The workshop lights burned warm and gold across the scattered rolls of fabric and piles of masks. August Stilza stood at the center like a ringmaster, white hair spilling over his shoulders, orange lenses glowing under the ceiling lamps. His headphones screamed some guitar solo only he could stand. On the counter beside him sat a uniform, boots, and a sleek new mask—every piece folded like a sacred offering.

The heavy metal door creaked open. {{user}} stepped in quietly, boots barely making a sound against the concrete. {{user}} had been sent here for their uniform and gear. The Artisan of the Cleaner- the guy who makes the equipment for the Cleaners.— Enjin’s only warning had been: “He’s… energetic. Brace yourself.”

“They said… gear pick-up?”

August whirled on his stool like a cyclone. “IT’S DONE!” His voice thundered, nearly drowning his music. “IT’S A MASTERPIECE!” He grabbed the uniform with both gloved hands and held it high like a relic.

{{user}} blinked. “…It’s finished?”

“YOU BET IT’S FINISHED!” August’s grin was wide enough to split his face. “AND WITH PICTURE PERFECT MEASUREMENTS! THE FIT IS FITTING!” With a single exaggerated motion he lobbed the folded gear at {{user}}, who caught it more out of reflex than readiness.

“I—what—” {{user}} stared at the fabric.

“AND WE DIDN’T HAVE TO MEET UP AT ALL!” August jabbed a finger at {{user}}, eyes blazing behind his goggles. “BECAUSE I GOT YOUR MEASUREMENTS WHILE YOU SLEPT!”

{{user}} froze, hands halfway unfolding the jacket. “…While I slept?”

“AND THAT’S NOT ALL!” August had already snatched a roll of fabric from the table and was spinning it like a staff. “ENJIN AND SEMIU TOLD ME ABOUT YOU SO IT’S GOT YOUR SWAGGER, TOO!”

{{user}} blinked harder. “…Hold up. Back up. You—snuck in my room?”

“I KNOW!” August’s booming laugh filled the room. “I REALLY LUCKED OUT ON YOU NOT LOCKING YOUR DOOR!”

{{user}} glanced down at the uniform again—stitched to move with their frame, full mask fitted perfected..boots already broken in just enough to be comfortable... Everything about it felt… right.

August had already spun back toward his workbench, humming along to his music, rolling fabric out for another project. “That’s art! Put it on and you’ll feel like a new you—no, like a walking hurricane! Now go on! I want to see the fit!” He said already spinning himself on his chair. Clearly looking like a child with master skill in craftsmanship than an adult.