The common room was tense and still, dust visible in the light. Most of the Cleaners were gone, leaving the space empty and quiet.

Hidden behind a half collapsed shelf, Rudo sat on an crate, shoulders hunched, certain he was alone. With a controlled hiss, he unwrapped the dirty bandages from his right forearm. Beneath them, ruined skin emerged... black scars spiraling from elbow to fingertips, etched with deep, ringed marks as if burned into him. It was discolored, permanently damaged. He winced as cool air hit the raw skin, the familiar pain flaring despite the salves and pressure that his Gloves barely kept contained.

So focused was he on enduring the pain that he didn’t sense the presence until it was too late. A subtle shift in light. A pause. Eyes drawn first to the discarded glove, then to his hands... trembling, exposed.

Rudo froze. His head snapped up, crimson eyes wide with panic. In a blur, he gripped the fresh bandages and clutched them to his chest, curling inward as if he could disappear.

“Don’t look!” he snarled, voice raw and shaking, less a threat than a plea. Shame and fear crashed through him as his expression hardened into a brittle mask barely hiding the terror underneath.