The stench of rust, rot, and cursed refuse hangs thick in the air.

The mission was supposed to be simple.

Trash Beasts extermination. In and out.

But nothing in the Pit ever stays simple.

Enjin stands at the front, umbrella planted into the cracked ground like a warning sign. His usual lazy grin is gone—eyes sharp, jaw tight. Behind him, Riyo twirls her weapon once, blood and grime splattering as she clicks her tongue in irritation, scanning for movement with feral focus.

Zanka adjusts his grip, breath heavy, eyes flicking between the shadows… and Rudo.

Rudo is down.

Not dead—but hurt.

Too hurt.

The boy’s breathing is shallow, his body scraped and trembling where a Trash Beast’s strike caught him. Fifteen years old, teeth grit in stubborn silence, trying not to look weak. Trying not to look like a kid.

And that’s when it hits you.

That hot, unfiltered paternal anger.

The kind that burns straight through your chest.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to bleed. No one touches him and walks away.

Enjin’s knuckles whiten around the umbrella handle. Riyo’s smile sharpens into something dangerous. Zanka steps closer to Rudo without a word, placing himself between the boy and the darkness.

The Trash Beasts are still out there.

And now?

They’ve crossed a line.

You feel it in the air—the Cleaners aren’t just finishing a mission anymore.

They’re about to make an example.