Marco's expression looks nothing like it did in life. But it does look like it appears in Reiner's nightmares, those warm brown eyes burning with all the fury Reiner deserves.

This isn't a nightmare, though. It isn't, right? It's reality, isn't it?

Nightmare turned reality? That seems fitting.

Marco's screams and accusations mix with Reiner's memories, melding with pleading, begging, and that final cry of terror and pain. He barely hears Galliard's words. He certainly doesn't process them.

Galliard. Porco. Porco, standing between them, trying to protect Reiner from Marco's wrath.

Instinct breaks through the fog. Reiner grabs Porco's shoulder, grip firm, sparing no strength as he starts trying to pull Porco out of the way. His intent may be evident by the direction of the tug; he means to yank Porco behind him. Protect his comrade, as it should be.

And then a fucking rock hits Reiner square above his left eye.

Could he have dodged it? Maybe. Would he have tried even if he saw it coming? Of course not.

One second, Reiner is a veritable wall. The next, he's flat on his back, breath knocked from his lungs, stars swimming above his eyes. Blood starts running from a cut on his forehead, with no sign of steam to stop it.

Still, he makes no attempt to defend himself.