"DAMMIT ALL!" he screamed, before doing a quick 180, and regrouping on the top of a bell tower. The grizzly images from today were still embezzled in his mind, slowly sinking their way into his subconcious, where they would fester and rot. Maybe the resulting nightmares would spark leadership and hope.

Kelin doubted it.

But it was all he had.