It had been several days since the Attack on Trost. Clean up had commenced the very next day, which meant all uninjured soldiers had to report for service. Jean had spent every day since then sifting through dead bodies and remains, trying to decipher one person from the next. The bodies and arms had all mingled together into one huge pile of flesh that rotted of titan breath.

Occasionally Jean would come across a member of the 104th, and his stomach would pitch, bile would rise up his throat but he would bravely swallow it down, although he could not stop the tears from rising to his eyes.

Yet there was one body he did not see, one person he did not find amoung the bodies:

Marco

Jean dreaded and hoped he would find some hint of Marco's survival. Every time he came upon a dark haired soldier his heart would race and his hands would shake. But it never turned out to be the freckled boy Jean hoped and prayed to find.

So he continued to sift through what was left of the brave souls that went to slaughter the titans.

It was only of the third day that he could no longer stand the smell of rotting flesh and the sight of decaying limbs and bodies.

Jean didn't remember when he wandered off from his group, he didn't remember when the presence of no longer living bodies became too much for him.

He didn't even remember how he came to be alone in a part of the district that had already been cleaned.

It was only once he saw a shadow at the edge of his vision that he remembered where he was. The blonde blinked his eyes groggily, looking around for the shadow at the corner of his peripheral. There was nothing.

Jean was about to leave it to the stress and lack of sleep from the past few days when there it was again, in the same place, only a tad more visible.

It was the flash of dark hair that caught Jean's attention.

Immediately his head whipped to the left to follow the shadow, which vanished around the corner just as he did so.

"Marco...?" Jean whispered inaudibly. He set one foot forward hesitantly, then another, until he was jogging steadily after the figure. He paused at the corner, scanning the street for a sign of the mysterious shadow, his eyes catching movement just ahead of him, up the street.

"Wait!" he called, stretching out an arm. The person appeared not to hear him, for they only continued to run away from him. They paused for a moment, looking back, and once again Jean caught the flash of dark hair and pale skin.

He blinked, and the figure was gone, disappearing into an alleyway.

Yet when jean reached the alley, there was no sight of the person. Curiously,he wandered into the small space, only to find a person suddenly behind him.

"Jean."

Said soldier froze, the voice all too familiar. Yet there was something off that he couldn't place.

"Marco." Jean whispered as he turned around...

and stifled a scream.

Marco's body was half gone, it seemed. The skin on his right arm and torso was peeled, away, revealing taut muscle underneath. His right eyes, also, must have been gone, for it was covered with a make-shift eye patch. Yet more than that, there seemed to be an odd air to the familiar soldier, his smile cruel and wicked, brow scrunched together almost angrily. His eyes glittered with dark intentions.

Instinctively, Jean took a step backwards. 'Marco' chuckled at this.

"What is it, Jean?" he purred, his voice smooth yet venomous. "It's me, Marco!" he held his arms out placatingly, though the evil smirk on his lips did not vanish.

Jean took another step back, raising an arm defensively. "No." he murmured, brow scrunched together, his voice a defensive growl. "You aren't Marco."

Jean swear he saw Marco's eye twitch with anger, but it was soon smoothed into an almost sickeningly sweet face. "Now, Jean." He murmured, beginning to walk forward now. "I wouldn't make me angry if I were you."

A shiver raced up Jean's spine at Marco's words. For the first time since the attack, true fear began to creep into his mind, dark tendrils wrapping around his thoughts and holding them captive.

At Marco's advance, Jean backed up, panicking when he felt the brick wall of the alley press up against his back. He glanced at the wall, then back at Marco, who now had him trapped with his arms.

Jean raised up his hands to shove Marco away. All Jean could catch was a sweet smile before his hands were seized and he was suddenly spun and pinned to the ground.

It took a moment for Jean to recompose himself. "You bastard! You aren't Marco!"

A hand roughly seized his hair and brought his head up off the ground, only to brutally slam it into the cobbled pavement. Stars twinkled in Jean's vision, a broken groan echoed from his lips. He was dimly aware of the sense of warm blood dripping from his forehead. Adrenaline rushed through his veins as Jean pushed himself up, only to have himself flipped over roughly, and a heavy weight land on his torso, forcing all breath from his lungs.

A dark chuckle spilled from Marco's lips as he reached down and secured Jean's hands above his head. The blonde struggled against Marco, but his grip was like a vice. Jean felt pure unaltered terror sweep through his body, only furthering his struggles. Marco merely continued to laugh, his eyes sweeping over Jean's body and sending a tremor up Jean's spine.

Jean could hardly see past the stars that continued to plague his vision. He could make out the wicked smile on Marco's lips, and the hand reaching towards him. Instinctively Jean tensed, closing his eyes and waiting for the brutal punch that would send him spiraling into darkness. But no, Marco's hand was soft and gentle on his cheek, caressing it carefully before moving to his forehead and wiping at the blood pooled on his brow.

The dark haired soldier chuckled deeply as he raised the blood stained hand to his mouth and let his tongue flicker over his fingers.

"B-bastard." Jean slurred, his words incoherent. The hand that had caressed jean's face so gently came to whip his head sideways and leave a burning sting on his cheek.

"I dare you to call me that again." Marco growled in Jean's ear.

But Jean was silent, unable to speak past the pain. This satisfied Marco, for a queer smile creeped onto his lips. Jean stared up at him with dull eyes.

A dry chuckle issued from Marco's throat as he reached into his boot, retrieving a small dagger and forcing it up under Jean's chin. The soldier gulped visibly, craning his neck farther away from the blade as it bit into his skin. But Marco pressed it farther, laughing wickedly as a small trickle of blood flowed from the cut.

"Marco." Jean whispered, trembling. "Marco, why?"

Marco shuddered with pleasure at the sound of Jean's voice, broken and scared, tinted with fear.

"Oh Jean." Marco purred, wiping away the bangs soaked with blood on Jean's forehead. "You really thought that I was ever your friend?"

Jean watched Marco with glassy eyes, face twisted into a grimace.

"You really thought I was actually noble, that I really was a soldier of humanity?" he went on, petting Jean's cheek with the knife, watching excitedly as a sliver of blood bloomed on the pale skin. "I never was. I'm nothing but corrupted and rotten on the inside, can't you see?" he chuckled darkly, his smile broadening at Jean's whimper of pain. "All I ever wanted when i was next to you, while I was with you, was to hear you cry, plead, beg for mercy. I want to hear your screams Jean."

With that Marco took the danger and thrust it deep into Jean's shoulder as Jean let loose a cry. Blood poured from the wound as Marco removed the blood soaked dagger.

"Scream for me, Jean."Marco whispered in the soldier's ear. "Scream."

Tears filled Jean's eyes, mixing with the stars and making sight impossible. Marco wedged the blade back into jean's shoulder, making a scream rip from Jean's throat.

Jean could hear Marco's manic laughter as he fell into darkness.