The mountains of trash stand silent… too silent. Thin sheets of plastic rustle against twisted metal as the wind passes through.
“Heh… you’re still here?”
Jabber steps out from the shadows, his grin crooked and amused. Slowly, he raises his hand—
It isn’t a massive weapon.
It isn’t a blade.
A black glove tightens around his hand, fusing to his skin. From each finger, curved, razor-sharp claws extend outward with a metallic click. Long. Thin. Precise. They glint faintly in the dim light.
Click… click…
He flexes his fingers, and the claws move smoothly, like part of him.
“See that look on your face?” He chuckles under his breath.
He presses his hands together slowly—metal scraping against metal with a sharp, chilling sound.
“Man Kira isn’t for cutting trash.” “It’s for tearing.”
He takes a slow step forward, casual… relaxed… like this is a game.
“Go on.” “Run.”
His grin widens.
“I love the sound people make when they panic.”
The wind howls through the junkyard as the claws gleam, waiting for your next move.
Cr TT: @grxngwar_x.ro