Chapter Text
“Boss, you called?”
Enjin leaned on the doorway to his boss’ office, hands in his pockets. Arkha Corvus, the new leader of the Cleaners, sat looking out the window. He was promoted only a few months ago, right around Enjin’s 23rd birthday, yet he had already exceeded everyone’s expectations.
Perhaps his knack for leadership stemmed from his supernatural level of intuition.
The boss turns around.
“Thank you for coming on short notice. I have a mission for you. I’d like you to patrol the edge of Mono, immediately.”
Enjin’s eyebrows raise. “Just me?”
Arkha nods. “Bring an extra mask and oxygen tank with you.”
Enjin sucks in a breath. A solo mission in a No Man’s Land… It would be rough. But the boss never made an uncalculated move. Which meant that he was certain Enjin could handle the job.
“Alright, boss.” He relaxes, and stretches his arms casually. “I’ll be back.”
Arkha makes a gentle smile. “I wish you safety.”
Enjin grins playfully, then leaves the office, hands behind his head. As he saunters off, he mulls over the boss’ orders. There was just one thing he didn’t understand.
…Why the second mask?
• • •
Enjin takes a deep breath of the fresh oxygen from his tank, and readies his umbrella. He had spotted this massive trash beast from a mile away— it was dangerously close to the border of the neighboring polluted zone. He traversed over endless heaps of trash to reach it, and now, he was face to face with the monster.
But for some reason, the beast was already thrashing wildly, before Enjin even came close. The Cleander shields his face as a toxic dust cloud whips towards him, brought on by the creature’s massive tail. It didn’t even seem to have noticed him.
Well, I won’t take this opportunity for granted.
“Umbreaker!”
His vital instrument transforms in a burst of golden light, and starts rotating rapidly, spinning like a drill… he readies his stance, and aims at the creature’s writhing head.
He springs up at lightning speed, and spears the Trash Beast right through the neck. Enjin bursts through the other side, then opens his umbrella, slowing his momentum. He looks down at the beast to gauge the damage. The beasts’s neck was half severed, bleeding stinking refuse, but it was still moving.
Before Enjin can even think of his next move, a burst of black energy suddenly explodes out of the trash beast’s mouth, shattering its jaw to pieces. Something flies out of the beast’s mouth as it lets out an ear-splitting roar.
A person!
The stranger, almost completely cloaked in a dark cloth, sprouts weathered wings. The black energy expands and covers his hood, sharpening like a beak, before he flies forward a missile. He pierces straight through the beast’s eye with a sickening crack.
The beast crumples. Trash cascades down, joining the endless piles below it. And through the clouds of toxic fumes, two givers stare at each other as they both slowly descend.
One with an a white umbrella, and one with a dark, billowing coat.
Enjin lands first and closes his umbrella. He walks forward.
“Yo!”
The man makes no reply. He lands, and deactivates his vital instrument, revealing his face. Pallid skin, jaw clenched. He was holding his breath.
“Woah, woah. You got a death wish or something? 15 minutes of this air and you’re a dead man!” Enjin fumbles with his bag, and holds out the extra mask to the stranger. But the man simply stares at him.
“Mishra.”
The collar of his coat expands, like a bird’s plumage, and covers his face again. A makeshift mask. Enjin shakes his head.
“This isn’t an ordinary polluted zone, man, that ain’t gonna cut it.”
He pulls out two identical looking oxygen tanks from his bag. His mask was hooked up to one of them.
“Look, it’s safe, alright? Put it on!”
The young man stares at him with dark, sunken eyes. Enjin holds out the mask again, stubborn.
Just as he’s about to give up and leave the guy to suffer, the stranger’s hand shoots out, snatching the mask and putting it on. He breathes in the fresh oxygen, finally allowing himself to relax. His posture slumps, oversized coat dwarfing his body.
Enjin spots the symbol on his back. His eyes narrow.
“Your vital instrument… where did you get it?”
The young man holds the coat tight to himself. “Falling trash.”
He remembered the moment very clearly. The day the coat fell from the sky. Amidst the garbage comets that rained down, crushing all those foolish enough to pray outside, a coat fluttered down slowly. As soon as he laid eyes on it, he felt a connection.
It was as if an angel dropped it for him.
After the rain of trash ended, the surviving cultists would get up from their knees, smile at the heavens, and then scavenge the trash like animals. They bathed in the filth as if it were holy water. Any item of remote value would be fought over. And for a heretic like him, who sought shelter during the heavenly rain… well, they would never allow him to have such a nice gift from the Sphere.
So he fought long and hard for it.
‘Til his body bled.
And in the end, there was no one left to oppose him.
“…Hello—?” Enjin snaps his fingers repeatedly. “I said, what’s your name?”
The young man finally breaks out of his daze. He hesitates, but then looks at the oxygen tank he was given. He at least owed this kind stranger his name.
“Zodyl.”
“Zodyl, huh. It’s got a nice ring to it.” He grins.
“Listen. The name’s Enjin. How would you like to join the Cleaners?”
Zodyl’s eyes widen. The Cleaners. A beloathed name in his former commune… a group of destructive, magical heretics who desecrated Trash Beasts. They defied the natural law of their world, which was to accept trash in all forms as gifts from the sky. And that was the greatest sin one could commit.
But all of that crap was behind him.
Zodyl straightens up. He stares at Enjin, dark eyes ablaze.
“I’ll join. Under one condition.”
Enjin nods. “Alright, shoot.”
“Help me reach the Sphere.”