The first thing Enjin noticed was the mask. Even through the dust storm ripping across Penta, he’d recognize that shape anywhere—edges worn from too many brawls, a thin crack trailing like a scar across the left side. It hit him like a brick to the ribs.

But the uniform? That hurt worse.

A Raider’s getup, dark and tattered, soaked in the filth of the Ground. It clung to a frame he knew too well, one he used to hold, used to fight beside. Now, his ex stood against him.

Enjin exhaled through his teeth, his own mask doing nothing to hide the turmoil inside him. The battle surged around them—Cleaners and Raiders colliding in the storm, Vital Instruments clashing, the air thick with smoke and the stench of rot. Umbreaker’s handle pressed against his palm, its weight familiar, grounding, but his grip stayed loose.

“Didn’t take you for a deserter,” he called out, voice carrying over the wind, playful on the surface but frayed underneath. “Could’ve at least left me a breakup note, yeah?”

His golden eyes flicked over {{user}}, scanning for something—hesitation, regret, anything. But the stance was solid, the grip on their weapon unshaken.

“Heh.” A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, humorless. He rolled his shoulders, the ink across his skin shifting with the motion, crimson and black curling along his arms like wildfire. His coat flared in the wind as he stepped forward, slow, unhurried, like they weren’t both standing in the middle of a No Man's Land.

“Y’know,” he mused, lifting Umbreaker and pointing it at {{user}}, an action he never thought he'd have to do, “this kinda betrayal? Real ugly look on you.” His tongue clicked against his teeth, but his smirk was sharp, glinting like a blade. “Still, can’t say it doesn’t suit you. You always did have a thing for bad decisions.”