Chapter Text
The walls loomed around her, oppressive and grim, their mottled gray surface smeared with years of grime and despair. The air reeked of damp concrete and something metallic, like rusted iron, that lingered no matter how much time passed. Each crack and stain on those walls whispered of failed attempts, shattered hopes, and lives slowly suffocated by the unyielding prison.
They were thick, impenetrable. Weak prisoners had tried chiseling away at them before, their desperation carved into jagged scratches barely visible in the murk. But those attempts only ever ended one way; a week in the suffocating isolation of solitary confinement, a punishment that gnawed at the mind until even the strongest found themselves unraveling.
The bars weren’t budging either, their cold steel indifferent to every shove or desperate kick. Not even the warden, with his smug, overbearing demeanor, had the strength to bend them. Vi huffed a bitter breath through her nose, her fists tightening at her sides. At least one thing could be said for the so-called City of Progress: their construction was flawless, unforgivingly so. In the two years she’d spent here, she’d seen many prisoners scheme, fight, and claw for a way out. Each plan fell apart, and each dream ended in failure.
They were all weak.
Sure, Vi wanted out as much as the next poor soul, but Stillwater wasn’t a place you escaped. Over time, she'd learned what it meant to survive here, surrounded by shadows and unyielding stone. Weakness was a death sentence. You couldn’t show it, couldn’t fall into line like cattle, and you sure as hell couldn’t bow to another prisoner. Survival of the fittest. That was the only rule that mattered in this hell.
Vi shifted to the side of her cramped cell, her gaze falling to her hands. The bandages wrapped around her knuckles and forearms were frayed and stained, but they were enough for now. After her last fight, the fabric had been a small triumph, scavenged in secret from the infirmary. They offered a fleeting comfort every time she threw a punch. Her knuckles still throbbed faintly beneath the layers, a reminder of the constant battles that kept her sharp and alive.
The bleak wall drew her focus like a magnet. With a growl, she threw her fist against it. The impact sent a sharp jolt through her arm, her knuckles stinging from the force. Pain flared up to her shoulder, but she didn’t stop. Her lips curled back in a grimace as she hammered another punch at the unyielding concrete. Vander’s voice echoed in her mind, calm yet firm, as if he were standing beside her.
Every punch tightened her chest, her breaths growing shallower and faster. Left, right. Left, right. The rhythm came like a drumbeat, a brutal anthem to her anger. Every face she’d fought back at the cannery flickered before her eyes. Every sneer, every mocking laugh.
Knock them down. Pick them up. Knock them down again.
They deserved it - every last one of them.
Powder’s wide, innocent eyes flashed in her mind, unbidden. Her rhythm faltered, her punches growing harder, wilder. She had to get back to her. She had to apologize, to make things right. Vander had told her to protect her sister, but she’d failed. Failed utterly.
What kind of sister am I?
Her next punch was a haymaker, her entire body twisting into the motion. The sickening crack of her knuckles meeting concrete reverberated through her. Pain, sharp and bright, ripped through her hand. She stepped back, panting, staring at the blood smeared on the wall. The sight of it, dark red against cold gray, felt like a challenge thrown at her by the prison itself.
Her legs gave out, and she slid down the wall, collapsing onto the floor slick with her own sweat and blood. The world seemed to spin as faint, echoing footsteps reached her ears, distant and hollow. A guard on patrol, no doubt, though the sound only deepened her exhaustion.
When the footsteps stopped in front of her cell, she glanced up. The guard’s silhouette stood framed by the dim, flickering light of the hallway. His eyes raked over her, lingering in that way she’d grown too accustomed to. Close to every man in this damned place looked at her like that, their stares heavy with predatory intent.
The inmates at least were predictable. Vi had left more than one of them sprawled on the floor, bruised and beaten. The guards were a different problem. She couldn’t fight them—at least, not yet. But their restraint wasn’t for her sake. The rules kept them at bay, though for how long, she didn’t know.
She met the guard’s leering gaze with a glare. “Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer,” she spat, her voice sharp as broken glass.
The man smirked, tilting his baton with a lazy gesture. “No doubt about that. I see you’re doing a fine job hurting yourself without the warden’s help.”
Vi rolled her shoulder, testing the sting in her knuckles. “What’s the matter? Scared to step in and fight a sixteen-year-old without your sad little stick?”
The smirk widened. “Careful with your words, girl. You know how this would end.” He tapped the baton against the bars for emphasis, the sound sharp and menacing.
“Too scared. Got it,” she said flatly, though her tone dripped with venom.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m not here to indulge your fantasies of rebellion. Just thought you’d like to know you’re getting a cellmate. Soon.”
Vi’s lip curled. A cellmate? Wonderful. Just another punching bag. “Fantastic. Can’t wait to meet him.”
The guard’s smirk deepened, his expression dripping with satisfaction. “Oh, I think you’ll find him… interesting.”
Vi’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t respond. Let them send whoever they wanted. She’d deal with it, just like everything else. Survival was all that mattered, and she’d survive no matter what.
“Of course, the warden will know if any… complications should arise,” the guard grinned, leaning against the bars. “I’ll let him know you’re ready for your new friend.”
As the guard’s footsteps faded, she clenched her fists, staring at the bloodied wall. Her knuckles throbbed, but she ignored it. This cellmate of hers would break her. The warden wouldn’t break her, hell, Stillwater wouldn’t break her. She couldn’t allow it…
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“Can you teach me to fight?”
Sevika nearly spat out her drink, the sharp tang of alcohol burning her throat as she swallowed too quickly. She slammed the glass down on the table, glaring at the source of her interrupted peace.
“Kid, what did I tell you about sneaking up on me?” she growled, brushing away the droplets of liquor that had splashed onto her poncho.
The Last Drop was alive with its usual chaos: chemthugs slamming dice onto battered tables, gamblers cursing their luck, and Silco’s enforcers weaving through the haze of smoke and shouted bets. This corner of the bar was Sevika’s retreat, her sanctuary. Here, she could nurse her drink, indulge in her card games, and savor the thrill of outplaying the desperate fools sitting across from her.
But money wasn’t the reward, being Silco’s lieutenant paid more than enough. No, it was about the look in her opponents’ eyes when she revealed her winning hand, the delicious frustration they couldn’t quite hide. Silco called it an obsession. Sevika called it fun.
But even here, in her self-proclaimed haven, there was no escaping Jinx.
The girl stood beside her now, all wide eyes and barely-contained energy, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips. Still only twelve years old, and somehow she manages to look both menacing and endearing at the same time. Probably those freaky eyes of hers, Sevika thought.
Despite snapping at Jinx only moments ago, everyone knew Sevika didn’t mind her. Not anymore. Sure, Jinx’s constant barrage of pointless questions, which she could’ve asked any other time when Sevika wasn’t playing cards, could grate on her nerves… but she liked Jinx. Even when she was being a little terror.
Especially when she was being a little terror.
But this question? This was new.
“Yeah, I know what you said, Sevi,” Jinx spoke, poking Sevika’s metal arm through the soft material of her poncho. “I just kinda, y’know, ignored it.”
Sevika would’ve sighed if she didn’t already expect such an answer from the little devil. Right, the question… She raised an eyebrow, studying the girl’s face for any sign of her usual jokes. “You? Fight? Aren’t you a bit too young?”
Jinx’s grin only widened. “Exactly! Nobody would expect it from me!” As Sevika didn’t respond, Jinx only rolled her eyes. “C’mon, Sevi! You’re like… the strongest person I know! If anyone can teach me how to fight, it’s you.”
Sevika smirked, shaking her head. “Appreciate the compliment, but I really doubt I could be of much help. We’re not exactly the same weight class.” She crossed her legs, keeping her gaze at the blue-haired girl. “Besides, all that… Shimmer in your body? More than enough to make it out of a fight, even without training.”
Jinx crossed her arms, tapping her fingers impatiently. She didn’t seem concerned about Sevika mentioning the Shimmer in her system. The girl hadn’t said a thing about it ever since that visit to the Doctor, which honestly concerned Sevika. If anything, Jinx should’ve been reacting harder after such a traumatic event, right?
“Yeah, yeah, maybe you’re right… but I wanna learn the real stuff. Like… how to punch for real! Oh, oh, and kicking! And maybe even flipping someone over if they get too close.” Her voice was animated, her hands mimicking an imaginary takedown.
Sevika chuckled softly, turning her attention back to her cards. “I’ll think about it, kid. Let me finish this game first,” she muttered, casting a pointed glance at her increasingly annoyed opponents. “These fools are too easy to walk away from now.”
“Ooh! I wanna watch!” Before Sevika could object, Jinx had scrambled into the empty chair beside her, her elbows hitting the table with a loud thunk.
Sevika sighed, resigned, yet carrying a soft smile. “Fine. But keep quiet.”
Jinx nodded enthusiastically, her pink eyes flickering with excitement as she leaned in to watch the game unfold. Sevika played with practiced precision, her sharp gaze darting between her cards and her opponents’ faces. Every twitch, every subtle shift in posture, told her exactly what she needed to know.
Jinx, for all her energy, stayed surprisingly quiet. Her focus was locked on the game, her fingers drumming lightly against the table as she followed every move.
By the time Sevika laid down her final hand - winning yet again - she had already made her decision.
The kid wanted to learn how to fight? Fine. Silco might not approve, but Sevika knew that the kid needed to learn something eventually. Sure, Shimmer would do half the job for her, but that was just raw power, raw potential. If she could channel some of that into something sharper, something deadlier… well, it couldn’t hurt to try.
Scooping up her winnings, Sevika pushed back her chair and rose to her feet. “Alright, I’m done here.”
Jinx hopped up beside her, practically bouncing with anticipation. “So? Are you gonna teach me? When do we start? Now? Tomorrow? Right now?!”
Sevika rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small grin. “Tomorrow,” she said firmly, striding toward the exit. “First thing in the morning.”
Jinx let out a whoop of victory, skipping after her like a giddy child.
Sevika glanced back at the girl, shaking her head. She was going to regret this, wasn’t she?
“Alright, alright. Enough celebrating,” Sevika said, waving a hand to quiet Jinx’s chatter. “You want me to teach you? Then you better be ready to work, kid. I don’t go easy.”
Jinx’s grin widened, her pink eyes sparkling with excitement. “Oh, I’m ready, Sevi. You just wait and see.”
Sevika chuckled, leading the way out of the bar.
… Silco would definitely cut her paycheck this month though…
═════ ◈ ═════
The dry, blood-stained floor's surface was becoming more and more familiar to Vi at this point, its sticky texture almost etched into her memory. It was like a second home in this godforsaken prison, really. A home where the walls bled despair and the echoes of past screams clung to the cold, unyielding stone. The air was the same, still biting against her skin, sharp and unforgiving. The stench of rot hadn’t changed either, a vile cocktail of decay and sweat that clawed its way into her nostrils and refused to leave.
But then again, how much could really change in the span of a day?
“Five-one-six, back at it again.” The grating voice of her dear old “cellmate,” the warden of this fine establishment, dragged her back to the present. Yup, she was back in that room, the one where she was granted the generous privilege of having the shit kicked out of her on the regular. The room's dim light seemed to flicker in time with the pounding in her skull, casting shadows that slithered across the walls like cruel specters.
“I figured we’d see each other tonight. The fresh meat didn’t last long with you, I take it.”
It wasn’t a question. It was an observation, delivered with the casual cruelty of someone who delighted in predicting misery. And of course, it was a correct one at that.
Vi chuckled, a low, rasping sound that carried a hint of defiance. Her split lips twitched into a victorious smirk despite the sting of torn flesh. “Yeah, well, you know me…”
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
“Ah, my new cellmate, finally.” Vi mockingly praised the guards standing on the other side of the bars, slow-clapping with exaggerated flair. Her palms echoed dully in the cold, stale air. She recognized the one on the left, smug-face from earlier. Only now, his self-satisfied smirk had hardened into the stern mask of someone pretending to take this job seriously. The change didn’t faze her. If anything, it made the game more fun.
“The waiting time was starting to get to me. I was promised a friend hours ago.”
“Shut it, Undercity scum,” the other guard growled. His voice lacked bite, sounding about as threatening as an angry poro, a ridiculous juxtaposition that made Vi's smirk widen.
“Am I not allowed to complain about my stay?”
Knucklehead, her new nickname for the guard who had spoken, opened his mouth to retort, but his partner cut him off with a sharp gesture. “Don’t even bother.”
Vi shrugged with a casual defiance, the motion only accentuating her smirk. “At least he gets it.”
“Step away from the bars, five-one-six,” barked the one with the keys, all business.
Vi raised her hands in mock surrender, the chains around her wrists jangling as she backed into her cell. Yes, they’d apparently found it necessary to chain her wrists, not that hindered her movement too much. If anything, this was more like a weapon to her.
Her shoulder blades hit the cold, unyielding wall, and she let herself slide into a relaxed pose, one boot casually propped against the stone. Her smirk widened as she caught Knucklehead sighing in frustration. A little victory, but one she savored.
Key-man ignored her antics entirely, his fingers working the lock with the precision of practice. The click of the mechanism was sharp, and the door screeched open. With a swift, almost dismissive motion, he shoved her new cellmate inside.
Now, she could finally get a good look at him.
The man was massive. His shoulders looked wide enough to block out the flickering light above, and the bulk of his arms strained against the seams of his uniform. Scars crisscrossed his hands, creeping up his forearms like jagged white lightning. His brown eyes were hard, his thick brows drawn into a scowl that seemed etched into his face. His scruffy beard matched the dark shade of his cropped hair, and though his expression was unreadable, his body screamed tension.
This was a fighter. A survivor. Definitely from the Undercity, Vi deduced. Only someone from her side of the river came out of life with those kinds of scars.
She sighed internally. The warden’s little games had never been subtle. Vi didn’t need to be a genius to understand why they’d dropped this hulk in her lap. He was a tool - whether to be used against her or to test her strength, she wasn’t sure yet. Either way, the endgame was obvious: she was being set up for another trip to solitary, or worse, a fight she’d intentionally lose to avoid the warden.
Fine by her. She’d already chosen which way this would go, and the consequences could take a backseat.
But she would wait. Let the guy settle. Let him think he’d won the lottery of cellmates for just a moment before it all came crashing down. False security was the best kind.
“Hey,” she greeted, her voice dripping with mock friendliness as the guards turned to leave. Her smirk lingered, sharp and unwavering. “Name’s five-one-six. What’s yours?”
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
“I saw your work,” the warden commented, his gravelly voice pulling Vi back to the grim present. Her eyes darted to his face, studying every detail of his unreadable expression. His features were carved from stone, impossible to crack, and yet, there was always something lurking beneath, something vile.
“I’m impressed.”
Vi scoffed, the sound sharp and bitter. “How kind of you to visit him in the infirmary. Here I was, thinking you didn’t care about us at all.” Her voice dripped with venom, her tone mocking, but her grey eyes stayed sharp, calculating.
At that, the warden chuckled, a low, unsettling sound that made her stomach twist. He reached for his baton, the one she’d grown far too familiar with. The massive metal stick gleamed in the dim light, its surface marred with smears of dried blood—her blood, most likely. The sight stirred something in her chest, a flash of disgust and anger she barely managed to swallow down.
“I care more than you might think, girl.” He spun the baton lazily, as if this was a game he enjoyed far too much. “Why do you think you’re here again?” His eyes moved over her, scanning her body with an intensity that made her skin crawl. That look, cold, calculating, and something else she didn’t want to name, sent a shiver down her spine.
Her stomach churned. She’d seen that kind of gaze before, in the prisons, on the streets of the Undercity. It wasn’t curiosity or assessment. It was ownership , like she was something to be used, broken, or bartered.
“We’ve had a lot of fun together, haven’t we, five-one-six?”
Vi refused to answer. Her jaw tightened as she stared at the floor, focusing on the faint patterns the dried blood made on the concrete. She didn’t need to speak. She’d already read him, seen through the cracks in his mask. And that’s when it hit her like a punch to the gut.
The guards… they’d never touched her the way the prisoners wanted to. Not because of some unwritten code of decency. No, it wasn’t decency at all. It was something else, something darker, more calculated.
She wasn’t legal. That was the only thing keeping them at bay.
Her chest tightened, the realization filling her with a seething kind of fury. Her grey eyes snapped back to him, and this time, she didn’t bother to hide the hatred burning in them. For once, his usually unreadable expression cracked, just slightly, and she caught it, a flicker of disappointment, or maybe something worse.
Blood dripped down the side of her face, warm and sticky, trailing from the cut on her head. The metallic scent mixed with the prison’s stale air, fueling the fire in her veins. Her fists clenched tightly at her sides, nails digging into her palms until they broke skin. The pain grounded her, sharpened her thoughts.
“Just get this over with,” she spat, her voice low but steady, filled with defiance.
Whatever the warden had been expecting, it wasn’t that. His disappointment deepened, etched into the lines of his face. Vi allowed herself a final, fleeting moment of satisfaction. The defiance in her stance, the glint in her eyes, it had annoyed him. That alone was a victory.
And then the world went dark.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
Her cellmate's eyes roamed over her, the same way they always did, hungry, assessing, as if sizing up a piece of meat instead of a person. It was a look she’d seen a thousand times before, and the sheer predictability of it made her lip curl into a scowl.
“Geez,” she muttered, her voice dripping with disdain. “My eyes are up here, scruffy.”
The man didn’t even flinch at her sharp words. Instead, he let out a low chuckle, his deep voice echoing in the still, suffocating air of the prison. He tilted his head slightly, his posture relaxed, but his gaze carried a weight that dared her to flinch. She stood her ground.
“Ah, now I understand,” he said, his tone calm but laced with a smugness that made her jaw tighten. He ignored her words completely, switching topics without a care. “I was wondering how someone like you could survive Stillwater. But now it makes sense…”
“Oh yeah, scruffy?” Vi shot back, her voice sharp as a blade. Her eyebrows furrowed, her grey eyes narrowing as she leaned slightly forward, challenging him. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”
She’d expected this. Men like him always came with their overconfidence and assumptions, acting like they’d figured her out in seconds. What surprised her was how fast he’d started running his mouth. It was almost funny, the way they all thought they were so unique.
His chuckle deepened, a sound that might’ve unsettled someone weaker. Someone less familiar with the rhythms of Stillwater and the men it chewed up and spat out. To Vi, it wasn’t intimidating - it was fuel. His arrogance only fed the fire simmering under her skin, her smirk twitching back into place.
“Oh, I’ll show you instead, dear,” he drawled, dragging the word out with mockery, his smirk widening as if he’d already won this fight.
Vi’s fists clenched, the chains around her wrists rattling softly. She rolled her shoulders, loosening the tension that coiled in her muscles. A small part of her relished the thought of knocking that smug grin off his face. It would be fun, more satisfying than most of the nameless grunts she’d dealt with before.
“Can’t wait to see what you’ve got, scruffy,” she muttered under her breath, her voice low and sharp, her smirk cutting like a knife.
The tension snapped like a taut wire as Scruffy stepped forward, rolling his shoulders, his broad frame casting a looming shadow under the flickering lights. Vi stood her ground, her chains rattling faintly as her fingers flexed, her stance steady.
“No need to wait,” he said, voice dripping with confidence. His grin widened, showing teeth. “Let’s get started.”
Vi’s smirk didn’t falter. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, big guy.”
He lunged first, a predictable, wide swing aimed at her head. Vi ducked under it with ease, the whoosh of air brushing her hair as his fist sailed past her. She pivoted on her heel, the chains around her wrists clinking softly as she planted an elbow square into his ribs. The sharp sound of impact echoed through the cell, and Scruffy grunted, staggering back a step.
“Not bad,” he muttered, straightening, the grin slipping from his face. “But it’ll take more than that.”
His next strike came quicker - a jab aimed at her stomach. This time, she wasn’t fast enough. His fist connected, driving the air from her lungs in a rush. Pain flared through her midsection, but she bit it back, retreating a few steps to catch her breath. She spat a small glob of blood onto the floor, glaring at him.
“That all you’ve got, scruffy?” she taunted, forcing herself upright. Her voice was strained, but the fire in her eyes didn’t waver.
He didn’t reply, charging at her instead, his arms outstretched like he planned to tackle her to the ground. She shifted sideways at the last second, her smaller frame moving faster than his bulk. Her foot shot out, catching him in the knee. The impact sent him stumbling, and she took the opening to drive her knee into his face as he pitched forward.
Blood spurted from his nose, splattering across the cell floor. He roared, reeling back and clutching his face, but not before swinging blindly with one arm. The heavy blow caught her across the jaw, sending her spinning into the wall. Her vision blurred for a moment, stars dancing in her eyes as pain exploded along her cheekbone.
“Lucky shot,” she muttered, shaking her head to clear it. She wiped the blood trickling from her lip with the back of her hand and straightened again, her stance low and ready. “You’re slowing down. Already getting old?”
The taunt worked. Scruffy charged again, but his movements were sloppier now, the anger and pain dulling his precision. Vi sidestepped him, planting her foot on the wall to propel herself forward. She used the momentum to leap onto his back, wrapping her chains around his neck like a makeshift garrote.
He thrashed, trying to throw her off, but Vi held tight, her arms locked around his throat. She twisted the chains tighter, cutting off his air. His struggles grew frantic, his movements slowing as he stumbled into the wall. She drove her elbow into the back of his head for good measure, and with a final grunt, he collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath.
Vi stood over him, panting heavily, blood dripping from her lip and staining the collar of her shirt. Her ribs ached, and her jaw throbbed, but she smirked down at him anyway.
“Guess you’re not as tough as you thought,” she said, her voice laced with mockery.
Scruffy groaned, clutching his throat as he glared up at her. He didn’t have the strength to answer, not anymore.
“That’s what I thought,” Vi muttered, leaning back against the cell wall, her smirk softening into something more satisfied.
She could allow herself that feeling, right? The warden would put her in that room again, but at least she won this fight, just like all the others.
And she didn’t plan on giving up any time soon.
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Silco leaned back in the worn leather of his chair, its embrace soft but unyielding, much like the man himself. The room was dim, illuminated only by the sickly green glow from the circular window behind him and the small lamp on his desk.
This was his sanctuary, the chair his “throne”, the nerve center of the Undercity. He tapped his fingers lightly on the armrest, his nails clicking against the material.
Before him lay a chaotic sprawl of papers, their edges curling from the damp air that seemed to cling to everything in Zaun. A half-burnt cigar rested in his colorful ashtray nearby, its faint wisp of smoke curling upward and disappearing into the gloom. He reached for it absentmindedly, rolling it between his fingers but not lighting it.
His crimson eye glinted in the faint light as he skimmed yet another tedious letter from the Chem-Barons. Progress reports, requests for resources, empty promises to push the borders of the Undercity’s influence, all the same drivel, rephrased and repackaged a hundred different ways. Silco’s lip curled in disdain as he discarded the letter onto the already crowded desk.
“Fools,” he muttered under his breath.
They were predictable, these so-called leaders of the Undercity. Only driven by greed, clinging to power not through loyalty or vision, but by their dependence on Shimmer. And why wouldn’t they be? It was his creation, his weapon, and his leash.
Silco’s fingers tightened around the cigar as his thoughts spiraled. They all believed they could stand on their own, but he knew better. Without him, they were nothing.
Yet, as much as their antics frustrated him, it was the Shimmer itself that haunted him most now. He glanced toward a small vial of the violet liquid sitting in a reinforced case on the far edge of his desk, its unnatural glow mocking him. Power… it had given him power. Over the Undercity, over the Chem-Barons. But at what cost?
His mind wandered to Jinx… to her fragile body stretched out on the cold operating table, Singed’s hands steady but clinical as they worked to save her. The girl had endured so much - more than anyone should - and Shimmer had been her salvation. It had healed her, given her strength, kept her alive when nothing else could.
But it had also twisted others, turned countless lives into horrors he could no longer ignore. The addicts in the streets, their hollow eyes begging for another dose. Families broken by desperation, mothers selling everything for a single vial to keep the withdrawal at bay. The people of the Undercity - his people - suffered under the weight of the very substance that gave him power.
The scales tipped in his mind, the balance impossibly skewed. What kind of nation could he build on the backs of the broken and addicted? Would his vision of Zaun ever be free, or would he merely be replacing Piltover’s yoke with his own?
Is it too late to stop?
The question lingered, unspoken but heavy, as he let the cigar fall back into the ashtray with a muted clink. His hand moved to a letter he had been clutching without realizing it, the paper now crumpled and smudged. He stared at it for a moment, then cast it aside, letting it fall to the floor with a soft whisper of resignation.
The headache began to throb at his temples, dull but relentless. Silco pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes briefly. The Undercity called to him, its pulse always in the background, a reminder of his purpose. But for all his resolve, doubt gnawed at the edges of his mind like rats in the walls.
Silco stood from his chair, the weight of his earlier thoughts lingering. Just as he turned to leave, the office door creaked open, spilling light from the hallway. In stepped a flash of blue hair and boundless energy, followed closely by the imposing figure of Sevika. The sight of them pierced through his fog of doubt.
“Jinx,” he said, his voice softening into a tone reserved only for her. “What a wonderful surprise. I was under the impression you’d be keeping Sevika busy all day.” He knelt, his sharp, calculating presence melting away as his hand ruffled her wild blue locks. Her giggle bubbled up, light and airy, a sound that made the dim office feel a fraction brighter.
Silco’s gaze shifted downward, his sharp eye catching the movement of her right hand, hiding something behind her back. Always full of surprises.
“Sevika said she had nothing left to teach me, so we came back,” Jinx declared casually, shrugging with all the nonchalance of a child.
Silco straightened, fixing Sevika with a look that was neither harsh nor gentle. It was an unspoken reprimand. The woman held his gaze without a flicker of remorse, arms crossed, her stoicism unyielding.
So, the rumors had been true. Sevika had been teaching Jinx how to fight.
“You’re a quick learner, aren’t you?” Silco asked, his voice calm and measured, though his thoughts churned.
Jinx beamed, her grin lighting up her face. “Yeah! She said so too, right, Sevi?”
Sevika chuckled, her lips curving into a smirk. “You got that right. Really surprised me, kid.”
The praise made Jinx’s smile widen to something almost impossibly radiant. Silco allowed himself a rare, genuine smile in return. He only ever let that mask slip when it was the three of them - a strange little family, as Jinx had once put it.
“Oh!” Jinx’s sudden exclamation snapped him from his thoughts. Her amethyst eyes shimmered as they shifted to an intense, glowing pink, excitement coursing through her like electricity. She thrust her hand forward, revealing a small cup painted in a chaotic array of colors. “I made this for you”
Silco took it delicately from her grasp, turning it over in his long, thin fingers. The surface bore her unmistakable style. He was expecting more colorful monsters, just like most of her drawings… but this time, the images were different. His sharp gaze softened as realization dawned.
“#1 Boss Dad,”
the words scrawled messily beneath a crude but recognizable drawing of him, with her by his side.
A breath hitched in his throat. Warmth bloomed in his chest, alien and overwhelming. It wasn’t like her other gifts. This… this was different.
Sure, she had called him "Dad" once before, but this felt deliberate, tangible. His grip on the cup tightened slightly, as though holding on to the moment itself.
“D-do you like it?” Jinx’s voice wavered, small and unsure. Her earlier exuberance seemed to falter under the weight of her nerves. “I-I-if it’s t-too much, I could-”
“No,” Silco interjected, the word sharp and hurried, making her flinch. He winced at his own tone, cursing himself for his lack of restraint. He softened his voice immediately, holding the cup closer to his chest. “No… I like it, Jinx. I really like it.”
Her timid smile returned, her confidence slowly blooming again. “... You love it?”
His lips curved into a tender smile, one that felt foreign even to him. “I do. I love it, Jinx.”
Her joy erupted, unrestrained and infectious. “I knew it! IknewitIknewitIknewitIknewit!” she chanted, bouncing on the balls of her feet as though her excitement couldn’t be contained.
Both Silco and Sevika chuckled at the sight. When was the last time she’d been this happy? Silco searched his memory but came up empty. It didn’t matter - this moment was enough.
“Oh, oh! I’ll get more! I mean… I’ll… make more! Anything! I gotta go!” Jinx’s words came tumbling out as she turned and bolted from the room, her form a blur of pink and blue energy.
Silco watched her go, the faint trail of Shimmer-light following her. She was learning to control it, it seemed. Learning to harness the chaotic power coursing through her veins.
“Seems like the kid’s energy is returning,” Sevika remarked, a low chuckle escaping her lips as she closed the heavy office door behind her. The sound echoed faintly in the dimly lit office, sealing them in a pocket of quiet.
Silco arched an eyebrow, his attention momentarily fixed on the closed door. Why linger? the thought flickered briefly. He adjusted his posture, leaning against the edge of his desk, sharp eyes narrowing at Sevika.
She crossed the room with her usual unhurried gait, the soft clink of metal against fabric accompanying her as she sank into the battered couch. The casualness of her demeanor grated at Silco's nerves.
He broke the silence with a dry scoff. “Why are you teaching her how to fight?”
Sevika shrugged without a hint of remorse, stretching one arm across the back of the couch as though this were any other conversation. “This is the Undercity, sir. Survival of the fittest. She needs to know.”
“She’s twelve,” he shot back, his tone a sharp edge. “I wouldn’t even allow her outside alone.”
At that, Sevika barked out another laugh, rough and knowing. “And what makes you think you can stop her? She’s already been outside alone. She has her ways.”
Silco froze, her words landing like a sudden strike. His lips pressed into a thin line, blue and orange eyes narrowing dangerously. “And you didn’t find it important to share that information?”
“I honestly thought you knew, sir,” Sevika replied with a smirk, unrepentant as ever. “She’s not exactly subtle.”
The heat of anger flared, but it fizzled just as quickly, leaving Silco feeling… tired. He rubbed his temple, retreating to the familiar embrace of his chair. The worn leather sighed under his weight as he slumped back, the faint green glow of his desk lamp casting sharp shadows across his face.
Sevika’s voice cut through his thoughts, the teasing lilt replaced by something heavier, more deliberate. “Speaking of subtle…”
Silco lifted his gaze, meeting hers.
“Jinx,” Sevika began, her tone somber, “she’s not subtle when it comes to her Shimmer enhancements, sir. There are rumors running around. About her. About what’s inside her.”
Silco waved a dismissive hand, a scoff rising to his lips. “I’m not interested in senseless rumors, Sevika. I’m only interested in facts.”
Her gaze hardened, jaw tightening as she straightened slightly in her seat. “Then take this as a fact, Silco.”
At that, his focus sharpened, her rare use of his name slicing through his defenses like a blade.
Her voice was low, steady, with an edge of urgency. “Rumors in the Lanes don’t stay rumors for long. Someone will try to get to her.”
The words hit him like a hammer, driving the breath from his chest. His hand gripped the armrest of his chair, knuckles pale against his scarred skin.
She’s right, he thought bitterly, the weight of it pressing down on him like an iron shackle.
For all his careful planning, his meticulous control over the Undercity’s fractured chaos, this was a blind spot. He’d allowed himself to see Jinx as untouchable, but with her lack of care regarding these Shimmer-enhancements, she’d suddenly become a target.
“That… won’t do,” he muttered finally, his voice quiet, almost to himself.
Sevika nodded curtly, her usual smirk absent, replaced by a grim understanding. “No. It won’t.”
The two sat in a heavy silence. Silco’s mind churned, grappling with the reality Sevika had forced him to confront.
“I’ll figure something out,” Silco said, his voice low but charged with unwavering resolve. He leaned forward in his chair, hands clasped as his sharp eyes flicked toward the faint glow of the lamp. Shadows from the dim green light played across his angular face, accentuating the hardened lines of determination etched into his features.
“They will not touch her. No one will.”
The words hung in the air like a commandment, absolute and unyielding. Silco’s gaze shifted to Sevika. She sat steady as ever, her metal arm resting casually at her side, her dark eyes giving away little.
“Was there anything else, then?” he asked, his voice losing some of its sharpness but retaining its edge.
“Yeah,” Sevika said, rising from the worn couch with a deliberate slowness. She reached into her pocket, withdrawing a folded piece of paper. She stepped forward, placing it on his desk with a faint thud. “Mantaire. He’s been arrested.”
Silco’s brow furrowed as he unfolded the note, his mismatched eyes scanning the text with a growing sense of irritation. The sheriff’s handwriting was unmistakable - Marcus’s usual blunt style scrawled across the page.
“For Janna’s sake…” Silco muttered under his breath, the words carrying an exasperated weight. He let the paper drop onto the chaos of his desk where it joined the scattered reports and letters from earlier. His fingers drummed rhythmically against the armrest of his chair, each tap a beat of contemplation as he calculated the implications.
“Schedule a meeting with Marcus,” he said finally, his tone decisive.
“You’re actually planning on getting him out?” Sevika’s skepticism cut through the air, her brow raised in genuine disbelief.
Silco turned his head toward her, his gaze sharp and unwavering. “Mantaire is an idiot,” he began, his words measured. “A fool who gets himself into more trouble than I can count.” He leaned back in his chair, fingers brushing through his slicked-back hair in a rare gesture of frustration. “But he’s loyal. Loyal to the idea of Zaun. And I reward loyalty.”
For a moment, Sevika said nothing, her usual stoicism faltering. Her gaze dropped slightly. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter, tinged with an uncharacteristic softness. “I know. That’s why I follow you.”
She hesitated, the pause speaking volumes. “Why I followed… Vander.”
The name landed between them like a weight, the silence that followed charged with unspoken memories. Silco’s jaw tightened, the faintest twitch in his scarred face betraying the regret that lingered there. The air felt heavier, thick with the shared burden of a past neither could fully escape.
But Sevika didn’t linger. She straightened, her posture firm once more as she met his gaze, her expression hardened into the familiar mask of practicality. “We’ll have to do it slowly. We can’t arouse suspicion.”
“I know,” Silco said with a curt nod. “It’ll likely take a couple of months. Marcus is a valuable asset, and I won’t risk losing him.”
Sevika’s agreement was wordless, a faint grunt of acknowledgement as she moved to the door. Silco watched her go, the faint metallic clink of her prosthetic arm accompanying her steps.
When the door clicked shut behind her, Silco let his head fall back against the chair, exhaling slowly. His fingers found the cup Jinx had left behind, tracing the crude but heartfelt lettering.
Loyalty…
It was a concept he clung to, perhaps even a weakness if he let himself admit it. But loyalty wasn’t just a shield; it was the foundation of everything he was building. Zaun could never rise on fractured alliances and selfish ambition alone. That’s why the Chem-Barons needed to be dealt with, one way or another.
But for now, Mantaire would have to be dealt with, carefully and methodically.
And the potential threat against Jinx… that was something else entirely. Something he would have to deal with fast.
He let his fingers tighten around the cup, the faint warmth of the sentiment it represented grounding him as he turned back to the tangled web of problems he had yet to unravel. After the threat against Jinx has been eliminated, he’d get back to these. One problem at a time.
═════ ◈ ═════
The cafeteria buzzed with low murmurs and the occasional scrape of utensils on metal trays, but Vi tuned it all out. She stood near the back, leaning against the wall with her tray balanced on one hand, her other gripping the edge of it a little too tightly. Her body ached, every bruise and cut from the warden’s “lesson” the night before making themselves known. The bastard had taken his time, each swing of his baton deliberate, each word designed to cut as deep as the metal did.
“You’ll break eventually,” he’d said, his voice dripping with sadistic certainty as she lay crumpled on the freezing concrete floor, barely conscious. He’d waited, too… waited for her to wake so she could feel every blow.
Her jaw clenched at the memory, her grip tightening until the tray creaked in protest. One day, he’ll regret it, she thought, the resolve burning hot in her chest. I’ll make sure of it.
One day at a time, she reminded herself, breathing to calm herself. She ignored the stares from the other prisoners, the way they glanced at her and then quickly away, as if afraid to hold her gaze too long. Word traveled fast in Stillwater. They’d no doubt heard about what happened with Scruffy yesterday, how she’d taken him down in their cell.
Her lips twitched into a faint smirk despite herself. Speaking of Scruffy… she scanned the cafeteria lazily, looking for his bulky frame. Nowhere to be seen. Did I really go that hard on him? Wow.
Her musings were interrupted by the metallic clunk of the cafeteria door slamming open. A guard’s barked command cut through the air: “Get in there, it’s time for grub.”
Vi’s eyes flicked toward the door, her casual interest quickly giving way to sharp focus. Her breath caught as she saw who had just been shoved inside.
Her tray slipped from her hand, clattering loudly to the floor. The sound silenced the cafeteria, drawing every gaze toward her. But Vi didn’t care about the stares. Her vision tunneled, locking onto the blonde, wiry man standing frozen in the doorway.
Her nails dug into her palms, fists curling tight as a growl rose unbidden from her throat. “You,” she spat, her voice low but brimming with venom. “You’re with him.”
The man blinked at her, confusion clouding his face for a brief moment. Then, as recognition dawned, his expression shifted. His eyes widened, his mouth opening slightly as if to protest. And then fear swallowed him whole.
“W-wait!” he stammered, his voice cracking as he dropped to his knees. His hands shot up in surrender, palms outstretched as if he could physically ward off her rage. “Please! I-I didn’t- You’ve got it all wrong! Just listen-”
He kept talking, words spilling out in a desperate tumble, but Vi didn’t hear them. She didn’t want to hear them. Her blood roared in her ears, drowning out the world around her. Every step she took toward him was deliberate, her fists trembling with the force of her restraint.
He scrambled backward on his knees, his pleas growing more frantic with every inch she closed. “No, no, please, I-I’m sorry! Just let me explain! I-”
Vi didn’t listen.
Her fist came down like a hammer, cutting off his words with a sickening crack as it connected with his face. He yelped, collapsing onto the cold cafeteria floor, but she didn’t stop. She followed him down, her fists raining down in a blur, each hit punctuated by the fury burning in her chest. Every swing was a release, every impact a catharsis.
Around her, the cafeteria was silent. No one dared intervene, not the prisoners, not even the guards. Or maybe they just ignored her. This was Stillwater. Violence was the only language that mattered here, and right now, Vi was fluent.
She’d get punished for this later, she knew as much. But every single punch was worth it. He was there on that night, and now he could finally pay for it.
When she finally stopped, her breath was ragged, her hands sticky with blood - his and hers. The wiry man lay beneath her, groaning weakly, his face a swollen mess of bruises and blood. She stared down at him, her chest heaving, her heart still pounding in her ears.
“You don’t get to ask for mercy,” she hissed, her voice low and shaking with anger. “Not from me.”
She shoved herself to her feet, ignoring the way her ribs screamed in protest. The guards began to move, stepping forward with their batons ready. She shot them a glare, daring them to make the first move, and they hesitated, their grip tightening but their steps faltering.
Good, perhaps this act would install fear in them.
Satisfied, she turned away, grabbing a random tray off a nearby table, ignoring the low voice of a complaint. Her hands shook slightly as she forced herself to take a deep breath. The fire in her veins was still there, but for now, it had been sated.