As the first rays of sunlight filtered through the narrow window of Titus's military room, he slowly blinked his eyes open, groggily awakening to a new day. Stretching his arms above his head, he let out a soft yawn before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and sitting up.
The room was small and sparsely furnished, with only the bare essentials—a bed, a desk, and a small wardrobe. But it was home to Titus, a sanctuary where he could escape the chaos of the outside world, if only for a few precious hours each night.
With a sigh, Titus rose from his bed and began his morning routine. He washed his face in the basin of cold water, splashing away the remnants of sleep and fatigue. He dressed quickly, pulling on his uniform with practiced efficiency, each movement precise and deliberate.
As he buttoned up his jacket, Titus's thoughts drifted back to life outside of his military room—the constant pressure, the endless scrutiny, the never-ending battles. He felt a surge of resentment towards his fellow soldiers, always judging him, always looking for a reason to tear him down.
But Titus pushed those thoughts aside, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. Today was a new day, another chance to prove himself, to show the world what he was capable of. With a determined expression, he squared his shoulders and marched out of his room, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
As Titus made his way down to the mess hall, the familiar sights and sounds of the military base greeted him—the clatter of boots on the polished floors, the murmur of voices echoing off the walls. But his mood soured as he spotted Donny, a higher-up in the military police notorious for his disdain towards the Survey Corps.
Donny stood at the entrance of the mess hall, his posture haughty and his expression smug as he surveyed the soldiers milling about. His gaze landed on Titus, and a sneer curled his lips as he made a beeline towards him.
"Well, well, if it isn't the hero of the Survey Corps," Donny taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "How many casualties did you rack up this time, Titus? Or did you manage to keep your incompetence in check for once?"
Titus bristled at the insult, his fists clenching at his sides. He squared his shoulders, meeting Donny's gaze with a steely glare. "You have a lot of nerve, Donny," he shot back, his voice low and dangerous. "But I won't let you belittle me or my comrades any longer."
Without warning, Titus lunged forward, his hand reaching out to grab Donny by the collar of his uniform. The two men grappled with each other, their movements fueled by anger and frustration. Fists flew, curses were exchanged, and for a moment, it seemed as though the mess hall would erupt into chaos.
But before things could escalate further, a squad of soldiers rushed forward, pulling Titus and Donny apart and dragging them away from each other. The mess hall fell silent, the tension thick in the air as Titus and Donny glared daggers at each other from across the room.
As the commotion died down, Titus took a deep breath, his heart still pounding with adrenaline. He knew that his clash with Donny was far from over, but in that moment, he felt a sense of satisfaction knowing that he had stood up for himself and his comrades.
As Titus shook off the soldiers restraining him, he gritted his teeth in frustration, his hands trembling with suppressed rage. Ignoring the concerned looks of his comrades, he quickened his pace, weaving through the crowded mess hall until he reached his hiding place—the cleaning closet.
Slamming the door shut behind him, Titus leaned back against the wall, his chest heaving with exertion. He could feel the anger bubbling inside him, threatening to consume him from within. His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to regain control.
But as he began to itch his body furiously, the physical manifestation of his inner turmoil, Titus felt a wave of cold chills wash over him, sending shivers down his spine. He could hear the sound of his own ragged breaths echoing off the walls of the closet, a stark reminder of his isolation.
"Damn them," Titus muttered to himself, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Damn them all for treating me like this. Like I'm nothing. Like I don't matter."
But just as the darkness threatened to consume him, Titus forced himself to take a deep breath, to calm the storm raging inside him. Closing his eyes, he focused on the warmth of the light shining through the crack in the closet door, a beacon of hope in the darkness.
"I won't let them break me," Titus whispered, his voice filled with determination. "I won't let them turn me into a bad boy. I'll rise above it all, and I'll prove to them that I'm stronger than they think."
With that, Titus opened his eyes, his resolve hardened. He straightened his shoulders, pushing aside the doubts and fears that threatened to hold him back. Stepping out of the closet, he faced the world once more,
As Titus stepped out of the closet, he found himself face to face with his tormentors, their mocking laughter ringing in his ears like a cruel symphony. His fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white with anger, but before he could react, they grabbed him roughly and dragged him outside.
"Looks like little Titus needed to cry to his mommy in the closet," one of them jeered, his voice dripping with contempt. "What a pathetic excuse for a soldier."
Titus gritted his teeth, his jaw tightening as he fought to control the seething rage boiling inside him. He felt a primal urge rising within him, a desire for vengeance that threatened to consume him whole. But he knew that giving in to those dark impulses would only lead to more pain and suffering.
As they reached the abandoned military outpost near the edge of the cavern made of Titan skin and bone, Titus's mind raced with thoughts of mass murder, of exacting his revenge on those who had wronged him. But even as he entertained those thoughts, a voice in the back of his mind whispered a warning—a reminder of the darkness that lurked within him, waiting to be unleashed.
Gazing out at the mesmerizing blue hues of the Titan skin and bone, Titus felt a sense of calm wash over him, a fleeting moment of clarity amidst the chaos. He took a deep breath, centering himself as he pushed aside the thoughts of violence and hatred that threatened to overwhelm him.
"No," Titus thought to himself, his voice firm and resolute. "I won't let them drag me down to their level. I won't become what they want me to be."
With that, Titus squared his shoulders and faced his tormentors, his eyes flashing with determination. He may have been surrounded by darkness, but he refused to let it consume him. He would find his own path, his own way out of the shadows, no matter the cost.