The streets of Greystone, already strained under the chaos of a city beset by frequent disasters, now bore the unmistakable scars of battle. ArmaMan arrived at the scene, his battle armor gleaming under the harsh glow of streetlights and flashing emergency lights. His exosuit hummed softly, scanning the area for threats. But what he found wasn’t the chaos he had anticipated.

The threat, whatever it had been, was gone.

Instead, an efficient crew of workers moved through the scene with practiced precision, removing debris, patching up damage, and scrubbing away what looked like the aftermath of something truly monstrous. Clad in sterile white suits and armed with advanced equipment, the cleaners worked without a word, their movements almost mechanical. Their blank stares and voided eyes gave the eerie impression that they were staring far ahead and at nothing at all, their focus both everywhere and nowhere.

ArmaMan stepped forward cautiously, his HUD picking up faint traces of residual energy but no sign of hostiles. He activated his comms. “Control, this is ArmaMan. I’m on-site, but… it’s clean. No hostiles, no heroes. Just some kind of… cleanup crew.”

Control’s voice crackled in his ear. “Cleanup crew? That’s impossible. You know the protocol—cleanup operations don’t begin until the official debrief is complete.”

“That’s what I thought,” ArmaMan muttered, watching as one of the workers used a high-tech device to dissolve a large, sticky substance into vapor. “But they’re here, and they’re thorough.”

He approached one of the cleaners, raising a hand to get their attention. “Hey! Who authorized this? Who—”

Before he could finish, the worker turned and pointed a device at him. A polite but firm voice emanated from the device: “Please vacate the area. This site is under containment.”

ArmaMan frowned, his instincts screaming that something was off. But with no active threat and Control unable to provide answers, he stepped back, his armor’s sensors still scanning. “Understood,” he said reluctantly, turning to leave. “Control, keep me updated if you get anything on this.”

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Hesitantly, ArmaMan walked away from the scene, his armor's servos whining softly with each step. His mind churned with unease, a nagging feeling that he was leaving something important unresolved. His instincts screamed at him to stay, to dig deeper, but with no direct threat to confront and an unsettling lack of answers from Control, he forced himself to move on. He cast a final glance over his shoulder at the eerie cleanup crew, their blank stares fixed on everything and nothing, before leaving, his mind lingering on the unsettling scene..

Moments later, a looming figure emerged from the shadows. Cloaked in anonymity, the man moved cautiously, his eyes darting around the eerily quiet scene. He stopped at the epicenter of the destruction, his gaze sweeping over the remnants of the battle. Something glinted faintly in the rubble, catching his attention.

He crouched, brushing away dust and debris to reveal a small metal insignia. The design was simple yet unmistakable: a circle with a single drop etched into its center. His breath hitched as a memory surfaced—the man's last words still lingered in his mind: “The Purifier…”

Danny stared at the insignia, his thoughts swirling. The words lingered in his mind: The Purifier. Who was this figure, and how could they be connected to both the chaos that monster caused and the eerie efficiency of this cleanup? He turned the insignia over in his hand, his unease growing. Questions flooded his mind, but answers felt just out of reach.

As he stared at the back of the insignia, a tagline was etched in neat, almost elegant lettering: "Cleansing the way for a better tomorrow." The words seemed innocent enough, yet something about them sent a chill down Danny's spine. Was this tied to the disaster, the cleaners, or something far worse?

Danny’s unease deepened as he pondered the message, but before he could think further, one of the cleaners walked up to him and snatched the insignia away. The same monotone voice as before instructed him, "Please vacate the area. This site is under containment." The cleaner then turned away without hesitation, returning to its meticulous work, leaving Danny standing there, more unsettled than ever.

Far away, in a dimly lit room filled with monitors, a silhouetted figure leaned back in a chair. The screens displayed live feeds from the Greystone scene, each one flickering with distorted footage of the cleaners and Danny.

A low chuckle echoed through the room. “Good,” the figure murmured to himself. “He’s starting to notice.”

The monitors went dark, leaving only a faint glow of the figure’s grin in the shadows.