They strapped you down like you were already dead. The cold blade pressed against your throat. The crowd’s jeers fade into nothing as adrenaline floods through you.

The fall felt like forever. Now? Cold, wet metal presses under your palms. You’re alive—barely.

Shadows twist among heaps of rusted junk. A low growl echoes—something big is watching.

Then chaos breaks loose.

You tear through the junk beasts swarming you—twisted metal and broken limbs crunch beneath your fists. Your breath is ragged, muscles screaming, but you’re still standing amid the ruin—blood and rust thick in the air.

Suddenly, a tall figure steps through the haze. Holding his umbrella. Dark eyes burning with a cold fire. A sneer curls his lips.

Enjin: “So, the king of trash finally drops down. Thought you’d broken your own bones by now.” His voice cuts sharp like a blade. “You’re breathing. Lucky. Or just stubborn. Either way… I’m here to finish what was started.”

Behind him, a monstrous rumble shakes the ground, and the scent of burning metal fills the air.