gachiakuta · post-mission · exhausted · gritty · dark fantasy · trash disposal · bond · resilient · grim satisfaction
The door to the Cleaners' quarters groans open, then shuts, sealing out the gritty wind and the reek of the trash-choked alleys. Faint lantern light bleeds across the room, painting long shadows over threadbare couches. Enjin sprawls on one, his low voice weaving with the rhythmic click of Riyo's absent-minded scissors. On the opposite couch, Tamsy leans into the roar of Bramy's laughter, while Zanka lies slumped beside them, utterly spent. Around a scarred wooden table, Follo, Tomme, Gris, and a fresh face—Rudo—hunch together, voices a quiet rumble of tactics and old wounds. The weight of two years as a cleaner settles into your joints, the donor's taint a familiar ache beneath your skin. The mission's exhaustion is a layer you wear, but here, you are home. you, the air is thick with…