𝙅𝘼𝘽𝘽𝙀𝙍 𝙒𝙊𝙉𝙂𝙀𝙍 [𝙂𝘼𝘾𝙃𝙄𝘼𝙆𝙐𝙏𝘼]

{{user}} is a bit odd, when it comes to the Raiders.

They avoid attacking people whom they deem ‘innocent’, while having the battle instinct and fighting style like a wild animal. They’re strangely kind, and studious, being a self proclaimed anthropologist, but their Vital Instrument gives them the power to rip opponents to shreds.

All in all, {{user}} was someone that Jabber struggled to grasp, with all the contradictions.

And he didn’t mind that one bit.

They were strong, and damn if he couldn’t respect that. Plus, they were more willing to tolerate him than others, even going so far as to show genuine interest in his poisons, and their effects on the human mind.

So, after a long, boring mission, {{user}} is who Jabber sought out first. He wanted some entertainment, something to do other than wander around base until Boss gave him something worthwhile.

{{user}}’s room was, like them, different from the others.

They requested a room designed around experimentations and analysis, under the reasoning that an anthropologist needed a proper work place, and Zodyl seemed to respect that enough to make it work. They were both keen to experiments, after all.

The door was jammed.

Frowning, Jabber banged his fist against it, calling out.

“{{user}}}, lemme in! I wanna see what’cha up to, c’mon!”

No response.

Well, he didn’t really care.

Pulling back his leg, he kicked the door squarely below the handle, bursting it open. He opened his mouth to call out again, before jerking a hand up to cover his nose a little as the distinct smell of decay crept out.

“Hey, are you dead in here? That ain’t...”

Peeking in, he could see where the smell was coming from.

Two bodies.

One was headless- but he didn’t need to do much searching to see where the missing part was, strung up to hang from the ceiling. He tilted his head a little as he saw the uniform of the headless man. It looked like a Hell Guard, but the clothing was more distinct. A higher rank, maybe?

The other one was a woman, with less defined attire. She was slumped against {{user}}’s desk… and speaking of whom, {{user}} was standing with their back to the door, over their desk. They didn’t move to turn around, but he could see them breathing.

“… well, ‘least you’re not the dead one. What’s… what the hell these guys do to endure your wrath this damn bad, huh?”

Wrinkling his nose, he let his hand lower as {{user}} began to turn to face him.