Arcane, Voice of Zaun

Three thousand men. The number echoed in my mind as I scaled the walls of another dilapidated building, my fingers finding purchase in cracks worn by decades of chemical rain. Three thousand—more than any chembaron I'd ever heard of commanded. Not enough to overthrow the Lanes, which remained the strongest faction in the Undercity, but enough to rule the entirety of the Sump with an iron fist.

And the money required to maintain such a force... where was it coming from?

I pulled myself onto a corroded metal beam that extended between two buildings, carefully balancing as I crossed. The polluted waters of the Undercity moved slowly beneath me in shades of green and purple. I could see the old cannery in the distance now, a hulking structure that rose from the water's edge like some twisted monument to Piltover's neglect.

"Should I really be doing this?" I muttered to myself, crouching low as I reached the end of the beam.

The sensible answer was no. I didn't know how many men were actually in the cannery, or if this Silco person was even there. Hell, I didn't even know what Silco looked like. Lloyd's warnings echoed in my mind: never start a fight, always run from one.

But this wasn't about fighting. It was about information. 

My gang—my family now—could be walking into something dangerous for all I knew. Lloyd and twenty-four others had gone into the mines on a tip about chemtech materials, a tip that may have come from the very man who had men recruiting all across the Undercity.

"Just a quick peek," I promised myself, jumping to a lower roof and rolling to absorb the impact. "Just enough to understand what we're dealing with."

---

[Silco's POV]

"So, any progress?" I asked, my hands clasped behind my back as I paced the length of the laboratory. My damaged eye itched incessantly, a constant reminder of past betrayals that never seemed to fade.

The doctor—born in Zaun and a former Piltover Academy student whose questionable ethics had seen him exiled from Academics— gestured toward a glass cage where several rats scurried about.

"I believe that I have been able to stabilize the side effects," he said, his voice carrying the remnants of a Piltover accent he hadn't quite managed to shed. He carefully placed a vial of viscous purple liquid inside the cage, setting it in the center where the rats could reach it.

"Show me," I commanded, stepping closer to the glass. The anticipation was almost palpable.

One of the rats approached the vial cautiously. It sniffed the liquid once, twice, before taking a small lick. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the rat fell onto its back, screeching in pain and scratching at it's head, its tiny limbs twitching violently as veins beneath its skin began to bulge against the white fur, now colored purple.

The doctor leaned forward eagerly, his breath fogging the glass. The rat's body began to change, growing at an alarming rate until it was nearly twice the size of a normal specimen. Its eyes, now glowing with the same purple hue as its veins, took on a feral, savage look that was unsettling even to me.

With a shrill screech that penetrated the glass, the transformed rat turned on its cage mates. What followed was a frenzy of violence as it tore through the other rats with unnatural strength and savagery. Blood splattered against the glass in crimson streaks, punctuated by the sound of tiny bones being crushed between powerful jaws.

The doctor smiled, I however didn't, because just as quickly as the transformation had occurred, something went wrong.

The mutated rat's veins began to bulge more and more. Its body seemed to swell, stretching its skin to a grotesque translucency that revealed the chaotic mutations beneath.

Five seconds. That's all it took before—

BAM

The rat exploded in a shower of purple and red, coating the inside of the cage with a viscous mixture of blood and the chemical compound we'd been developing for months. The remaining rats, those that had survived the initial attack, scurried frantically through the gore, trying desperately to escape their prison.

"It seems that there is something still wrong in the chemical reaction," the doctor said, his voice hollow.

I stepped closer to the cage, studying the aftermath with a mixture of frustration and determination. "Fix it," I said, each word slowly. "Quickly."

The doctor nodded, already reaching for his notes. "I'll need more materials. The stabilizing agent isn't potent enough yet."

"Don't worry about those," I assured him, thinking of the gang I'd sent into the mines—one of many expendable pawns in my growing empire. "I'll get them. Just..." I leaned in, my damaged eye throbbing painfully, "Fix... it."

DRUM

A dull thud from somewhere above us interrupted my thoughts. I glanced up at the ceiling, a frown creasing my brow. Before I could send someone to investigate, the door to the laboratory swung open with a prolonged creak.

Sevika entered, her posture tall and straight, I liked that. She was accompanied by one of my more imposing goons—a mountain of muscle with the intelligence of a brick, but useful for intimidation.

"Sevika," I acknowledged, momentarily setting aside my concerns about the noise. "Have you thought about my proposal?"

Her eyes darted briefly to the blood-spattered cage before returning to meet mine. "I won't join you, Silco," she said. "You're lucky enough that I didn't rat you out to Vander."

I smiled, gesturing for her to take a seat across from me at the small table I used for more... diplomatic conversations. "Vander. The great Hound of the Undercity," I said, infusing the title with just enough mockery to make my point. "He's grown weak."

"No, he hasn't," Sevika replied, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth as she remained standing. Her loyalty to Vander was admirable, if misplaced.

"I don't mean physically," I clarified, taking a seat myself and motioning again for her to join me. After a moment's hesitation, she did. "I meant for the cause. For Zaun. He has abandoned our dream of liberation from Piltover. My sources tell me he's been in talks with the captain of the enforcers."

Sevika's eyes narrowed. "You could just be making that up."

"Perhaps," I conceded with a slight incline of my head. "But I'm not. He hung up his gauntlets long ago, Sevika. He won't fight Piltover again—ever. The sooner you realize that, the better it will be for all of us."

Silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken history and simmering tensions. I could see the conflict in her eyes, the battle between loyalty to a man who had once led the revolution and the growing suspicion that perhaps that man no longer existed.

The doctor moved quietly in the background, cleaning the mess from the failed experiment, the soft clink of glass against glass punctuating the silence.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. "You're loyal, Sevika. I admire that. Loyalty is a scarce resource these days. But there's a difference between loyalty and willful blindness. Don't confuse the two."

My damaged eye throbbed again, a persistent reminder of what loyalty had cost me once. I pushed through the pain, focusing on Sevika's increasingly uncertain expression.

"Vander has made accords with top siders long ago, but we continue to suffer," I continued, my voice dropping to a near whisper that forced her to lean in to hear me. "He thinks he's protecting us, but all he's doing is preserving the status quo—a status quo that keeps us firmly under Piltover's boot, like hounds on a leash."

I gestured vaguely toward the ceiling, toward the city that loomed above us all. "You've seen what they do to us, how they treat us. The enforcer raids, the tainted air, the poverty—all of it by design, Sevika. And what does Vander do? He builds a bar. Gets himself some kids. Vander has one thing wrong, he confuses peace with quiet."

Sevika's expression hardened, but I could see the doubt beginning to take root. Good. Doubt was the first step toward conversion.

"I'm offering you something better than mere survival," I said, lowering my voice further until it was almost a caress. "I'm offering you a chance to build something. Something that will make the topsiders finally respect us—or fear us enough that it makes no difference."

"Vander was the one who led us the first time," she retorted, but there was less conviction in her voice now. "And he will do so again, when the time is right."

I smiled, the skin around my scarred eye tightening painfully. We both knew that time would never come, not with Vander as he was now. But I had said enough for one day. The seed was planted; now I just needed to give it time to grow.

"Show her out," I instructed my enforcer, who had been standing silently by the door throughout our conversation.

DRUM

The sound came again, drawing my attention upward. This time, I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a small foot disappearing behind one of the metal rafters that crisscrossed the ceiling.

"And someone find out what that noise is," I added, my voice hardening with irritation.

The door opened once more as Sevika was escorted from the laboratory. She would make the right choice eventually; they all did, given enough time and the right incentives.

"Doctor," I called, turning my attention back to our work.

"Yes?" he responded, looking up from the notes he'd been reviewing.

"We're moving our base of operations to a lower level. The new headquarters beneath the water is nearly complete."

He nodded, though I could see the reluctance in his eyes. Scientists, even those as morally flexible as he was, didn't like disruptions to their work.

"Be prepared to move everything within the week," I instructed. "The sooner we get those side effects under control, the better."

The chemist frowned but didn't argue. "I'll do it."

I reached up to scratch at my scarred eye, the persistent itching becoming nearly unbearable. According to the doctor, the completed version of the compound—Shimmer, as we'd taken to calling it—would eliminate such discomforts permanently. The prospect of relief, after so many years of constant pain, was almost as enticing as the power the drug would bring to whoever controlled it.

Almost.