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Chapter Four

With the trial over, my work was only partially done, and I was on a timer, the length of which I knew not. Was it tonight, that would change everything, or tomorrow night, or the night after that?

I didn't know, which meant I needed to move, and move fast.

But, until the sun set, I still had time.

With the inquisition concluded, I was allowed to leave, the atmosphere in the chamber no longer solemn, but excited, intrigued, and overall interested in the implications of what had just occurred. As I turned to make my exit though, Heimerdinger spoke up, calling out, "Jayce!" and I paused, as the conversations once more stilled throughout the chamber. I turned to look at the Yordle, who held his head high, as he declared, "While I might not agree with the others, I will abide by their decision. Your equipment will be transferred to a laboratory, and you may begin work tomorrow. In the meantime... get some rest, my boy. You certainly look like you need it."

So now that you can't punish me, you're all smiles and magnanimity? Your 'spirit' is anything but large, Spirit, I thought, but instead smiled tiredly, even as I tilted my head back a little in turn, feigning fatigue. "I, I think I will," I replied, voice raw, wincing at the feeling of blood in my throat, flowing back instead of out, having stretched myself to the breaking point with Siren's Song, unsure if I'd achieved my goal, or if I was merely one more word away from success. Tilting my head back down to look the Yordle in the eye, I nodded, and turned on my heel, walking out.

Viktor stood along the path to the exit, watching me carefully, obviously confused, but holding his tongue, and my mother rushed up to me, concern clear in her gaze as she looked over my injuries, while simultaneously relieved that her kid wasn't about to be banished.

Looking at her I felt... very little.

Jayce's memories of the woman... she was many things, but strong was not one of them. Enduring, yes, and loving, even supportive, but when Jayce tried to explain his work, she didn't understand, and he was the exact wrong combination of intelligent, impatient, and, not exactly unempathetic, but uncaring of the outlooks of others, to teach anyone, let alone the woman before me.

She was a good person, at heart, and fit in amongst the lower nobility, but she wasn't particularly strong, which had resulted in the brilliant, brittle pride that was the core of Jayce Talis' character. But, even that was more than I'd had in my first life, and her joyful surprise when I smiled down at her lovingly just lowered my opinion of Jayce even lower. The boy would've been happy, about himself, but the woman wasn't used to the focus being on her, which was a subtle, yet vital, distinction.

"Let's get you home," she suggested, hesitantly moving to my side, and I smiled, lifting an arm, and letting her move in to support me. I could still move on my own, the interior of my body still healing with supernatural speed, though that would pass, and not be something I could count on going forward. However I was going to need time to disappear for a bit, and 'resting' would let me do that very thing. It was possibly the only thing that would, from the stares of the minor nobles, as I'd just become the newest, hottest commodity.

We headed for the door, and I paused by Viktor, leaning my head back again, smirking just a little as I told him, "See you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," he nodded, eyes intent.

We made it to the elevator going down before I couldn't hold it any longer and coughed, my hand coming away bloody, much to my mother's horror.

"Only a bit of lingering injury," I reassured her, trying to keep my expression placid. "Sheriff's doctor looked me over. I just need some more rest."

The woman nodded, though obviously was still concerned, and I wished I could tell her to not worry but not only was I far past my limit, I didn't want to get into the habit of mind controlling everyone around me. Those that got in my way, when time was of the essence, or avowed enemies, sure, but not those whose only offense was that they cared about me.

Soon enough we were back at my family's minor estate, and Jayce's childhood room. From the mental model of how Jayce would react to things, easy when I had all of the man's memories on tap, like a meaty hard-drive when the user, his soul, had logged off, never to return, he would've seen this as a defeat, as a humiliation, something that would've been exacerbated by his 'rejection' by the council, enough that he'd be contemplating suicide.

Because, at his core, Jayce Talis was a drama queen.

Everything was grand gestures and heroic narratives with him, claiming Magic for himself, and then sharing it, like Prometheus, with the others. There wasn't any such figure as Prometheus in Runeterra, but the base thought was still a narrative that he could wholly buy into, while, ironically, still working in the paradigms of Piltover that would, when someone suggested defying them, require him to be convinced before he'd attempt it, even if it was the only way to achieve his dream.

Ironically, we couldn't be more different.

I wanted to work within the structures of the local population, not because I believed in them, I knew they were corrupt, but because it was easier. I had a great many plans, but Plan Z, if, for whatever reason, like either my outsider status being recognized, or something else, the people of Piltover tried to outright kill me, and I needed to run?

Jump home, purchase Cinder Fall, unlock Aura, prepare, then burst out, fighting our way south while killing or Stamping everyone that got in our way, making a run through Zaun, and into the kingdom of Kumungu, into the wilderness between here and Ixtal, my Wild Talent up to making sure we'd survive where many feared to tread, with Aura to protect us from minor accidents before they could turn into big problems, and a Home to rest in safely each night. Then we'd regroup, swing back around to pick up some high-value targets, along with a stop at their prison to free a certain prisoner, then head for another country to start a new life in, probably Bilgewater, creating Hextech there, using the Seed I'd been given, and we'd figure out how to progress from that smaller power base.

Cinder would be happy to be getting more power, and to be getting out from Salem's immortal thumb, and while I'd need to watch her, if I put my own gains in terms of her aggrandizement, it would probably work. The Stamp meant that she would be loyal, no matter how distasteful I found the entire institution, and loyalty did not mean obedience, which could cause problems.

But... my team and I had ended up leaving billions to die, unable to help them survive the tide of Youma with what little resources we had, and I'd learned that, sometimes, compromise was necessary, as while one of me had somehow succeeded, despite everything, I couldn't count on that, and if I died, I wouldn't be the only one lost. No, I might need to collar the half-Maiden, or pick up Command Seals, after we'd made enough captures, though only if she proved she needed it.

But, and I couldn't stress this enough, I really didn't want to do that. Compromise might be necessary, but to rush into it without the need wasn't compromise, it was corruption.

So, I cared nothing for fame, or the rules of this society, or even proving how great I was, and thus my existence, quite frankly, was incredibly dangerous to the ruling elite, but it had been those very traits, along with a hefty dose of magically enforced verbiage, that'd let me succeed where he had failed. Part of me wondered if I could've done so on the strength of my arguments alone, but, again, this hadn't been about proving how good I was, this was about getting results.

Jayce's mother, my mother now, made sure I got something to eat, and I deferred having it delivered to my room, instead quickly drinking down the warm soup in the dining hall so that a servant didn't come to collect the dishes, only to discover that I wasn't in my room, and then I was alone.

While juvenile, it was easy enough to arrange pillows and clothes to form the rough approximation of my sleeping form, closing the shades and darkening the room to further obscure it, the early afternoon light rendered soft by one of the many small storms that swept through Piltover, which the city had been built to take advantage of, the squalls serving to clean the buildings, leaving them shining white, and pristine, while Zaun?

Zaun just got damp.

Opening a portal in the wall, the distortion had a veil of imperceptibility over it that'd keep other from noticing it consciously, while also such that someone wouldn't stumble through accidentally unless they were forced into it, causing them to subconsciously avoiding it.

Stepping through, I got ready to start re-arranging the piles of notes and equipment on the floor, only to find that they weren't there.

...what.

Looking around the large concrete chamber, I saw the stairs at the back, and dark glass high up, likely tinted, as this room gave me a serious 'Stargate' vibe, only actually tactical, so you couldn't just look up and see the people overseeing the space. The air was cool, but not cold, and heading out, and up the stairs, through an unmanned security checkpoint, I entered the house proper, which was all smooth curving walls, large glass windows, and general modern-artiness.

Which, compared to Piltover, had to look downright alien.

... I liked it. I'd need to tweak some things around, since, if things went right, I wouldn't be the only one living here. Regardless, it was fairly intuitive, and I explored. There was a secure vault, in it only a single pedestal, upon which sat a bowling ball sized emerald green nut, a gift from a classmate before we went our separate ways. It could grow a tree-based secure hideaway, with modern conveniences, and eventually more, but it was incredibly magical, and this was a city that feared the Arcane. I would use it, eventually, but not in Piltover, and not anytime soon. Closing the vault, I came to find the workshops, plural, and smiled at what I found.

Specialized workshops and the needed resources would only be available in a purchased pocket dimension if you could use them, or someone you owned could, and it was another training path in Basic you could take, one which I'd thrown myself into them with abandon. There was only so much time, and the lessons weren't easy, but I'd been surprised at how many people hadn't taken them, past the base Seminars of 'how to use the power you want to get', which, yes, the basic training itself wasn't easy, and you couldn't use the extra time provided to sleep or rest past the absolute minimum required to function, nor would you know if you'd learned enough until the moment you walked into your Sweet Home, but it'd been worth it.

Steven and the others had thought I was a bit nuts, and they might have been right, but they'd had different contracts, with known power-sets, and would be going on different assignments accordingly. Hell, they'd even considered taking on an Entity, seven of them on the same assignment, but they'd decided not to, which was kind of a relief. Entities were no joke, especially with my old classmate's limited powersets, and Earth Bet was a hellhole anyways. And the others, going to Westeros, Randland, and more, I'd likely never see again.

But we'd known that, and now wasn't the time to ruminate and such things. Now was time to work. As I moved from room to room, I took in all the gear I'd worked on manifested before me, proving it hadn't been for nothing. I had to smile, especially when I saw the lathe/mill combo machine, along with the raw brass cups in a few different sizes, and the sealed powder cases.

Runeterra had guns, but they were either black-powder weapons, or utilized the more expensive alchemical charges that the nobility, and the enforcers, used, neither of them compact. Modern powders were unknown, let alone some of the more. . . advanced substances, though, looking through the canisters, there weren't any of those, which was a bit of a pity, but since I hadn't been able to wrap my head around the chemistry involved, mostly because they utilized unearthly substances, that was fair.

Continuing my tour, I found the Hextech lab, which included all of my hidden equipment, and my notes, including copies of my tools that were still in Heimerdingers office, and not a scrap more. On one wall, behind a clear diamond display, the sheen recognizable from my time in Basic, was an entire rack of Hexite crystals, all of them rough, and with an odd little metal circle over the display case's handle.

Grasping it, there was the sound of a lock clicking, and the door came open easily enough, the security around the unstable explosives likely tied into the house's systems.

But I was now known as the discover of hexite to the public at large, or at least the discoverer of its use, and while a few were crystals missing, stolen by Powder, it would be best to not use them for whatever came next.

I wasn't that good a fighter, and, without Aura or armor, all it would take is a single mistake in deadly combat to end my journey right now. And that was without Silco's magi-roided up monster, who tore through the armed, armored and trained, enforcers with ease.

While I could throw off pretty much every anomalous effect without blinking, I had no defense against being torn in half by discount-Bane.

Which, ultimately, left me with two different paths.

I could try and head to the Undercity right this second, to The Last Drop, and try and reason with Vander, Violet and Powder's adopted father, warn him of Silco's plan to take over control of Zaun, maybe even try and find a way to make the manhunt for Vi, Powder, and the other two go away, but I myself only had a chance with the Council, and until I could provide a proof of concept I was on extraordinarily thin ice.

I might be able to use Siren's Song to help him listen, my throat healing even now, but the stronger the listener's will, along with a number of other factors, the less it would affect them, and Vander, at the end of the day, was a man of towering will.

No man that could single-handedly hold together the undercity, without being a monster, could be anything less.

And, right now, I was just a topsider, and thus not to be trusted, further blunting my Song's effects. They'd be more likely to believe that I was there to try and get revenge than anything else, word of the Trial, and its conclusion, almost certainly not reaching them in the next few hours.

But, worse than that, was Silco, Vander's old partner, and now bitter enemy. That man had ambitions, and was choosing this moment to act upon them. Silco was going to take this opportunity to show off Shimmer's effects, the combat-drug so effective it had to be magic, killing the current Sheriff to replace her with his own patsy. Silco was going to take Vander, dose him to the nines with Shimmer, and 'unleash the monster within', or some other bullcrap, to try and flip the psuedo-king of Zaun to the mutant-eyed man's cause.

The trap was set for Vi and the others, either as a hold over Vander, or for Silco to turn over to his new enforcer patsy, to cement the Asian man's 'achievement', and, in doing so, cement his hold over the corrupt sheriff-to-be.

Or maybe he'd just kill them all.

Such a thing wouldn't be out of character for the Zaunite-Independence fanatic.

So, yes, I could try and make a bee-line for The Last Drop, Jayce having spotted it in while in 'The Lanes', which was not the name of Silco's territory like I thought, but the moniker for the pseudo-city that ran along the fissure, that, in its entirety was the 'The Undercity'. Jayce hadn't recognized the building's significance, and I could go there and hope that things would go well, but when things went bad, and a gut feeling told me it would be tonight, it would be the culmination of several different events, all stacked up on top of each other, and I wasn't powerful enough to stop it.

Not yet.

Then there was option two, which, while risky, had a much higher chance of actually working. That one was much simpler: gear up, head to the Zaun waterline, track down the cannery, intercept Powder, and convince her that bigger booms weren't necessarily better booms, then still have her set off her monkey-bomb with only a single hexite crystal within it, as it was actually the right thing to do, given the situation. It was only the fact that it was a cluster bomb that wrecked everything as badly as it did, killing her adopted brothers, considering, even with some mental calculations, setting off the three or four she had was enough to destroy most tanks, only not instantly lethal to Violet because the heavy door had absorbed not only most of the initial blast, but of the following ones as well.

The tragedy of the situation is that Powder really had just been trying to help, but while Vi loved her sister, she didn't support her, only tolerated her. Because of that, and because the little girl's bombs hadn't worked correctly before, no one had ever given the girl things like basic safety instructions, or talked to her about calculating yield values, because, up to that point, they'd always been zero.

Now, convincing the panicked eleven year old to listen to a random adult man who came out of nowhere would normally be... tricky, to say the least, but that was where SIren's Song came in, and wow did even thinking that to myself make me sound sketchy, visions of white panel vans coming to mind, but, well, drastic times called for drastic measures.

So, finding Violet and the boys before they blundered into Silco's trap would be optimal, but I didn't think I'd be able to spot three teenage street urchins doing their best to be stealthy. Powder on the other hand, should be much easier to find, or, at least, I hoped she would.

If I was more confident in my own abilities, both martial and constructive, I might try and go stop Silco when he jumped Vander coming out of the shop, assuming things still went that way. And they should, my changes to the timeline minor, not that they'd stay that way for long.

There was even a Seminar in Basic on why relying on future knowledge was a terrible idea, called 'Predestination Procrastination', though, like almost everything about Basic other than standard conditioning, it was voluntary. 'Help is offered, not forced' was a pretty common theme of it all, where we had to do the bare minimum of what our various agreements required, but that was it.

And, for a lot of people, that was all they did. Even I didn't take every offered class, the strain on both my body, as I was a normal human at the time, without defenses, going through what amount to full college program in a month without any kind of break whatsoever, combined with the odd stresses the accelerated time spaces put on not just the body, but the soul, and I'd started to crack a little.

Honestly, going to Not-Tokyo had been borderline pleasant, except for, you know, the high possibility of being sucked dry like a living capri-sun by the more attractive female Youma we were there to capture. But I got to sleep a full eight hours in body, mind, and soul, instead of just the first two, maybe even one and a half, so, you know, worth it.

Regardless, if I had Aura, or an Iron-Man equivalent suit, or was a dragon, I'd risk it, but Silco's tweaker had been the logical, but terrifying, combination of speed and strength, and I was not ready to face that bullshit in my current form without getting insanely lucky.

And I wasn't lucky, not in that way.

So I needed to work fast, work smart, and hopefully get enough done that I could pull this off. Setting an alarm, I only had a few hours, and I needed to make the most of it.

Letting out a long sigh, and trying to center myself, I got started.

​

When the alarm went off, I finished the last bit of stitching, and groaned, wishing I had more time. But this had been the earliest moment that this particular Dimensional Variance could be accessed, and, ultimately, the optimal moment for insertion, so I had to work with what I had.

Armor was not that easy to make, and power armor was so complex that I didn't even try, not that I really had the equipment yet to fabricate it in the first place. Thankfully, spider-silk was so prevalent a material that I had literal spools of the stuff, enough arachnid controllers out there in the multiverse, and on Company payroll, that it was actually easier to make than standard silk, and it made a great defensive, yet comfortable, underlayer for pretty much anything.

The outer layer was a pitch-black synthetic fiber that'd offer further protection, force-deflecting dark metallic ridges that'd take a blunt blow and spread it out, protecting my ribs, to a degree, with stiff, but still somewhat flexible, panels in between for piercing attacks, or blunt hits that missed the curving metal protections. I hadn't had time to make individual items, with individual fasteners, measured so they'd fit me tightly, but had instead created one large over-garment, that I'd taken arm and shoulder measurements for, the rest of it tightened by straps, belts, and so on to cover for the fact that it was a size or two larger than I'd meant it to be.

Tossing it on, I tightened everything, connecting the hastily thrown together, poorly constructed garment to myself, the damn thing held together with staples and glue as much as it was sown with thread, but I didn't need it to last weeks, I need it to last tonight. The top fit, and had enough give to maneuver in if I needed to fight, but the bottom flapped a bit, loose and ending about mid-calf instead of mid-thigh like I'd meant, having used far too much material there as well. Moving over to the mirror I stopped and stared.

I... I made a 'badass longcoat' I realized, the ridges looking like a skeletal ribcage, the arm portions like bones, the black synthetic fibers matte, to better be stealthy with of course, but looking like it veritably drank in the light. Turning to the pistol I'd created, it was little better.

The base was a double-stack 1911 pistol, chambered for 9mm as that's what I'd made in Basic, with a built-in silencer because holy shit guns could be loud. With Body Talent, I'd be fine, but I'd like to be able to fire it in an enclosed space and hear things for the next few minutes, thank you very much. It wasn't Hollywood 'pew pew', there was no being stealthy with this thing, but if I was firing, shit had already gone bad.

The integrated design gave the barrel a blocky look, the silencer portion that distributed escaping gasses actually hanging under the barrel and extending out, so from the top to just below the trigger it looked like a solid block of black metal, and I'd fucked up the glow-sights, using way too much paint, dripping some on the slide, so now the top of the damn thing practically shone with an unnatural green luminosity.

And while a scope would've been nice, I'd had to make everything from pretty much scratch, and I didn't have that kind of time.

Looking at the blade I'd made, focused on getting it done at the time, that didn't help much either. I'd grabbed the steel, beaten it a bit, ground it, but it was ugly, and Jayce's memories, which were the only reason I'd had time to make a blade, and only then a short sword, told me just how I'd fucked up, and it was only the quality of the materials that let me get away with it.

For the handle I'd grabbed some carbon fiber blocks, cut out what I needed, gave it a thin coat of resin, and attached it to the tang, and for the sheath I'd just used more black resin cast it directly to fit my shitty blade exactly, having worked it back and forth to give it enough give to draw it, with a few strips of metal ribbing to give it a structural stability, so now it looked like it had its own ribcage too. And then I'd splattered it with the glow-paint, when I dropped the brush, sending droplets all over it, but it'd go on my hip, under the coat, across from the pistol, so I could still sneak.

At least it's not a fucking katana.

The spider-silk undershirt was, again, a piece of shit, but the worst parts were the back stitching, which would be hidden under the coat, and the head-covering was a balaclava, which was pretty much a 'tube with holes'. Looking at it, I sighed, and grabbed the black goggles I'd prepared, to keep shrapnel from going in my eyes, taking a couple of minutes to put green LED's at the outside edge of the eye, which, yeah, would make it harder to tell my eye-color, but really just created a glowing-eyes effect that'd make it hard to look at me directly.

Hey, if I'd made a chuuni clusterfuck, at least I should turn into the spin.

I had a few magazines full of rounds, the machining process having stamped 'Class D' on them in Necril, the language of undeath, which I only realized I could read when I saw the scratchy lettering. In retrospect, it made sense, as while English, somehow, was the multiversal standard, having any Tom, Dick, or Hero able to walk right in and read your internal communiques was dumb. I'd rather they be unmarked, but I only realized as I was slotting them into the magazines that they were etched, and, again, no time.

If, somehow, tonight wasn't the night, I'd rework them, and also make some grenades to try and take out the Shimmer-berserker with, but while I could make bathtub Semtex, plastic explosives needed time to set, and, again, that was time I didn't have.

Thankfully, semi-armored boots and gloves I already had access to, as they were just repurposed workshop safety gear, spray-painted black, because, looking at the mess I'd made of my coat, I didn't want to see what happened if I tried to make something with fingers.

I practiced pulling the gun and sword a few times, and they were easy enough to use, close enough to my training to still work, though the weight balancing on the sword was shit, top-heavy, but not that bad, because of its shorter length. It was... acceptable, and I didn't have the time to try and make it better.

Quickly, I stripped off the armor, putting on the normal garb a young noble in Piltover would wear, not so stupid as to walk out of my room at home ready for war, or at the very least a particularly nasty border skirmish. Taking down the armor stand with me, I set it up in the portal room, so I could pop in, change, and pop back to Runeterra as quickly as possible, and re-opened the way there.

Once I'd captured more people, or had done enough in the world to pull it off course, creating a Dimensional Variance all of my own, I'd be able to do more, set custom locations and the like, but this close to the Primary Multiversal Line that designated 'Arcane', even a basic 're-open where it closed' was tricky, and pushing too hard might have me pop out into the core, unchanged Dimensional Line, causing a whole mess of problems, or into another Agent's Variance.

Checking the time, I stepped back into Jayce's childhood room, and took a deep breath, the thick aura of Mana that ran through the air oddly invigorating, despite my own lack of any magical abilities. It was subtle, and only something that someone who'd been somewhere else would notice.

Getting rid of the fake 'sleeping' Jayce I opened my curtains, and looked out over the city. Good, still on Plan H, I thought, seeing the sun setting in the distance, the last of the rain clearing up. I didn't remember the events perfectly, but if I swung by the Zaunite Memorial on the bridge, I should be able to find Violet and Vander talking.

I had very little hope of actually convincing them, but I still had to try.

I was halfway out, almost to the front door, when my mother noticed me, smiling as she said, "Oh, you're up! A messenger from the Kirammans was here earlier. They wanted to talk to you, and I said you'd come over as soon as you woke!"

I froze, "I, what?"

The woman nodded, "And you're already looking and sounding so much better! I'm sorry, but you know how your mother worries."

"It's, that's not something you ever need to be worried about, Mom," I told her, shaking my head. "But, I, can I do that tomorrow?" I questioned. "There's, there's something I need to take care of right now."

"I'm sure that whatever it is, it can wait," my mother stated, and, um, no, it really couldn't, but before I could say more, she continued. "And it won't take that long. There's a carriage waiting for you outside."

Oh, I thought, a leaden feeling in my stomach, While Jayce would've missed it, I knew that wasn't a 'we want to talk', that was a 'you will come talk to us now.' Did they realize I'd used Mind Control on them? Were they going to take me to task for studying what was, effectively, Magic?

While the first was possible, though it shouldn't have happened, the second, well, Jayce hadn't been subtle, but the Kirammans probably thought he was being metaphorical. Or maybe it was something completely different, though I had no idea what, and neither did the mental model of Jayce in the back of my head.

Okay, time delay, a couple hours at most... Vander and Vi had to go up to the bridge, talk, go down, talk some more, contact the Sheriff, then have the Sheriff come down with a posse, and that'd all take time. All I knew was that it was night when everything went to hell, and raining, and missing my window would make things exponentially harder, but not impossible.

"I'll go see them now," I told her, giving the older woman a cocky grin I didn't feel, "Shouldn't keep my patron waiting, after all. Not after she voted to give me another chance."

My mother nodded encouragingly, and I quickly strode out, waving at the carriage, the driver seeing me and getting out of the interior, where he'd been waiting out the rain. Looking out, though, while the skies had started to clear, there was another storm on the horizon.

In more ways than one.

Okay, Plan I.

Chapter Five

The Kirammans didn't want to 'talk', at least not entirely. No, they wanted me over for dinner. Which meant 'talk', but in a way that provided guest rights, not that the people of Piltover believed in such things. It'd been a key part of the 'How not to get killed by your boss' lessons that were mandatory for everyone in Class B, the Seminar titled ''Fair' Deals For 'Fair' Folk', the Fey very big on such things as Politeness and Hospitality, and even though I'd been switched to Class D, those modes of thought stuck. Personally, I hated the kind of politicking, back-dealing, 'rules only apply if you know to call the other side out on them' bullshit of my old department, but, well, I hadn't known exactly who she was when I'd made that deal with my bitch of a recruiter, something I, ironically, now knew was absolutely retarded.

If I was a racist, I'd paint Mel with the same brush, but the woman, while canny, had a good heart, given how she'd treated Jayce in canon, and couldn't be more different from The Widow. And, while Piltover was a city with political corruption at the top, it honestly wasn't nearly as bad as somewhere like, well, Westeros.

I thought of Steven, whose mission was a more specific one than mine, uplifting an area who'd paid Class D for the service, and I hoped he was doing well. He hadn't said which area it'd been, and I hoped it was somewhere isolated, as the series could better be called A Song of Crabs and Buckets for how much infighting and 'Screw you, how dare you have a marginal advantage over me!' there was there. The man had flower powers, but when the two major forces wielded killing frost and magical flames respectively, that wasn't as strong an advantage as it could be.

Shaking my head in the cart as we arrived, I pushed my concerns away, and focused on my task, since he was far beyond my ability to help, and would remain that way for a long, long time.

So, this dinner invitation, in addition to wasting my time, was obviously meant to show how the Kirammans supported me, how they appreciated me as one of the few people that this high noble house sponsored directly, and to almost assuredly try and keep me from getting pulled away from them, as Canon Jayce had eventually shown he'd cared more for Mel Medarda's opinion than theirs.

The boy would've still utilized the resources they provided after what he saw as their betrayal in canon, once his Hextech research was green-lit the very next day, but any loyalty the boy felt towards them after the way things should have gone would've vanished, only being an alliance of convenience, and nothing more. The young man was many things, but loyal was not one of them, though the Kirammans, by voting for his expulsion, had shown that it wasn't one of their defining traits either. Or at least, the matriarch wasn't, preferring political safety over supporting a tainted asset, and after I arrived, and was welcomed in with all due hospitality, more than due, actually, her husband's current boast of 'never doubting me', given I knew the man had argued for his wife to drop me the second there was the possibility of scandal, didn't endear me to him in the slightest either.

Caitlyn meanwhile, the person I was really here for, was downright smug, making sure to take a seat right next to me in their parlor while we waited for the meal to be prepared. Something that made her father frown, while Mrs. Kiramman just gave me a considering look. The teen, with the air of the feline that had filched the fowl, made sure to mention her defense of me to her parents, and how she'd tried telling them about what I'd been studying, but they had never been properly appreciative, like she was, and now everyone else would see how great I was!

The girl had one hell of a crush on me, something that Jayce had appreciated, feeding into it a little for his own aggrandizement, and for the way her parents could fund his research, but he considered her a child. Given that my idea of the girl was of her in her early twenties, my conception of Caitlyn was different, and with time, she'd match it. Furthermore, with the basest of my Talents, time was something I was going to have in abundance.

Just, you know, not tonight.

But, while the sun was getting low, I was going to need this connection going forward, and running off now would rouse far too many questions. As the meal was ready, we moved to the dining room, only for Caitlyn's seat to be directly across from mine, something that surprised both her and her father, to their respective delight and dismay, while Mrs. Kiramman just looked on behind a patrician mask of indifference, a poker face so obvious it might as well be painted on.

We took our seats, Mrs. Kiramman to my left, Mr. Kiramman to my right, as one fact about the Kiramman noble family slowly trickled through my mind.

It was Matrilineal.

The fact that Caitlyn was their only child, in another family, would be a cause for alarm, lacking an heir. However, in this family, while they did not have a spare, the line of succession was secure. Kind of put another spin on her parents not liking their only daughter joining the police force, and the line of fire, one that I hadn't considered previously.

Meanwhile, the Talis family was Patrilineal, meaning, if we were to have kids, there'd be no issue of one house subsuming the other, any daughters, Kirammans, while any sons would be of House Talis. Assuming that I became the Talis patriarch, of course, which was not likely, given that I had practically nothing to do with the family's internal politics, uncles and so on in the family hammer business of higher internal position as they kept it going, while Jayce had his nose tucked firmly away in the ivory towers of the Academy, but considering such eventualities was one of the primary skills of powerful nobles.

We ate, the food was fabulous, as always, though Jayce had only been invited over to dine a few times, even though some part of me, almost certainly Faerie Feast, whispered how I could make it even better, and I considered the situation before me, new plans forming. Looking to Mrs. Kiramman, the matriarch's attention was definitely on me, so I glanced to Caitlyn, then back to her, the older woman giving me the smallest of smiles, and the barest of nods.

Returning it, I took another bite of the well-cooked crab in a creamy wine sauce, and examined what I knew of the social situation from Jayce's memories, something that the show had largely skipped over, that rollercoaster ride more Dishonored than Downton Abbey. Piltover was very much 'Not'-Victorian in nature, by which I meant it was an idealized version of such things so blatant it practically slapped you in the face with it, which meant that the average marrying age was mid-twenties instead of teens. However, at the same time, long engagements were standard amongst nobles, and the seven-year age gap between us wouldn't even raise any eyebrows. The only real difficulty would be in class differentials, but, as the son of a minor house, I was within the 'acceptable' range, in a way that literally everyone in Zaun wasn't.

With Jayce's volatility on the stand, something that likely blindsided, and scared, his patron, then being expelled and then favored by others in a single night, it was possible the Kirammans had distanced themselves, privately instead of publicly, or maybe they didn't, the time-skip in the series obfuscating a lot of details. We got the larger strokes, like the fact that Caitlyn had gone from her current 'I love my parents and can laugh about the position of privilege it gives me' nature to the 'I resent my parents and am annoyed that they care about my safety' attitude she displayed in seven years, the series picking up on Piltover's two-hundredth Progress Day Celebration, which gave me a hard date to guide myself by.

Though, if I did my job, that day would go off without a hitch.

I need to deal with things as they are, not as they'd be if I did nothing, because that's not the world I'll live in, I reminded myself, finding the safety of the 'known' timeline far more, not exactly seductive, but absolutely a temptation that would only lead to ruin. There was a certain power that came with knowing how things 'would go' that'd let you flawlessly maneuver oneself to counter moves, block events, and otherwise make the world dance to your tune, but it was a fleeting gift, and one that, when relied upon farther than it extended, would drop you into a whole mess of problems, one that many Agents never found their way out of.

So... we knew that things had changed, but not how, which, honestly was the far more important detail I'd need if I was going to make plans around them, and was the kind of thing that I didn't have. So, fly off Jayce's memories for context, and make things up as I go. The girl liked me, her parents liked me, and I now had the opportunity to go from minor noble to city-defining personage, and, thus, I had the chance to pursue her daughter, the normal long-engagement, if we even got that far, serving as a safety net to see if I could become a proven commodity, or if I'd flare out and fade away, in which case they could reap the rewards of having attached me to their name, but, obviously, I would not be worthy of marrying their heiress.

It was cold, yes, but this was how these sorts of families maintained their generational wealth and status, even growing them, instead of the normal three generation vector of affluence and influence one saw in my home country. Most of the time the first generation made the wealth, and tried to teach their kids how to do so, but often left out some of the more distasteful parts; the second generation maintained the wealth, but did not understand the parts that the first generation didn't quite cover, or maybe they just didn't care, wanting to do things 'better' without understanding why, and also did not raise their children in the same way they had been raised, assuming that they didn't pawn such things off to someone else entirely; and then the third generation, taking it all for granted, and not understanding things at all, wasted the wealth, squandering and spending it, killing the golden goose because they were hungry and didn't realize what they were doing, until they were back down at the same level as everyone else, if not lower.

Ancestral holdings, or agreements that created passive income that the individual generations could not mess with could create a cushion, but short of governmental support, that's what happened, and maintaining that governmental support was its own skill set.

And the Kirammans were old money, or at least old for this area, dating back to before Piltover was founded, though Jayce, to increasingly less surprise each time I discovered this sort of failing, had no idea where they came from before that point. His attention had been focused solely on creating Hextech, nothing else mattering, even the history of his own patrons, which was... I could understand it intellectually, I'd been like that about things when I was a kid, but the man was in his mid-twenties, and only the lack of a metaphorical boot to the head had allowed him to keep himself in his little bubble of academia, compared to my own history, which had included a great many boots, only some of them actually deserved.

But, while I didn't know what he didn't know, I knew I didn't know the kinds of things I should know, which would let me fill in the gaps.

Later.

Because I had shit to do right now.

Time to move this onwards, I thought, knowing the dinner would stretch until we actually talked about whatever it is they wanted to make sure of. But how to get the ball rolling?

Taking another bite, I made a 'mmm' of enjoyment swallowing and taking a sip of the wine, Body Defense making sure I wouldn't get intoxicated. "Delicious as always," I smiled. "After I finish the prototype, I'll have to make something for you all in celebration."

"You cook?" Caitlyn asked, surprised but interested. "But all I've ever seen you make are sandwiches!"

I shrugged, smirking, "I was busy. But in a week or two, I'll be done. I'm that close."

"Then your statements to the Council weren't bluster?" Mrs. Kiramman questioned.

I held up a hand, thumb and pointer an inch apart. "A little," I told them, getting a laugh from Caitlyn, then waving it away, "but for the things I gave definite timelines to? No. I wasn't lying about taking things slow. With a proper lab, I could probably have it done tonight, but I was trying to figure out how to make it work without the ensuing pressure wave that'd break every window in the room. I had a feeling the Enforcers would want to have a fairly pointed discussion with me if I did that in my apartment, and, well, I was right," I offered.

Mrs. Kiramman didn't smile, but the corner of her mouth twitched upwards slightly, and she noted, "Indeed." There was a beat of silence, before she continued, "You seem to be a man of many hidden talents, Jayce. I did not know you were such a skilled orator."

Don't look guilty, I thought, but did not obsess over the imperative either, as that would lead me to doing exactly what I wanted to avoid, so I shrugged again, as if it was no big deal. "I'm less of a speaker than I am a scientist, and, with your support, there was no reason to be one before. If my arguments were convincing, it's because my words had the ring of truth," I stated, opening my arms. "Just as if I were to tell you, honestly, that I am appreciative of everything you've done for me, I hope you'd believe me, as I am being nothing if not sincere."

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Caitlyn giving her father a look that practically shouted 'See? I'm right!' but didn't comment on it, even as her mother's eyes flicked to her daughter, and the hint of a fond smile graced her stern features. "I suppose they do," she remarked, expression neutral once more. "Though truth alone is not always enough; I hope you understand that."

Which was advice and test, all at once, but a multi-layered one, Jayce's extra intelligence, turned in ways he'd never use it, let me pack in a lot more thought than I would've normally been able to in the moment before I answered.

If I was an idiot, or just naïve, I'd respond that truth should be enough, countering my Piltoverian patron's advice to her face, and I could almost see Caitlyn wanting to do exactly that.

If I was capable, but overconfident enough to try and play this woman, I'd respond... with something along the lines of accepting the advice, advice that I'd already shown to have known in my speech earlier today, and tell her I'd make sure to do so in the future.

But I wanted to be both seen as capable, but also, as I'd just said, loyal, which meant being open and honest, to a certain respect, as being completely honest would go very badly, very quickly.

"Of course," I smiled. "There was a reason I attributed the various traits I did to the various members of the Council."

There was something in Mrs. Kiramman's eyes, but I couldn't identify it, as she nodded slightly, asking, "And did you suggest my trait was Empathy because you thought I had it, and would agree with you, or that you thought I wanted it, but lacked it, and would agree with you because of that?"

This one was easy. "Neither. I had done nothing wrong, and believed that your patronage would ensure your backing, as, as you said, you were aware of my character, so I suggested your trait was Empathy so that others would view you as having it. I know you do, but you have a professionalism that others there... lack, which could be misconstrued as indifference," I lied, not having meant any of this at the time, but, after the fact, as long as it didn't contradict what I'd said before, I could re-assign motives as I wished.

There was a moment of silence, and I wondered if I'd fucked up, before Mrs. Kiramman chuckled to herself, "So you thought to do us a favor, even then? You were mostly correct, Jayce," she informed me, actually smiling now. "Shoola would have been more convinced had you said her trait was empathy, not skill. She is quite clear on her caring for the poor. Particularly those in the undercity, even when they don't deserve it. Your inclusion of helping them in your other statements covered that, however."

I nodded, thinking that over, and I could see how that would work, if I'd been fully willing to commit to the single piece of information I remembered about the woman, who was apparently named Shoola. "Understood," I replied, pausing before smiling slightly, "Given that I am likely to eventually be interacting with them in the future, do you have any other insights to share? I would be most grateful."

"After you've shown the Council you can do what you have claimed," the woman deferred, then turned a thoughtful look her daughter's way. "Then, perhaps Caitlyn could do so. She's had an education in such things. Too many lessons, according to her."

The blue-haired girl groaned. "Mother, those lessons are so boring!"

I however, just looked to her, and smiled, casting my gaze back towards the older woman, "I'd be delighted to."

It was subtle, but there was a hidden look of vindication in Mrs. Kiramman's eyes that I was a little confused by, until I ran it by my Jayce model, and realized the boy, and he was a boy, would've tried to defer, to get out of them, not seeing the point, and not wanting to be in a, to him, subordinate position to someone that he thought he was smarter than, though he'd never be able to put those feelings to words, lacking the self-awareness required.

My acquiescence of the offer stated several things I hadn't meant, though nothing that I didn't disagree with. It spoke of my valuing of Caitlyn, it spoke of my valuing of the art of Statecraft instead of ignoring everything except for Science (like Heimerdinger often did), and it spoke my acceptance of giving up some of my time to do as my patron wished. Spending my time after I'd shown myself as a valuable commodity, where, if I was unable to produce results, my patron could wash her hands of me.

The girl looked at me, asking in disbelief, "Really?"

"Of course," I responded easily. "Caitlyn, your family is Noble in every respect, it's one of the reasons I sought their patronage, but not all of them are. And the farther away you get, the worse it often becomes. Good people are everywhere, yes, but corruption, well, exists, getting more prevalent the deeper you go. Unfortunately, many people have to be convinced to do the right thing, and, knowing who they are, what they value, and so forth, lets you do that."

I spun up an example, gesturing with a fork, "Telling a ruthless factory owner that working their people in sixteen-hour shifts is cruel will not get them to budge. Tell them of the suffering it causes, and they will not care a whit. But if you can point to how productivity falls off after eight hours of work, how accidents, in addition to causing deaths, which they care nothing about, as they think they can always find more workers to replace them from the poor, will rise in frequency, and thus will shut down production for a time while the gear is cleaned and repaired, and how their actions will then cause other workers to seek to steal from the factory owner in retaliation for perceived wrongs, with no word on if they are correct in their perception or not, and you will have their attention."

"Now, the owner's proposed solutions might be just as horrible as their previous actions," I warned, "and it will almost certainly not go smoothly, with the ruthless industrialist suddenly 'seeing the light', but if you can discuss things in terms of profit, of how the reality of the situation will ensue instead of a theoretical model they've put together to make their proposed solution work, and be careful to never attack the man, or woman, directly, you can very well change the actions of a personage of poor character, where moral arguments would lie fallow, falling on deaf ears. But to do that, you have to know who the person is to begin with, as everyone is a little different, and what works on some, will not necessarily work on others."

I finished, Caitlyn looking at me, fascinated, but with the light of understanding in her eyes, and a silence stretched across the table. I glanced to the other two present, Mr. Kiramman frowning, while his wife's expression was a mask of careful indifference.

"I mean, that's how I see it. I might be completely off-base," I offered, looking to my patron for confirmation.

The girl across from me followed suite, looking to her mother with a questioning stare, who, in turn, slowly nodded. "I would not put it in such blunt terms," Mrs. Kiramman noted with careful neutrality, "but it is close enough to correct. Admirable, for one obviously untrained."

"But why didn't you say that?" Caitlyn inquired of her mother. "You just said it was something 'A young lady of your standing' should know!'"

I wanted to answer her, but held my tongue, as it wasn't my place, especially in front of the heiress's parents, something that, from the flick of the older woman's eyes, she noticed. "I would, in time," the matriarch stated. "You are young, and still learning." And if you tried to use your lessons, before you understood the dangers, you could get yourself in a whole mess of trouble, went unsaid, and, from Caitlyn's expression, unheard. "Can I assume you wouldn't mind teaching Jayce?" Mrs. Kiramman questioned, distracting the girl, who smiled, brightening and nodding excitedly.

"Then I'll endeavor to not keep you waiting too long," I offered Caitlyn with a smile of my own, one that, to a lesser extent, I noticed on her mother's face, even as her father practically glowered at me, though that was to be both expected, and honestly, didn't matter.

After that, the conversation was light, and I left, night having fallen, the storm almost upon us, and deferred the use of the family driver, wanting 'a bit of exercise to get the blood flowing, and to help me heal', which they accepted, with another dinner invitation next week, the kind of thing that they'd never offered Jayce before, only requesting his presence a handful of times. I accepted, waving goodbye to both Mrs. Kiramman and a smiling Caitlyn, and headed out their gate, turning in the direction of home and taking off with a spring in my step, which lasted until I was out of sight.

From there I started jogging, turning a corner and heading towards the bridge that divided Zaun and Piltover, getting a good bit of distance before heading down an empty alley, opening a portal and jumping through. I quickly stripped off my bright red tie and white and blue vest, leaving only my maroon button up shirt. My shoes and pants were also stripped, the flat leather soles, while comfortably soft and fancy, were not going to be good for sprinting through dirty, rain-slick streets, not having dried from the previous storm.

On went the black pants, really just formal pants from my bedroom's wardrobe that I'd sown spider-silk panels along the interior of. Against a blunt blow, they'd be useless, a hammer to the knees still crippling, but they'd be effectively knifeproof, and bullet resistant, which was the best I'd get with soft armor. Then the workboots, the synthetic soles able to find purchase on anything short of oiled ice, and, while heavy, they wouldn't slow me down too much.

Hesitating, I dashed upstairs and grabbed a coat with a high cowl, something that'd serve to further hide my identity, not grabbing the mask after a moment, as it would be too much and make me more conspicuous, not less, and then it was back down, through the portal, and out the street, feet pounding as I pushed myself to my limit, Body Talent having made sure that Jayce, despite his lackadaisical attitude towards his own fitness, was still in perfect form, at least for someone who wasn't a trained warrior. On Runeterra, even 'normal' people could train themselves to ludicrous extents, but that had more to do with the nature of Magic than any biological differences.

Mana ran thick through the world, and, even if one couldn't control it directly; it infused the air you breathed, the food you ate, and the water you drank. Even in a 'low-magic' area like Demacia, where anti-magic stone formed the bedrock of their city, it was still present in such amounts that, through extreme training, one could eventually pull off superhuman feats of speed and strength. So, by their standards, I was still a weakling, but I was more than up to sprinting down the dark city streets to get to my destination.

I attracted a few stares, a couple of Enforcers moving as if to follow, but since no one was obviously chasing me, no alarms going off, even though I probably looked like the hounds of hell were after me, they made no move to follow. If I had more time, I'd be less conspicuous, but it was already dark, and I had miles to go.

Crossing the bridge, ten minutes later, I looked around for the Zaunite memorial, not seeing it, but not stopping, finally catching a glimpse of small lights ahead of me, dashing past the pictures and lanterns set up off to the side, with not a glimpse of Vander or Violet, and cursed. I could see the rain coming in, it would be upon me before an hour was up, which meant I was running late.

Or you could be wrong, came the thought. It could be tomorrow, and you're pushing yourself for nothing.

But I ignored it, as the consequences of being wrong about it being tonight would be a minor inconvenience, and maybe a few awkward questions, but if I was right, and put it off, the consequences would be catastrophic.

I entered Zaun, not stopping, eyes forward, as the sound of distant lightning could be heard. I could go down, try and hit Benzo's to see if Silco had made his move, but if he had, I had less time than I thought, and if he hadn't, while it would tell me I might be a day early, it also might put me in the sights of the man's Shimmer-fueled berserker. So instead I kept going down the top-layer of streets, the late hour and the oncoming storm emptying them, for the most part.

One man started to swagger out, moving into my path, and he started to drawl, "Hold your horses there, topsider. What's got yo-"

Which is when I hit him, shortening one of my steps so I could power through the blow, a rising palm strike to the bottom of his jaw that took him off his feet, slamming his teeth shut as I tossed him to the side, maintaining forward momentum as I kept moving, speeding back up to a full sprint, not willing to stop. By the time he hit the ground, I was already a few dozen feet away, his friends starting to get up from where they were seated, but they were thugs, not fighters, and without ranged weapons, fighting a fleeing opponent only worked if you were faster, or if you could trap them, and neither was the case here.

Further and further I ran, Zaun wide as well as deep, legs burning, heart pounding, chest bellowing to give me enough tainted air to keep going, through ever-dirtier city streets, flashes of light over the sea visible, and I ducked into an empty alley, opening another portal. This time I tossed off my shirt, and the wristband Jayce wore nigh-religiously, having forgotten to take it off earlier, pulling on the spider silk shirt so hard a little of the stitching in the back tore, then the coat, the pistol, the extra magazines, the sword, the goggles, and the balaclava, the moment of rest enough to let me recover a little, wanting to take longer, but I couldn't.

Leaping out, I bust down out of the alley, an old woman shrieking in fright, but I didn't care, I didn't have time, as I could see the shoreline in the distance, which was full of abandoned looking buildings, but I didn't know which one was the right one.

Then, to my horror, the world seemed to offer an answer in reply to my problem, helpfully identifying my destination as a distant, ghostly roar rippled through the air, a column of blue light piercing the heavens, lighting up the dark streets with harsh shadows, crackles of mana-lightning reaching up from the earth into the skies, an unnatural storm of destruction moving in reverse.

Before me, the street ended, one of the elevators that'd take one down to the city proper descending out of sight, having missed it by seconds, a several hundred foot drop down into Zaun proper before me. It'd take me the over an hour to get there if I used the bathysphere, having to wait for it to return, less if I ran for it, but I wasn't that confident in my free running ability, more likely to fall to my death if I hurried than not.

I'm out of time, I thought, dropping down to Plan U, and that, that was not a good plan.

It wouldn't be pleasant, but it would be safe, and, and there was no way to get there in time, so it was the best I was going to get.

...no.

No, I hadn't planned on it, but I had the resources, if I was willing to use them, and I called my phone to my hand, someone gasping to the side as it materialized out of thin air, and I checked that, yes, yes it was doable.

Taking a deep breath, I took off running, and leapt off the cliff.

Chapter Six

Silco staggered out of the burning remains of what he'd spent his entire life building, each breath pulling with it a familiar throb, one he'd felt long ago, and thought he'd never feel again.

The plan had been perfect, and he didn't know what had gone wrong.

His bankrolling of the good doctor had been a risk, but what in life wasn't, and it had paid off. Shimmer. A nigh-magical substance, a mix of chemtech and medicine, that could turn even the lowest thug into the kind of monster that their ancestors used to whisper about in the dark, the reason that walls were built, and why the night was feared. Testing it until it was safe for use was a long, arduous process, and one that wasn't done, but what was power without a price?

And he'd been the one in control of that power.

The incident in Piltover had been exactly the spark that was needed to ignite the conflict between the haves and the would-haves, once they seized what was theirs. Vander, the man he had called brother, had bought the Undercity peace, but at the price of their dignity, their respect, their souls.

But the weak often flocked to those that let them remain such, begging, demanding aid without deserving it, and only those already with strength, like Sevika, were able to break free and follow the true path to power. And he'd thought Vander weak, until, in those very last moments, the old Vander, the true Vander, had come clawing back to the surface, with his hands around Silco's neck, just like old times.

Then he'd thought that man had long since died, and, seeing him arisen anew, veins glowing with Shimmer, had been a sight to behold. In an instant, Vander had snapped the neck of the guttersnipe Silco had chained, with links of promises and addiction, and turned his sights on Silco himself.

But, just as before, when faced with the choice between protecting the pathetic, and seizing strength, Vander had ran, with the girl, and escaped.

And Vander could not be allowed to escape.

Silco's stores of Shimmer were gone, burned up in an explosion that had come out of nowhere, unlike anything the man had ever seen before in his life. His first thought had been that it was the Enforcers, but they were a joke, a dog to the Council, and one that'd just been beheaded. There'd be a period of confusion, but young Marcus was the shoo-in for the position of Sheriff. A position even more secure if he could be the one to capture the four rapscallions that'd set off these events, accidentally bombing Piltover.

If it wasn't accidental, Silco would've almost been proud of them, but Vander's get? It was surely unintentional.

No, without them to turn over, Marcus would have a harder time, but with the man's good friend down in the Lanes, the little up-and-comer would be able to make a few arrests, track down a few wanted men, break up a crime ring or two, and be the belle of the judicial ball, and firmly in Silco's pocket.

Grayson replaced with Marcus, Vander with Silco, out with the old and in with the new, but that only worked if the old was gone, which was why Vander and his brats needed to die.

He hadn't lied to the man, Silco would claim that they'd run, and everyone would believe it. The man had run from the fight before, so to do so now, to save his children? Some would even think of the man fondly for it, fools all, but even fools had a purpose.

Still, though, Silco was left with the question of what had happened. Stumbling into the rain, he still didn't know, the falling water washing away the ash, and the grit, and the soot, but not the failure.

Closing his eyes, he listened to the flames, and the rain, and the... crying?

A girl's voice, but not Vander's girl, the pitch too high, too desperate, too pure in its pain.

And now Silco was interested.

Slowly making his way around the building that had been his home for years, the rain heavy on his shoulders, but not enough to put out the flames, Silco paused, seeing Vander's engorged body, unmoving, deathly still, yet still practically brimming with power, and there was a girl with him, but not the right girl, blue hair instead of pink.

The younger sister.

Silco considered the sight before him. Violet was nowhere to be seen, but she was Vander's girl, which meant that, just as she'd come after her father, she'd come after little Powder.

Fingering the knife, the knife that'd killed the girl's father, after a fashion, Silco slowly approached the crying child, a smile coming to his lips, while the poor child, so lost to her grief, and the death of her only parent, didn't even notice his approach.

He stood there, but she still didn't notice, and he started to speak, when something whipped past his head, so fast he couldn't see it, but drawing a burning line of pain across his cheek.

Invisible attacks rained down, another catching his arm, sending him stumbling backwards, scrambling for cover as Silco realized they were gunshots, the bullets coming down with barely a sound, covered by the rain and fire, but causing the chaotic puddles to explode and stone to shatter around him as he scurried for cover, away from the girl, even as the surviving members of his group came to his aid, carrying the wounded, Sevika unconscious and with glowing blue burns on her face.

"What's going on?" Trevak asked, the blonde man looking dazedly down the suddenly dangerous alley.

Well, if he was going to volunteer, Silco thought, ordering as he pointed towards Vander's brat, "Get the girl, and keep your head down!"

Trevak hesitated, but followed, charging down the alley, only to stumble as more silent shots rained down, taking the thin man in the gut and causing him to falter, as a flicker of green danced in the flames, distant, before, in an instant, a figure came flying, literally flying, through the blaze, covered head to toe in black, a pistol in one hand, a glowing stone in another, riding a device that shone with the kind of green one only saw in firelights, or from tales of hungry spirits from the Shadow Isles.

The man, was he even a man, leapt from what he was riding, a mechanical device, but one the likes of which Silco had never seen. The thing spun forward, slamming into Trevak, with a bone-crunching crack, that took his man off his feet, before it came apart into mist and shadows, like it never existed, like Magic, and suddenly Silco wasn't so sure of what he was dealing with.

The figure raised its weapon and fired at him, the shots muted, faint, like they were coming from a great distance, like they were coming from another world, and Silco took cover, along with the others, lifting the blade in his hand, which had been washed clean, around the corner and trying to see the figure through its reflection.

Whatever it was had no face, like the golems of old, only two glowing green circles for eyes. Its pistol, and the sword hidden at its waist, were both covered with ghostly blood splatters that glowed with an inner, unholy light, even visible behind the inferno that burned behind it, casting the figure in shadows. It was hard to see in the flickering light of the alley, as thunder boomed above, but Silco could make out dark bones studding the thing's body unnaturally, and its sword, as it stood completely still, undaunted, waiting, pistol out.

"What do you want?" Silco demanded, looking at his men. They'd just been defeated, and by a teenage girl no less, and they were injured, having barely escaped the blaze. Could they handle this?

Trevak groaned, stumbling to his feet, and the thing's pistol dipped down, just for a moment, three muted cracks going off in rapid succession, and the back of the blonde's skull exploded as he fell to the alley floor, dead.

I did warn him to keep his head down, Silco thought, mind scrambling for a way to deal with this new, unforeseen threat. Had it been what had set off the explosion? Only the explosion had been a distinct blue, while this thing was very clearly green.

Then it spoke, its emotionless words carrying, reverberating through the alleyway, through Silco's soul.

"I'm here for the children."

"Bit late for that," Silco taunted. Could this thing even be taunted?

Looking at its reflection, it didn't so much as move a muscle, only responded, without a mouth, "I know."

The man tried to edge over, only for another too-soft shot to ring out, the wooden pile of debris he was behind splintering further. Whatever weapon the thing was using, it had to be unnatural, that had to be over a dozen shots without reloading, though Silco could hear the soft ting of a metal cartridge hitting stone, like the alchemical charges the nobles used. "Why are you even here, Spirit?" he demanded, watching the thing for a reaction, but it didn't so much as flinch at the accusation. Was that confirmation, or does it not care? "There are hundreds of children in the undercity. What makes this one special?"

"Vander," the thing stated, and Silco didn't bother to bite back the snarl that rose up out of him, anger and disgust roiling in his guts. It always came back to him, didn't it? The man had a gods-be-damned Spirit at his beck and call, and he still hadn't had the courage to do what needed to be done! "Between killing you, and saving them, he wanted the latter."

Which just fit the man to a T, Silco thought. Powers beyond human comprehension? Make them a babysitter. "You had a deal with him? We were friends," the man announced, trying to remember every story he'd ever heard about the supernatural. Some said Spirits could tell when you were lying, so he'd just not lie, not exactly. "We could be friends too. You can have the girl, and we could make a dea-"

Another shot cut him off, and Silco swore, splinters sticking into the back of his neck, warning clear. He almost missed the thing as it looked away, and down, murmuring to the girl, voice still carrying unnaturally, "Powder, you need to come with me."

The brat, who had been watching the Spirit's back with wide eyes, asked, voice pathetically weak, "You, you want me? R-Really?"

"Really."

The child lunged forward with all her might, holding onto the thing's legs, Silco half expecting her to pass through them, and sobbed, as it twisted around to look to her, the glowing stone in its hands vanishing into smoke, and, with its back turned, Silco stood and threw his dagger, the blade flying true, stabbing into flesh.

The Spirit barely noticed, casually brushing it off, where it clattered to the ground, and it fired its weapon again, Silco taking cover, but staring at the thing through a hole in the pile of trash, as he demanded, "What are you!?"

The thing looked at him, and laughed, cold and mocking, before it, holding onto its prize, tilted sideways like a falling tower, only instead of hitting the ground, it passed through the solid stone like the ghost it was, taking the girl with it, but, more than it was its words that shook the man.

"It's simple, Child of Zaun. I'm your Enemy."

​

Falling through the portal, I realized I'd fucked up the placement when I came through upside down, but I had enough momentum to yank myself around, wrapping myself around Powder so I hit and slid across the concrete, struggling to my feet and pointing my gun at the shimmering entrance. It was supposed to be unnoticeable, but I'd just gone through it in front of half a dozen people, so, even if they had to stumble into it, I wasn't sure if I was about to have company or not.

I had two shots left in my pistol, having already gone through one magazine as I'd flown in, thankfully getting Silco to back off as I reloaded before coming through the fire. The seventeen round double-stack magazines, while bigger than a standard 1911's, were still not enough to make up for the fact that I was kind of a shit shot. Not terrible, but shooting a handgun, while trying not to fall off of a hoverboard that I'd never flown before, and not hitting Powder, meant that I missed, and I missed a lot, as I'd been trying to shoot him in the fucking head.

If it'd just been me, I might've gone for the kill, but I hadn't lied about my priorities, and saving Powder took precedence. The fact that Silco had managed to blindside me the moment I was distracted was worrying, and I'd frozen, but my jacket held up, even as he'd, somehow, managed to sink the blade between the 'ribs' of my coat, piercing the outer layer and getting caught partially through the interior panel, not getting through the spidersilk interior.

Summoning my Company Phone, I closed the portal, and sighed in relief, carefully holstering the gun, which I hadn't bothered to put a safety on, not having time to. Looking to the side, I noticed a large door that hadn't been there the last time I was in this room, which likely lead to my garage, where my personal Firelight Hoverboard now was stored in. It'd been five points, only because it was so incredibly small, but it was absolutely worth it, as I'd been seconds away from some serious problems.

Speaking of which, I slowly stood, picking up Powder, the girl crying, holding on tight, only letting go when I was very clearly holding onto her, and only then to get a better hold on me, as I gathered her to my chest with one arm, using the other to reach up and pull off my balaclava, and then my goggles.

"W-Why?" she asked, head tucked tight against my chest.

"Because you were just trying to help," I replied kindly, and she jerked back, as if I'd slapped her, looking up and seeing my face, freezing as she recognized me.

"Y-you?" she questioned, confused, and exhausted. "I-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!"

Patting her on the back, I gently pushed her toward me, until she was curled back up against my chest, and I started to walk for the stairs. "I know. And I know you didn't know. I don't blame you, Powder."

She stiffened a little, but the girl was wrung out, emotionally, and just held onto me as I walked up and into the house proper, the night calm and clear, the seaside air fresh and clean. "Where, where are we?" the girl questioned, head still against me, but turned sideways, staring out the windows in weary wonder.

"Somewhere safe," I promised, a little guilty, but the kid was unstable as all hell right now, and needed to not just hear that, but know it.

"Are, are you magic?" she asked, hesitantly, as if she was afraid I'd... honestly I wasn't sure, but the girl was on a knife's edge.

I just smiled, and shook my head. "No, though I've got some nice toys." Taking her into the kitchen, I tried to set her down, but she wouldn't let go. "How bout I make you some dinner?"

Which just set her off, the girl bawling her eyes out once more, so I repositioned her slightly, and let her continue holding onto me, cooking it with one arm, letting Faerie Feast guide my hand, tamping down its 'literally addictive' default into something amazing, but not psychologically harmful.

Because this poor girl was messed up enough.

I just held her, letting her rest against me, managing to prepare things without too much difficulty, thankful that the fridge held enough ingredients that I didn't have to make things completely from scratch. Even then, it was nearly an hour later before I was done, which also let me come down from my flight, and fight, not that I needed it.

By the time I was done, she was asleep in my arms, and I poured out a serving, sitting her down, wrapping a towel around her, and waking her up. She was shaky, and I had to essentially hand feed her, but she got half a bowl down, before she fell back asleep, leaning up against me, and this time I let her.

Taking the girl upstairs, and removing her ruined shoes, I slipped her into bed, taking a moment to leave a note that said I was around, and setting an alarm that'd go off when the bedroom door was opened. Going back downstairs, and taking a few minutes to have some soup myself, I let out a low whistle, as it was stupid good, and maybe I should push any future culinary creations down another tier or two of quality. Regardless, I put the rest in fridge and sighed, heading back down to the portal room, my night far from over.

Going through the mystery door, it led into a garage, like I thought, the hoverboard sitting up on a table, completely repaired despite bouncing it off four separate rooftops, two walls, and throwing it in someone's face, just as the sales pitch said it'd be. But then again, for the same price as a full genetic tune-up, immunity to minor problems, and biological immortality, it damn well better have been self-repairing.

In retrospect, pulling some action-movie bullshit, jumping off the cliff to summon it into existence below me had been fucking dumb, and thankfully the 'instant processing' that Seminar in Basic had promised was bang-on the money, the service being designed for just that sort of 'oh shit, I'm about to die' scenario.

With the first purchase came the workshop, that'd let me tweak, build, and save vehicle designs. I'd always have to build the first one myself, but after that I'd be able to summon it, though I wouldn't be able to copy them, each resummon disintegrating the old one, to prevent bullshit, and force you to buy multiples if you wanted to outfit a group, and were too dumb, or too pressed for time, to not be able build them yourself.

This thing wasn't Hextech, but a very advanced form of Chemtech, a chemical-based technology that wasn't found outside of Zaun, as it had essentially created Zaun, and every other country looked at that trashfire and went 'Nope, I'm good.' It was the neon substance that powered The Lanes, and was stupid toxic if not handled correctly, so... that was kind of understandable, as no one was that desperate to use it, and those that were desperate enough were already in such dire straights they couldn't put together the infrastructure needed to utilize it effectively.

Either way, the hoverboard was actually fairly intuitive to use, Science Talent helping me get a handle on it, and it was easy to activate and jump aboard, drifting out into the main chamber. Jumping off it, I considered my next step. With Powder secure, but Vi probably on her way to Stillwater Prison, I was on track for Plan M, which I could work with, and that one required biological sample collection.

Jogging back up the stairs, I stopped by the med bay, my medical training enough to let it qualify as a 'workshop', grabbing a couple zip-lock bags and a scalpel, along with a carrying case. Pocketing them, I headed back, grabbing my discarded goggles and balaclava and slipping them back on.

Re-opening the portal, knowing I might come up in the line of fire, I got on the hoverboard and accelerated it, ducking low and with my arms up and out to protect my head, as I passed through the shimmering gateway, coming out into a thunderstorm, pulling up and around, looking in every direction, but I saw no-one.

Silco's building was still on fire, but Wild Defense meant I gave zero shits about environmental hazards, and I dropped into the still-burning structure, flames lapping uselessly at my legs, and I dismissed my ride, the toxic air useless against Body Defense as I strode through the Shimmer-fire, looking for two bodies in particular.

It wasn't until nearly half an hour later that I found them, the two boys' corpses mostly buried, which had, in turn, protected them from the worst of the heat. I was too late to save them, but my boss was literally Death, and, eventually, I'd be able to call in favors.

To save these two boys, who had good hearts, and, like Powder, just wanted to help?

Worth it.

Taking out the sample bags and the scalpel, I cut off a single finger from each, sealing them and tucking them into a pocket, as resurrection was far easier if one had a sample to work from, to tie the magics into, and to target the subject's soul from the sea of them that existed in most afterlives. From there, it was easy to walk down, through the fires and the toxic smoke, and stop at Vander's bloated and distorted corpse, Shimmer-infused veins bulging obscenely, the man's hands now enormous.

This time, instead of a full finger, I only went after a single knuckle, having to practically saw through the stupid thing, his flesh like rubber, and his blood like tar that still dimly glowed with an inner pinkish light, but I eventually got it, dropping it in bag number three. Opening another portal, this one on the wall, I paused, seeing a soot-stained, water-logged stuffed rabbit, and a small wooden box, covered in colorful childish scrawling.

Grabbing them both, I stepped Home, leaving the samples in cold storage to freeze solid, and be preserved, cleaning both the box and the rabbit. Entering Powder's room, she was still deeply asleep, so I left the box on her dresser, and moved over to the girl, who was frowning, and brushed her hair with a gloved hand, which seemed to help. Lifting her covers, I put the rabbit next to her, and the girl sleepily reached out, grabbing the stuffed animal and holding it tight, the tension in her expression further easing.

I myself was exhausted, but I needed to move the portal exit before I was done. Heading back out with my hoverboard, I flew back towards the top level of Zaun, now just after one in the morning, and landed, dismissing it as I nodded to a few people still awake, and staring, before I strode towards Piltover, attracting more stares, but that was part of the plan, setting up Powder's, and Violet's, reappearance in the City of Progress.

I wanted to go get Violet right now, but I was barely awake, trying not to stumble, and it'd take her some time to get processed. Tomorrow night, I promised, making it to the bridge, and, looking around, seeing that no one had followed, though the near-torrential rainstorm might've helped.

Either way, back Home, switch to 'noble but not too noble' gear, and back out, the rain not bothering me in the slightest, then into Piltover, another stop Home to change into 'House Talis' apparel, and back to my mother's house. Walking inside, just after two in the morning, I was surprised to see my mother still up, waiting for me, and looking at me with relieved concern.

"Where were you?" she demanded, though, as was her nature, she did so without any real force.

"Sorry, I didn't realize you'd wait for me," I replied honestly, a little blindsided, and tamping down on my 'Surprise? Attack!' instincts. "After I talked with the Kirammans, had dinner with them actually, I went for a bit of a walk to clear my thoughts. Stopped by my apartment," I lied, as easily as breathing, and shook my head. "So many ideas, I can't believe I've got an official lab, and, and it doesn't feel real. Sorry, Mom, I really didn't mean to make you worry. I'm, I'm going to go to bed, if that's alright?" I asked, and she nodded.

The woman was surprised when I gave her a hug, but gladly returned it, and soon enough I was back in my room. From there, I faked my sleeping form, and went Home, so I could be nearby when Powder woke, setting an alarm and heading to my own bed. I'd be getting, at most, five hours of sleep, but I was more than used to working off that kind of schedule now, and, while some of my goals had been achieved, I still had quite a few more to go.