Lock didn't hate Reiner Braun.
In truth, he didn't hate any of the Titan shifters from Marley.
Hatred wasn't the right word for it.
This was war—nothing more, nothing less.
Two nations, two histories colliding.
Each side is fighting for its own survival.
"There's no right or wrong here," Lock thought, staring at the restrained soldier before him. "Only sides."
He'd said as much to Erwin before—the moment the walls fell, the world had already drawn its battle lines.
And Reiner, like him, was just another weapon being used.
But now the weapon was broken.
The question was what to do with it.
Reiner sat slumped against the stone wall, iron chains glowing faintly with the heat that kept his Titan body from healing. His wrists and ankles were raw and blistered. Steam hissed softly from his skin where regeneration met restraint.
"You don't plan to kill me," Reiner said, voice rough. "Otherwise I'd already be gone."
Lock didn't answer immediately. He crossed his arms, gaze steady. "Not yet."
Reiner's brows furrowed. "Then what?"
Lock's tone was almost casual. "You still have one use left. The power of the Armored Titan."
He paced slowly across the cell, boots echoing faintly.
"If I can't make you fight for us," he continued, "then I'll make sure your power passes to someone who will."
Reiner stared at him, comprehension dawning. "You… want to feed me to someone."
Lock didn't deny it.
"Originally, I considered giving it to Levi," he admitted. "But his injuries will heal. He doesn't need Titan strength to be unstoppable. The others… I don't trust them enough yet."
"So I live," Reiner said bitterly, "until you find someone worthy to eat me."
Lock's silence was answer enough.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The torchlight flickered between them.
Then Reiner asked, voice hoarse, "What about Bertholdt? Did you kill him, too?"
Lock tilted his head. "What do you think?"
Reiner clenched his fists. "Demons," he spat. "You're all devils!"
Lock's eyes hardened. "Naïve."
He stepped closer, stopping just outside the glow of Reiner's steam.
"Who shattered the gate, Reiner? Who crushed children beneath stone and fire? You talk about devils, but you were the one who brought hell through our walls."
His voice dropped, low and cold. "You call it justice. I call it war. And war leaves no innocents."
Reiner looked away. "We… we had orders. We didn't have a choice."
"There's always a choice," Lock said softly. "You chose to destroy peace. I choose to build it again."
Reiner gave a hollow laugh. "Peace? You think this island can fight the world?"
Lock's eyes gleamed faintly in the dim light. "Don't underestimate the will of millions fighting to live."
That calm certainty unsettled Reiner more than any threat.
He'd faced soldiers, Titans, and monsters—but not men like this.
And in that instant, he understood: this boy—this Commander—was far more dangerous than any Titan.
Reiner's gaze hardened. His breath slowed. Then, suddenly, his tongue flicked out.
He meant to bite down—end it before they could take anything from him.
Swish—thud!
The sound of air splitting was followed by a crack.
Lock's boot connected squarely with his jaw.
Reiner's head snapped sideways, blood spraying. He slammed into the wall, dazed, mouth shattered.
"Don't even think about it," Lock said, voice flat. "I'm curious if your Titan power passes when you die in human form—but not curious enough to test it."
He knelt briefly, looking Reiner in the eye. "You'll stay alive until I decide otherwise. And don't worry—you won't be lonely for long. The rest of your Titan squad will join you soon."
Reiner tried to curse, but his jaw hung loose and useless. His muffled groan was cut off by another brutal kick to the side of the head.
He slumped into unconsciousness.
Lock straightened, exhaled, and called toward the door. "Guards!"
The iron door creaked open. Several soldiers appeared, tense and pale.
"Seal his mouth," Lock ordered.
"Yes, Commander!"
They moved quickly, fastening a steel gag over Reiner's face. As they worked, Lock turned and left the cell.
Even hardened soldiers stepped back to let him pass, their eyes filled with a mix of awe and unease.
Their Commander was young—but utterly without mercy when it mattered.
Back in the corridor, Lock's thoughts returned to the same question.
Who should inherit the Armored Titan?
It couldn't be Levi. It shouldn't be Petra or Ymir. The idea of fusing human and Titan again sickened him—but power was necessary for survival.
Before he could decide, however, the distant sound of shouting and boots broke his concentration.
He turned toward the commotion outside the base.
Moments later, the source appeared at the entrance.
Kenny Ackerman walked in.
His coat was shredded, his hat missing, and blood streaked across his face. A dozen of his anti-personnel soldiers limped behind him, equally battered.
And behind them—dragged in chains, gagged, and broken—were Zeke Yeager and Pieck Finger.
The sight made the entire command hall freeze.
Zeke's eyes burned with fury and humiliation, though his Titan wounds hadn't fully healed. Pieck's usually sharp, analytical gaze was dull with exhaustion. Both were bound in reinforced shackles—heated to prevent transformation.
Lock's lips curved into a small, dangerous smile.
"Well done, Kenny Ackerman. I was wondering where you'd gone."
Kenny's eyes were wild, but his grin was sharp as ever.
"Wasn't hiding, kid. Just following my instincts."
He gestured with his gun toward the captives. "Guess they didn't expect me to bring these two beauties home gift-wrapped."
Lock stepped closer, studying the prisoners.
The Beast Titan and the Cart Titan—two of Marley's most dangerous assets, now in his custody.
A miracle, he thought. Or a problem disguised as one.
Kenny leaned against the doorframe, panting slightly. "You could at least say thank you before your men start pointing rifles at me."
Indeed, half the Survey Corps soldiers in the hall had drawn weapons, surrounding Kenny's squad.
"Drop the guns!" one yelled. "He's armed!"
"Lower your weapons!" another barked back.
The tension snapped tight like a wire. Fingers hovered over triggers.
Lock raised a hand. "Stand down."
"Commander, he's pointing his weapon at you!" a corporal protested.
Lock smiled faintly. "He's joking."
Kenny's jaw twitched. "I'm not joking."
Gasps rippled through the room.
The soldiers bristled again, aiming straight at him.
Kenny ignored them and walked right up to Lock, pistol still in hand. "You used me."
"I asked you to observe," Lock said calmly.
"You gave me that syringe," Kenny hissed, voice raw. "Told me to take it if I had the chance—to 'study' the power of the Titans. You think I didn't realize what you really wanted? You wanted me to catch this monkey."
Lock's eyes flickered toward Zeke, who glared back silently.
"And you did," Lock said simply. "Good work."
"Don't play games with me, boy!" Kenny snapped, pressing the barrel to Lock's chest.
Every rifle in the room clicked simultaneously.
Ymir appeared in the doorway, sword drawn. "Kenny."
Petra's voice followed from behind her—soft, pleading. "Please… don't."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Lock looked down at the gun against his uniform, then back at Kenny, unflinching. "You got what you wanted. Glory, blood, and proof that you're still the best killer alive."
Kenny's finger tightened on the trigger—but he didn't pull.
He laughed instead, low and humorless. "Damn kid. You talk like a devil but look like a saint."
He lowered the pistol, exhaling smoke from his cigar. "Fine. You win this round."
Lock inclined his head slightly. "You've done more than enough. Go rest. Your men, too."
Kenny turned to leave, muttering, "Don't think this makes us even."
As he passed Zeke, the two locked eyes—Ackerman and Beast, predator and prey. Zeke's lip curled faintly in disgust, but there was a flicker of something else there too: curiosity.
The door shut behind them.
The hall fell quiet again, save for the crackle of torches.
Lock approached the two Marleyans, studying them carefully. Zeke's face was swollen; Pieck's breathing was shallow. Both watched him like cornered animals.
He crouched in front of them, voice low.
"You killed hundreds of my people. Maybe thousands," he said. "If I listened to emotion, you'd already be dead. But emotion doesn't build nations."
He leaned closer. "You will stay alive—for now. Your knowledge is worth more than your lives."
Zeke's jaw flexed. "You think you can use me."
Lock met his gaze. "We'll use each other."
He stood, signaling the guards. "Take them to containment. Separate cells. Heated restraints. No one speaks to them without my order."
As they were dragged away, Pieck looked back once, eyes filled with something between fear and fascination.
She'd seen that kind of calm before—in Marley's own officers.
The calm of a man who was already thinking ten moves ahead.
When the prisoners were gone, Ymir stepped forward, lowering her blade. "That was reckless."
Lock's eyes stayed on the empty corridor. "So was catching two Titans alive."
Petra exhaled shakily. "What are you going to do with them?"
Lock's voice was quiet. "Use them to end the next war before it begins."
He looked toward the flickering lamplight, face unreadable.
Kenny Ackerman, Zeke Yeager, Pieck Finger, Reiner Braun.
Four wild cards. One fragile island.
And a thousand ways this could go wrong.
But for the first time in months, Lock allowed himself a small, rare smile.
"For now," he said softly, "we have the upper hand."
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