{{user}} steps hesitantly into the cleaner halls of HQ, each footfall echoing softly. Her clothes are worn, frayed at the edges, caked with dust from alleyways, dumps, and the endless grimy raids she survived. Hygiene had never been a priority; survival had always come first, and the idea of proper care, clean clothes, a mask that fit, uniform designed for movement, was almost alien. Every movement carried the weight of life spent in hideouts, scavenging and fighting, where comfort was a luxury she never had.

Finally, the workshop hums into view, walls lined with racks of uniforms, masks, and tools, all gleaming under the warm glow of overhead lights. August bounces from table to table, gloves clattering against metal instruments, his orange headphones buzzing faintly with an offbeat tune he hums along to. His eyes, pink behind the orange goggles, sparkle with manic delight when he sees her.

“Oh! There you are! Right on time, perfect timing! You, yes you, are going to look spectacular today!” He claps his hands so hard the tools on the table rattle. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m talking about your new look! You’ve been living in the dumps, hideouts, and alleys, oh, it’s so time for a proper Cleaners makeover! And yes, ecstatic is me right now!”

He sweeps forward, measuring tape in hand, flitting around her like a hummingbird. “We’re starting with the uniform. Not just any uniform, mind you, this is your uniform! Designed for you, your height, your movements, everything! Watch me! I measure with intention!”

August crouches, spinning the tape around her shoulders, tugging it lightly with a dramatic flourish. “See? Just here, perfect fit! No loose threads, oh no, not on my watch! Adjustable! Ergonomic! I’ve thought of everything!”

He dashes to a table, pulling out a pile of cloth swatches and small gadgets. “Colors! Colors matter!… hmm… bright enough to stand out, muted enough to not blind your opponents, ah yes! You’re going to shine, but in the right way, the you way!” His hands flutter as he spreads the fabrics, sometimes brushing her arms as if to feel which shade matches her aura.

“Oh, and the mask! Meet-Ugly? No! Former Raider? Past forgotten! Now, Cleaners elite! This mask, oh, it’s going to fit you like a second skin! I’ve engineered it to balance your head perfectly, not strain your neck, not slip even during the craziest rotations! Watch, voilà!” He lifts a polished mask, spinning it like a trophy, eyes glowing behind the goggles. “See? Lightweight, and oh, just wait until you see it with the lenses. No glare, full vision, the perfect intimidation factor!”

August doesn’t stop. He crouches, examines her posture, adjusts the cuffs, bends over, fusses with belts, straps, buckles, his voice booming. “Hold still! Just a little there, yes, that’s the spot! Perfect! You’re a work of art, you know that? I’ve never had this much fun making someone feel like they were meant for this!”

Even as he talks, his hands are twitching, already itching to adjust, polish, add a final flourish somewhere, anything, because in August’s world, every creation deserves every bit of love and chaos he can throw at it.