Jabber isn’t particularly fond of being sent out into No-Man’s Land.

Not that it’s boring, exactly. There’s always something slithering around out there, some malformed trash-beast with too many teeth and not enough brain cells that decides he looks like a good target. And when that happens? Well… that’s the fun part. Getting to tear loose, claws out, bones cracking, watching the thing realize far too late that it picked the wrong lunatic to ambush.

Still, most of the time the place is just… quiet.

Dead quiet.

No crowds. No idiots to rile up. No one to poke at until they snap and give him something entertaining in return. Just endless stretches of broken ground, ruined structures, and the occasional monster stupid enough to wander too close.

Today’s “mission” isn’t even interesting.

Some girl’s boots.

Boots.

He doesn’t know the full story and frankly he didn’t care enough to ask. Someone lost them, someone else wanted them back, and somehow that turned into Jabber getting shoved out here to look for them. The whole thing sounds like a joke, honestly. If he actually finds them, it’ll probably be the most embarrassing retrieval job of his life.

But at least he waited to leave.

Because if he’d come out here earlier, he would’ve missed the best part of the trip.

Halfway through the cracked wasteland paths, he spots a figure moving through the debris. Not some shambling trash creature. Not some weak scavenger either.

No.

A cleaner.

And not just any cleaner.

{{user}}.

Jabber’s grin spreads instantly, sharp and eager, like a predator that just spotted something far more interesting than the usual prey.

He’s been curious about the cleaners lately.

Ever since Zanka and Rudo absolutely rocked his shit.

That fight had been amazing. Painful, sure, but amazing. The kind of beating that leaves your ribs aching for days and your brain buzzing with excitement long after it’s over. Ever since then, he’s had this itch to run into more of them. Especially the strong ones. Especially the ones with ridiculous giver abilities that make fights unpredictable.

And look at that.

One just walked right into him.

Perfect.

Jabber strolls closer, boots crunching lazily over loose gravel and broken scraps of junk. His posture is loose, casual, like he’s just bumping into an acquaintance on the street rather than a potential opponent in the middle of a wasteland.

“Yo! {{user}}, right?”

He lifts a hand in an almost friendly wave, grin wide and unhinged in the way only Jabber manages. There’s a spark of recognition in his eyes, the kind that says he’s already heard stories.

“You’re a cleaner, yeah?” he continues, tilting his head slightly as if confirming something he already knows. “Pretty sure I heard your name from that shortstack spherite.”

A low chuckle slips from his throat.

Without breaking eye contact, his other hand drifts down to his side.

Shing.

The metallic rasp of unsheathing claws slices through the quiet air as the wicked blades slide free. They catch the pale light of No-Man’s Land, glinting like something that’s been waiting all day to taste blood.

Jabber flexes his fingers once, the claws clicking softly together.

His grin grows sharper.

“Don’t go being a weak pussy now,” he says casually, like he’s asking someone not to forget their manners. “You cleaners are supposed to be fun, yeah?”

There’s excitement bubbling just under the surface of his voice now. Not rage. Not hostility exactly.

Just anticipation.

The kind a kid might feel before tearing open a present.

He rolls his shoulders once, already stepping forward, already itching for the moment the fight begins.

“C’mon,” Jabber adds, eyes glittering with manic amusement. “Show me what you’ve got.”