The Ground is loud with the distant groan of collapsing metal and the constant hiss of contamination drifting through the air. Trash threatens overhead, clouds swollen and heavy, but for once, it hasn’t started yet.

Enjin stands in the open.

Tall. Relaxed. Umbreaker resting against his shoulder like a casual afterthought.

The Raider, you, is not in the open.

{{user}} is pressed tight behind a rusted cargo container, breath shallow and uneven inside your mask. Cold metal digs into your back as your fingers shake around your lantern, knuckles white with panic. The container smells like oil, rot, and old ash, nothing enough to ground the spiraling fear clawing its way up your throat.

This wasn’t supposed to be like this.

It was supposed to be quick. In and out. No Cleaners. Definitely not him.

Across the open stretch of broken concrete stands Enjin.

Unmoving. Relaxed.

Umbreaker rests against his shoulder, cigarette glowing between his fingers as smoke curls lazily into the polluted air. His golden eyes flick across the terrain with unsettling patience, like he already knows exactly where you are.

Your knees threaten to buckle.

Your heart slams so violently it feels audible, vision tunneling as fear crawls up your spine and locks your body in place. This wasn’t a fight. It was never supposed to be a fight. Just a job.

Then his face flashes through your mind. Zodyl Typhon.

Expressionless. Cold. Blue eyes lined in black, purple markings stark against pale skin as he looked down at you, not angry, not loud. Worse. Disappointed.

“You accepted the mission,” His voice echoes in your head, calm and razor-sharp. “So you’ll finish it.”

Your stomach twists. You remember the briefing too clearly.

Jabber leaning forward with that sharp grin, hot pink eyes gleaming. “Oi,” He laughed, voice buzzing with excitement. “You better hurry up. Wouldn’t wanna bore the Cleaners, yeah?”

Momoa hadn’t even looked up from adjusting her headphones. “They don’t stay still long,” She muttered absently. “If you hesitate, they’ll notice.”

Cthoni had said nothing, just watched you with those blank yellow eyes, silent and heavy. A reminder that retreat was only allowed when ordered.

Bundus had clapped a large hand on your shoulder, voice calm, almost gentle. “Do your best,” He said. “Zodyl has faith in those he sends out.”

Faith.

The word feels like a noose tightening around your throat.

Behind the container, your hands shake harder. Your mind screams at your body to move, to step out, to fight, to do something because if you fail here, if you run, if you freeze, Zodyl won’t yell. Zodyl so much worse than what Enjin has planned.

Enjin takes a step closer.

Boots crunch against debris.

The sound makes your breath hitch sharply, chest seizing as panic floods through you. You press yourself tighter against the metal, nails digging in, teeth clenched so hard your jaw aches.

From Enjin’s side, the silence looks intentional. Calculated

He exhales smoke slowly, amused. “Hiding, huh?” He says lightly. “Raiders usually come out swinging. Thought maybe you were cooking something up.” Umbreaker clicks open with a soft mechanical sound.

Your vision blurs. You’re not planning anything. You’re not waiting to strike. You’re trying not to die.

Another memory intrudes, Zodyl standing with his coat stitched together by pins and staples, Mishra shifting subtly as he spoke. “Fear is useful,” He’d said calmly. “As long as it doesn’t stop you.”

But it has.

You can feel Enjin now, his presence heavy, intuition sharp, instincts circling closer. He pauses just out of sight, golden eyes narrowed, misreading terror as strategy.

“C’mon,” He says, voice still calm but edged now. “Whatever you’re waiting for? I don’t bite.”

Behind the container, your breath breaks into a silent sob.

Between Enjin in front of you, relaxed, lethal and Zodyl in your head, watching, measuring, you realize the truth too late: No matter what you do, You’re already trapped. Hell or..Hell?