Chapter Text
The warehouse was cold, dimly lit by a single hanging bulb that flickered every so often. Silco stood near an old wooden table, its surface scarred by years of use. He adjusted his tie, then ran his finger along the wood grains, noting the lack of dust it picked up.
His mismatched eyes scanned the room as he waited. The old, briny scent of the docks wafted through the cracked windows, mingling with the faint smell of oil and something metallic.
Powder had asked him to meet her there, though they’d taken separate routes to avoid raising suspicion about their association. When she’d shown up at his office earlier, her voice crackled with the manic energy he’d come to recognize as distinctly her own, brimming with a strange, insistent urgency, she had demanded he arrived to this specific location, coordinates and all.
Tonight was her night to demonstrate what she could bring to his growing empire.
Of course, he had researched her thoroughly the night after they met. Powder was an unusual name, but after some digging he found one Miss Posey Lanes, who goes by Powder with her friends.
Was she a druggie, after him for his product? He had no clue, and Silco hated not knowing.
Truthfully, Silco hadn’t originally wanted to get surrounded by this mafia business. But after witnessing countless friends and family brutalized or killed by the pigs in blue, he felt cornered, as if the life he knew had left him with no other choice. Now, he ruled with an iron fist, his control over the drug trade cementing his reputation as someone no one dared to cross. Yet, even the strongest grip could falter, and he was acutely aware that he needed something—or someone—to ensure his competitors stayed within his control.
That’s when he had met Powder – he had been working on the idea of adding something more to his cocaine, leading to more addiction. More reliance. But she arrived neatly at his door, and he saw an opportunity.
Silco was a rarity in the world of organized crime—a man who operated with almost no personal connections. Everyone knew the mechanic who patched up cars riddled with bullet holes or the arms dealer who supplied the latest in firepower. But Silco? He had no trusted right-hand man, no loyal enforcer to call on if someone decided to break down his door in the dead of night.
This made him unique, his business nearly impossible to exploit—there were no close ties for rivals to target. Yet it also left him dangerously exposed, a lone figure with no one to watch his back should the inevitable storm come crashing down.
This was the problem Silco had been trying to solve. And then this random girl arrived in his lab, offered her help and hell – she had arrived armed.
She was a wildcard; and might just be the solution to his problems keeping the other mafia heads under control.
The faint sound of boots against concrete signaled her arrival. Silco turned as Powder strode into the room, a large duffel bag slung over her shoulder and a mischievous grin plastered across her face. Her oversized hoodie and short stature made her look almost comical toting around a bag of that size, but Silco knew better than to underestimate her.
“Evening, boss,” Powder greeted, her tone casual, almost playful, as if she’d just bumped into a classmate between lectures. However, something in her gaze burned with a dangerous excitement. The light caught her hand as she waved, reflecting off the metallic prosthetic of her middle finger. On the tip, a small X-eyed smiley face stared back.
“Miss Powder,” Silco greeted, his voice calm and measured. “I trust you’ve brought something… impressive.”
“Impressive doesn’t even begin to cover it,” The girl said with a laugh, the excitement in her voice bubbling over. She dropped the duffel bag onto the table with a heavy thud, unzipping it in one smooth motion. The bag’s contents gleamed faintly in the flickering light—metallic shapes, sharp edges, and intricate designs.
She stretched her arms over her head, then reached up to tug off her hood and beanie in one smooth motion. Impossibly long blue braids spilled free, tumbling down past her shoulders and brushing the backs of her boots. She tossed the beanie carelessly to the side, her grin widening as she caught Silco’s raised eyebrow.
He blinked once, his expression calm but vaguely intrigued. “A bold look,” he said dryly.
“Bold is my specialty,” Powder quipped, crouching to rummage through the bag.
“These,” she began, holding up a spherical device with jagged yellow stripes and doodles painted all across it, “are custom-made. I call this one a ‘Boomer!’ Big blast radius, lots of noise, perfect for scaring the hell out of people.” She tossed it up before catching it in her gloved hand, like a dangerous juggling game.
Silco raised an eyebrow.
She set it down and picked up a cylindrical device painted with flames. “This one’s a firebomb. Great for melting through doors, walls, or anyone stupid enough to get too close. Named her ‘Flamo!’”
Silco tilted his head, studying the bombs with mild curiosity. “And these are meant to… intimidate?”
“They can,” she drawled with a smirk, her face twitching. “But they can do a lot more than that.”
Silco nodded thoughtfully. It was bizarre, how violent this girl was. Was she involved in the mafia herself, somehow? Why was she so insistent on working with him? Some sort of spy?
She reached into the bag again and drew out a strange-looking pistol. The weapon’s design was crude, cobbled together from what appeared to be scrap pipe and salvaged parts. Like everything else she’d shown him, it was slathered in chaotic splotches of paint and silly doodles, giving it the appearance of a child’s art project.
At the center of the gun, a patchwork repair stood out: a different metallic material hastily welded over what was unmistakably an old bullet hole. Silco’s curiosity flared, a faint burning at the edge of his thoughts. Who had shot this weapon out of her hands? Or perhaps the better question was whether she had somehow managed to shoot herself. Neither possibility seemed out of the realm of reality with Powder.
“Check this out,” she said, pointing the pistol toward an old metal drum in the corner. She pulled the trigger, and a searing bolt of pink shot out, striking the drum with a loud hiss. Smoke poured from the barrel, curling up around her hand as she spun the pistol casually.
Silco’s eyes narrowed as he watched the smoke dissipate. “Impressive design,” he said, his tone carefully neutral. “Though pink smoke is… unusual.”
The smoke curled along her blue hair, making her look remarkably colorful for such a grim warehouse.
Powder smirked. “Just a little flair. You like it?”
Silco gave an absentminded nod, his gaze flicking to the drum. The metal glowed faintly where the plasma had hit, the heat warping its surface. “It’s effective,” he admitted. “Did you give this one a name as well?”
“Zapper!” She exclaimed, twirling the pistol again before holstering it. It seemed she could keep that gun on her often, considering that the hoodie perfectly hid the holster.
Silco folded his hands behind his back. “You’ve certainly put effort into presentation. But I’m more interested in the results. Can you use these weapons? Are they reliable, do they work when it matters?”
The girl’s grin turned predatory, and a chill went down his spine. “Oh, they work, alright. And I’m no slouch to shooting my way out of things. Want me to prove it?”
She didn’t wait for a response. Reaching into the bag, she pulled out a grenade covered in swirling pink and purple paint. “This one’s special. Made it just for you. Don’t know if you want more murdery-weapons or scary-not-killer-stuff, so I made this to act as either!”
Silco blinked slowly, still not yet used to the speed this girl moved through conversational beats. “How thoughtful,” he said.
Powder laughed, her eyes gleaming. For a split second, the light reflected off her eyes, lighting them up an almost neon-pink. Silco noted this in a mental list of her oddities. “I call it the ‘Choke and Smoke.’ Watch.”
She pulled the pin and lobbed the grenade toward the far end of the warehouse, her braids swinging wildly behind her. It ticked for a few heartbeats, then exploded in a burst of bright blue smoke, filling the air with a thick, choking cloud. Silco’s eye stung slightly, but he didn’t flinch.
“Gas-based dispersal,” he observed, his voice calm. “And the effects?”
Powder leaned against the table, her grin never faltering. “Mildly toxic. Enough to make people cough and panic and blather about, but not enough to kill—unless you chuck ’em into a confined space. Then it gets fun.”
Silco nodded thoughtfully, his mismatched eyes studying her. She was unpredictable and entirely too enthusiastic about destruction. But beneath her strange quirks, there was a sharp mind and a talent for innovation.
“Is that everything for tonight’s demonstration?” He asked.
Powder's grin stretched wider as she drew out a massive, multi-barreled machine gun, the barrels snapping into place with a menacing click. She slammed it onto the table with a resonant thud, running her fingers along the barrels with a possessive, almost affectionate touch. “This is Pow-Pow. She’s my girl. You need a room cleared? She’ll do it in ten seconds flat. Can’t help but love a girl like this,” she cooed at the weapon.
“And that?” Silco asked, tilting his head towards the metal shark head now leaning out of the duffle bag.
Powder reached into the bag and pulled out what seemed to be a rocket launcher designed to look like a grinning shark. The jagged teeth in front of the barrel gave it a menacing appearance, but the design was undeniably clever, if a bit dramatic. He noted the runes inscribed on the sides, something definitely different from her usual paint splatters. At the center, a blue, glowing segment pulsed softly, casting an eerie light. His curiosity was piqued.
“Fishbones,” she named proudly. “When she works? Nothing survives.”
Silco studied the launcher, his expression unreadable. “You’ve put considerable effort into these.”
“I put effort into everything I do,” Powder said, her voice dripping with casual confidence as she leaned against the table. “And I can do a hell of a lot more, if you’re interested.”
She hopped up onto the edge of the table, her movements careless and full of an energy that seemed to pulsate just beneath her skin. One of the bombs she’d arranged with such reckless abandon rolled off the edge, clattering to the floor. She didn’t even flinch. Her impossibly long blue braids coiled beneath her like restless snakes as she leaned forward, eyes gleaming with an intensity that felt electric.
“So?” she asked, her tone eager and taunting all at once. “What do you think?”
Silco’s gaze swept over the chaotic assortment of weapons on the table, down to the loose bombs rolling across the floor, then back to the girl perched atop it. Her enthusiasm was palpable, unnerving even, but it was paired with a sharp, undeniable brilliance. His mind turned over the risks and rewards, calculating the ways her dangerous creativity could either bolster his empire—or blow it apart.
“I think,” he said slowly, his voice calm but cutting, “you’re far more dangerous than you pretend to be.”
Powder’s grin faltered for a moment, then she seemed to regain her stride, and it stretched wide, sharp and feral, like a wolf baring its teeth. “You have no idea,” she spat.
Silco leaned back slightly, his mismatched eyes narrowing as he studied the strange girl. The flickering light above cast sharp shadows across her face, making her expression even harder to read.
“You’ve certainly made your case,” he began, his tone calm but probing. “But you haven’t answered the most important question: why?”
Powder tilted her head, her grin falling. “Why what?”
“Why seek me out?” Silco pressed. “You’re clearly capable of building weapons on your own. You could sell them to anyone, work for yourself, and stay out of the kind of trouble my business attracts. So why approach me?”
For a moment, Powder was silent, her blue eyes flicking to the weapons on the table. She tapped her fingers against Pow-Pow’s barrel, as if thinking through her answer. Then she shrugged, her grin returning, though it seemed forced this time.
“Because you’re the best,” she said, her voice light and nonchalant. “I don’t want to sell to just anyone—I want to work with someone who gets it. Someone who knows what it takes to really make an impact.”
“Flattery,” Silco said with a faint smirk. “Effective, but unconvincing. Try again.”
Powder sighed dramatically, leaning her elbows on the table. “Fine. You want the truth? I’m bored, and I think you’re trying to build something different. Building weapons is fun, sure, but it’s not enough. I want to see what they can do, and I don’t want them to go to some random druggie around the corner who sells for personal gain. I want to see them make a difference. And let’s face it—you’re the only one around here who can make that happen.”
Silco tilted his head, his gaze sharp. “A difference? It seems like you crave destruction more. So, which is it, Miss Powder?”
Powder’s grin turned feral. “Does it matter?”
“It does to me,” Silco replied, his tone icy. “I don’t have room for someone who seeks chaos for its own sake. If you’re going to work for me, I need to know you’ll follow orders. That you’ll channel that… energy into something productive.”
Powder straightened, crossing her arms over her chest. “I can follow orders,” she said, her voice firm. “As long as you don’t waste my time with stupid ones.”
Silco’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Fair enough. But let me make one thing clear: I don’t tolerate failure. If you make a mess I can’t clean up, or if you cross me, there won’t be a second chance. I won’t be saving your life in situations you bring upon yourself, getting messed up in this business.”
“Understood,” Powder said, her grin returning. “So… am I in?”
Silco was silent for a moment, his sharp mind still turning over the risks and rewards. He made it clear that he wouldn’t tolerate betrayal. There was little the girl could do at this point to stab him in the back.
Finally, he nodded. “Very well. You’re hired.”
Powder’s grin widened, but before she could speak, Silco added, “You’ll be paid well, of course. But don’t mistake that for generosity. I expect results.”
“You’ll get them,” Powder said confidently, saluting mockingly. “You won’t regret this, boss.”
Silco watched her carefully, his mismatched eyes lingering on the vibrant blue of her braided hair. “We’ll see.”
As she began packing up her weapons, she paused, glancing over her shoulder. “Oh, one more thing.”
“What is it?” Silco asked.
“You think I’m good?” she said, slinging the bag over her shoulder. “You should meet Sevika. She’s got one arm, but she’s a total beast. Trust me—she’s exactly what you need.”
Silco raised an eyebrow. “Bring her to me. Let’s see if she lives up to your praise.”
Powder gave him a mock bow before striding toward the exit, her laughter echoing through the warehouse. Silco watched her go, the faintest smirk playing at the corners of his lips.
She was a wild card, but one he was more than willing to bet on.
Viktor was exhausted. The late nights had long become routine, blending together in a haze of endless calculations, experimental failures, and the constant pressure to unlock the secrets of the mysterious, exotic material that had him so enthralled—and so frustrated. The material, unlike anything he'd ever encountered, defied even the most brilliant minds, including Dr. Heimerdinger’s. But it was Viktor's obsession now. He couldn’t let it go. The more it resisted his understanding, the more determined he became, and his usual method was to hammer away at it with sheer will and brute force until something gave. But now, in the wake of his latest failures, he was beginning to feel the toll it was taking on him.
His grades had started to slip, a fact that gnawed at him in the quiet moments, though he refused to admit it aloud. Jayce had noticed, of course, always the one to drag Viktor out of his head when it was most needed. This time, Jayce had taken a more direct approach, forcing him to the engineering lab—a bustling, more public space away from the quiet of his personal work area. It wasn’t that Viktor didn’t appreciate the lab; it was just that Jayce’s insistence felt more like a nuisance than a lifeline in his current state. But even Viktor knew better than to refuse. Jayce had a way of breaking through his stubbornness with a mix of good-natured determination and an infectious enthusiasm that Viktor couldn’t always resist.
The lab buzzed with the faint hum of machinery, the warm, familiar sound somehow soothing despite the noise. Viktor hunched over his notebook, the weight of his pencil in his hand grounding him. The page in front of him was littered with equations—some that made sense, others that didn’t quite fit—and he was carefully transcribing class notes that might help him finish his assignment. His pencil moved in quiet, rhythmic strokes against the paper.
His thoughts were interrupted when the door to the lab swung open with a loud bang, and Powder bounded into the room with her usual exuberance. She had a habit of entering like a storm, and Viktor was used to it by now. She dropped an absurdly large duffle bag onto the floor with a loud thud, and then perched herself cross-legged on a nearby stool. For a moment, she sat still, an unusual calm settling over her as she stared at Viktor’s concentrated form. Her expression was a mix of boredom and curiosity, and Viktor couldn’t help but glance up at her from his notes.
Powder’s hood was up, as always, her gloves still on despite the heaters functioning at full capacity. It was a strange thing, the way she never seemed to mind the heat, always so wrapped up in her own world. Viktor didn’t ask why anymore. But today, there was something else about her, something almost watchful in the way she lingered.
Viktor found that he didn’t mind her odd silence; the quiet let him focus.
Until it didn’t.
She shifted suddenly, leaning forward, her chin landing on his shoulder with zero warning.
“Hey, Vik,” she said, her voice lilting with mischief. She tilted her head up to stare at his face even closer, an uncomfortable distance.
“Powder,” he said flatly, not even bothering to give her enough attention to glance up. “What are you doing?”
“Being your moral support,” she said innocently.
“By leaning on me?” Viktor arched an eyebrow, still focused on his homework, though the rhythmic scratching of his pencil slowed as his concentration faltered.
“Exactly,” she said with a grin. “I’m like a living desk lamp. But instead of light, I radiate… good vibes. Is it helping?”
“You’re radiating distraction,” Viktor muttered.
Powder laughed, her chin still propped on Viktor's shoulder as her gloved hands fiddled idly with the strap of his bag. “You’ve been staring at that notebook forever. How do you know you’re not just making things up at this point?”
“Because I’m not you,” Viktor replied, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as he continued working, his pencil gliding smoothly across the paper.
Powder gasped theatrically, sitting up straight with exaggerated indignation. “Rude!”
“I thought you’d appreciate my honesty,” Viktor said dryly, not looking up from his work. His focus remained unbroken, despite the interruption.
“Well, honestly,” Powder drawled, her eyes narrowing as she leaned over to peer at his notebook, “your equations are wrong.”
Viktor froze, his pencil halting mid-stroke. Slowly, he turned his head to glare at her, a mixture of disbelief and annoyance in his gaze. “What?”
“They’re wrong,” she repeated, pointing at the first problem he had started on with a gloved finger, her voice matter-of-fact. “See? That value here should be twice as high because of the energy output from the secondary oscillation plus the first.”
Viktor blinked, his lips pressing into a thin line. There was no way. “Powder,” he said evenly, his tone laced with skepticism, “if you’re going to interrupt me, at least be—”
Before he could finish, she grabbed the pencil out of his hand, quick as lightning, and began scrawling over the page with confident, almost reckless strokes.
“There,” she said, holding the notebook up triumphantly like a prize. “Fixed it for you.”
Viktor snatched the notebook back with a sharp motion, his eyes scanning the revised equation. His mind whirred as he read over her changes, his lips pressing into a thin line as realization slowly crept in. The equation matched the answer given in the back of the textbook. And she had done it all with no calculator, no tools—just pure instinct and memory.
“…Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible. The frustration was clear in his tone, but so was a reluctant sense of admiration. He couldn’t help but be impressed. Even if he hated to admit it, Powder had done what he couldn’t in a fraction of the time.
Powder immediately burst into laughter, clutching her sides as though Viktor had just told the funniest joke in the world. “Oh my god! Did Viktor just admit he was wrong? Someone call the papers!”
Viktor rolled his eyes, his tone dry as ever. “Don’t get used to it,” he muttered. “Even a broken clock is right twice a day.”
“Yeah, but I’m not broken,” Powder shot back with a smirk. She leaned back, her posture suddenly more exaggerated, almost like she was posing. “I’m like a... really cool clock. You know, one of those fancy ones with gears and stuff.”
She wiggled her fingers around theatrically, making a wooshing sound for emphasis.
Viktor just sighed, his pencil tapping against the paper as he returned to the now-corrected equations. Powder may have been a distraction, but in the end, he knew she was more help than he’d like to admit.
“You’re more like an alarm clock that doesn’t know when to stop ringing,” Viktor replied fondly, shaking his head as he flipped to a clean page.
Powder gasped again, clutching her chest like she’d been mortally wounded. The girl’s flare for theatrics never seemed to let up, no matter the hour. “How dare you! After everything I’ve done for you? After I fixed your terrible math?”
“You mean the math you interrupted me from double-checking?” Viktor shot back, though there was no real heat in his voice.
“Details,” Powder laughed, waving him off. “I’m just saying, you should be grateful you have me around. Otherwise, who knows how many mistakes you’d make?”
Viktor sighed, resting his chin in his hand. “I’m going to regret this, but thank you, Powder.”
She beamed, leaning forward again. “Aw, you’re welcome! You know, Vik, I think we make a great team.”
“Do we?”
“Obviously,” she said, hopping off her stool and stretching dramatically. “You’re the brains, and I’m the—uh—better brains. And hands. Basically, I’m the full package.”
Viktor couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head. “If you’re the full package, why don’t you do something with it?”
For a brief moment, Powder’s grin faltered, her posture stiffening slightly. It was just long enough for Viktor to notice. But, as always, she recovered quickly, brushing off his comment with an exaggerated shrug.
“Mystery makes me more interesting,” she said, her tone light but evasive.
“Is that so?” Viktor asked, raising an eyebrow, his gaze sharpening as he observed her.
“Yup!” she said brightly, grabbing a wrench from the nearby table and twirling it in her fingers. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to fix something while you brood over your boring math.”
Viktor shook his head, the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Equations don’t require brooding,” he muttered, already returning to his work.
“Sure they don’t,” Powder teased, skipping toward the far side of the lab with the same boundless energy she always had.
Viktor couldn’t suppress the smile this time, his mind already focusing back on the task at hand. Powder was strange, unpredictable, and an utter whirlwind of chaos. But in her own offbeat way, she was brilliant—and despite himself, Viktor couldn’t help but admire her for it.
“You’re welcome, by the way!” she called from across the room, her voice sing-song and triumphant.
“Yes, yes,” Viktor replied, rolling his eyes. “Thank you for pointing out my one mistake in the last twenty pages.”
“Happy to help a friend!” she said with a laugh, her presence filling the room with her usual wild energy.
“We can’t keep this up forever,” Sevika muttered, her hand clenched into a fist against the bar, the dull thud of it against the wood echoing her frustration.
Jinx, still in her ridiculous disguise, snorted as though Sevika had told her the funniest joke in the world. Sevika fought to hold back a growl, her patience wearing thin.
“I know, I know,” Jinx said, her voice a little too high-pitched, trying to laugh it off. “It’s just— it’s not like there’s a lot of opportunities to steal a Hexcore right now, right?” She laughed nervously, her eyes darting around the room. The same restless energy that always churned beneath Jinx’s surface was bubbling up again, half of it a clear side effect of Shimmer, the other half something the girl had with her the day she entered Sevika’s life. It was clear that the girl couldn’t sit still for long without feeling like she was missing out on something.
Sevika could feel her own frustration stirring at the back of her mind. The unease they all felt was palpable, and it wasn’t just about their lack of action. The days spent cooped up in Jinx’s room, hiding from the world, were taking their toll. They hadn’t exactly been planning for any of this.
Isha grunted beside Sevika, gesturing angrily, her hands flailing in that exaggerated way Sevika had grown used to over the past few days. The kid was itching for something to do, and the longer they stayed here, the more irritable she became.
Jinx sighed, the noise a mix of impatience and resignation. “Yeah, yeah, you can try to bother that guy. Just— if he starts looking at you funny, or being a creep, scream real loud, okay?”
Isha grinned, an eager spark lighting up her face as she bounded off in the direction of her next target. The kid had a reputation around this bar now, so she targeted non-regulars and baited them into her trap. Her winnings paid for every drink Sevika had so far.
Sevika watched her go, feeling the weight of the silence settle between her and Jinx. She had come to this bar out of sheer boredom and a desperate need to shake off the restlessness clawing at her. But even that had its limits.
“You’ve been playing student,” Sevika grumbled, her voice rough. “While me and that kid have been laying around. We aren’t dolls to pick up and put down, you know.”
Jinx’s grin faltered for a moment, and Sevika could see a flicker of guilt cross her face. She didn’t often show it, but every now and then, Sevika could catch glimpses of the cracks in her usual over-the-top demeanor. Still, Jinx shrugged it off, the moment passing as quickly as it came.
“Hey, I’m doing my part,” Jinx replied, her tone light and airy. “Somebody’s gotta keep the balance, right? Someone’s gotta make sure we don’t get too boring and start looking suspicious. Besides, it’s not like you’re exactly innocent in this mess either.”
Sevika shot her a glance, but there was no anger in it—just the usual unspoken understanding that had grown between them over time.
“Yeah, yeah,” Sevika muttered, turning back to the bar. “Guess we’re all in this together, for better or worse.” They had been for months, now.
A few beats pass in amicable silence, before Jinx cuts through. “I don’t know what Silco is doing,” She admitted, stirring her drink slowly.
Sevika had never seen the blue-haired girl drink before—not in the many years of living above a bar—but tonight she had some fruity cocktail, and she swirled it absently, almost like she was hesitant to take a sip.
Sevika, on the other hand, was savoring a smooth scotch, a far cry from anything she’d ever had back in Zaun. The flavor was richer, the acid burn sharper, but it lacked the chemical bite that lingered in the air back home. For a moment, Sevika allowed herself to let the warmth of it fill her, the feeling almost comforting, even though everything else about this place felt foreign.
A pang of homesickness hit her. This... Piltie-like world she found herself in wasn’t built for someone like her, rejecting her at its core so strongly that the clear air she breathed felt more polluted than anything had in Zaun.
“Probably something similar to what he was up to back home,” Sevika grunted, pushing the feeling down and focusing on the conversation.
Jinx groaned, her head crashing dramatically onto the table, her arms following in an exaggerated slump. “Yeah, but at what cost? Is he just some drug dealer now, or is he up against some weird version of Piltover? Is there a Zaun here? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, everyone’s living high-class.”
Sevika sighed deeply. How she craved a smoke. The bartender had allowed her to bring a kid to the place, so long as she kept a tight leash on Isha, but he drew the line at smoking for some reason. It seemed like nobody smoked much in the sterile city - other than a few gruff-looking older men who gathered outside after a handful of drinks. She bummed a smoke off from one of them once, and was almost horrified to be given a skinny, pale white stick. The smoke she inhaled barely burned, and in a few minutes, she'd flicked it out into the street with a grimace, vowing never again to take a smoke off one of them.
“Someone mentioned the boys in blue,” Sevika admitted, taking a slow sip from her drink. Jinx's ears perked up, her attention snapping to Sevika immediately. “These ‘Police’ seem to match what our enforcers do back home, but the divisions are far less noticeable. Some of the men last night were here complaining about it, talking about how they sacked one of their friends.”
A blue strand of hair slipped from under Jinx’s hat that she blew away in irritation, but didn’t tuck it back up. It didn’t seem like anyone was paying attention to them anyways—just the way Sevika liked it. She didn’t have time for prying eyes tonight, let alone someone noticing the electric blue.
This strategizing felt familiar, the makeshift team they had formed falling back into place like puzzle pieces. After Isha had been taken prisoner during one of the rallies, Jinx had finally started waking up to the reality of what she’d gotten herself into. As a symbol of Zaun, she carried responsibility for the revolution, even if the girl hadn’t asked for it. After all, Jinx had fired the first shot, and everything that followed had made her an icon of sorts—her colorful redirections of the Grey had the whole city buzzing. Everyone, from the lowest gutters to the highest rooftops, had started whispering that Jinx was some kind of hero with idealistic plans.
Sevika knew better. She knew Jinx ran on a code of her own, driven more by instinct than ideology. She had always thought more about the immediate than the long-term. And half of her involvement in the whole mess was selfish, born from the need to make noise and cause chaos, or some desperate cry for love. But none of that mattered. The Jinxsters—what a ridiculous name—had exploded in popularity across the city.
If nothing else, they’d given Jinx something to bitch about.
After the day Isha had been captured, Jinx had begun to crawl out of her shell. She fixed her weapons, taught Isha how to shoot, even attended a few of the rallies with the Jinxsters. But behind closed doors, she’d mock the movement constantly. “What idiot would look up to someone like me?” she’d say, as if she could shake off the weight of what she’d done, as if she could dismiss the very people who had built their hopes on her wild chaos.
Sevika didn’t feel loyalty to Silco—not really. He was a means to an end, just like anyone else. Sure, she had fond feelings for him, but those were just that—feelings. Her true loyalty was to Zaun, to its gritty, blood-soaked streets. She had pushed Jinx to rise up for months, hoping she’d come to her senses, and finally, she had. The kid had realized her place in the revolution.
“Are the police our Piltover?” Jinx asked, her voice cutting through Sevika’s tangled thoughts.
“Maybe,” Sevika sighed. She raised her hand to signal the bartender, and once he caught her eye, she gestured toward her empty glass. Without a word, he refilled it. “Don’t know enough yet. I spend half my day babysitting, the other half sitting in a teen girl’s bedroom waiting for instructions like some maid.”
Jinx winced, her face scrunching with distaste. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound super pleasant.”
Sevika let out another sigh, this one more strained. “I care about Isha,” she admitted, voice low, her gaze drifting to the side. “But I’m not built for this, not for this much. She’s your responsibility, Jinx. And I—” She paused, her fingers curling around the glass as she tried to find the words. “I need some type of independence, and I need to get back to Zaun. We need to start making moves, Jinx, and soon.”
Jinx didn’t respond right away. Instead, she stared at Sevika, her usual mischievous grin fading into something more serious, almost contemplative. After a beat, she shifted in her seat, her shrug attempting to cover the tension in her shoulders, but it didn’t quite succeed. “I don’t know what we’re supposed to do,” she admitted, her voice quieter, more vulnerable. “We need more information.”
Sevika leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowing as she processed her words. “Do you know where we could get more information?” she asked, a hint of impatience creeping into her tone. “Because I can only get so much from old men at bars like this. And to be honest, I don’t understand half the science behind how we got here, let alone the steps it’d take to get us back. If someone listed them out for me, I’d probably just stare at the page.”
Jinx took a tiny sip of her drink, then grimaced and pushed it aside. Her gaze flickered around the room, her eyes scanning the bar’s worn interior. Then they landed on something—or rather, someone—behind Sevika. Sevika turned her head, following Jinx’s line of sight, and spotted Isha gleefully hoarding a pile of chips, another round of winnings from her impromptu poker matches. That kid was a menace, just like Jinx.
Jinx’s grin slowly crept back onto her face, wide and eager. “Actually,” she said, her voice turning mischievous, “I just got an idea about how we can figure some of this shit out.”