Willingly going underground probably isn't the wisest decision Reiner has made lately. Then again, considering the plethora of bad decisions he's made since finding himself in this world, maybe it is. In just a few short weeks, Reiner has run the gamut from an ill-advised hookup, to venturing into the Spring Segment with a total stranger, to nearly attacking his beloved baby cousin. All things considered, waltzing into a region where he's at a tactical disadvantage might be downright inspired.

Still, he pauses often while wandering around, spikes of anxiety crawling up his spine. Sometimes, his amber eyes dart this way and that as if searching for someone. Other times, he squints up at the ceiling, muttering something mostly unintelligible about claustrophobia. Still other times, he abruptly backs up a step, possibly bumping right into someone.

"Sorry," he says if that happens, instinctively reaching out a hand to steady them. He's a big guy, six-foot-one and built like a brick house; he expects that bumping into a person will throw them off-balance. "Are you okay?"

The sights and sounds that assault Reiner in the arcade are … a lot, to put it mildly. His world has nothing that compares to this; it's a bit of sensory overload. However, it's nothing he can't handle (he tells himself, repeatedly, forcing his mind to make the adjustment). He's been to war before and fought in bloody battles outside of it; compared to that, flashing lights and weird technology are nothing.

He finds a comparatively simple game: a VR shooting range simulation. The rifle-shaped controller is familiar enough. He handles it with evident ease, then puts on the goggles and finds himself staring down a target.

Anyone approaching will find the blond teenager standing perfectly poised, controlling his breathing as he lines up a shot. A pause, then he fires. It's a decent shot, one displayed on the machine's scoreboard. But Reiner still tsks, evidently dissatisfied.

Reiner is paying absolutely no attention to his surroundings. He's squatting down on his heels, cooing adoringly at a Turtwig staring happily up at him, tilting its head so Reiner can better scratch beneath its chin.

"What were you doing in that ball, little guy?" Reiner asks the Turtwig, his deep voice pitched higher, soft and sweet. "What were you doing, huh? Were you waiting for me to come get you? You were, weren't you?"

Even squatting, Reiner is still a big guy, and he's probably in the way. But if someone wants him to move, they'll have to get his attention: he's only got eyes for his newest friend.