Chapter 9: Fuck them Taxes

Two days had passed since The Incident.

The "Vi Called My Dick Small and Powder Saw My Entire Ass" Incident.

And Lukas?

Lukas was still fucking mad.

Every time he closed his eyes, he could hear Vi's dumbass voice mocking him.

"Kinda bold of you to be this confident with your size, huh?"

His blood boiled.

He had one mission in life now.

To make that woman suffer.

Okay, maybe not suffer. But at least trip over a rock in public and embarrass herself.

…Then again, maybe plotting revenge against a teenage girl was a bit much.

"Whatever. Fuck her."

He had bigger things to focus on.

Like side questing.

---

Zaun was literally a garbage dump.

And Lukas?

Lukas was farming that garbage like an MMO player with no life.

Scrap metal. Old gears. Rusted tools.

He spent two days looting the back alleys like some kind of medieval peasant collecting firewood.

And, let him tell you—

Zaun was filthy.

Like, it wasn't even just Piltover dumping their shit here.

The people of Zaun did it to themselves.

He found entire heaps of valuable metal just rotting in the streets because no one bothered to reuse anything.

No organization. No progress. No Balls.

Just filth.

And then they wonder why the city never advances.

"No wonder you guys are stuck in the dirt."

Lukas, on the other hand?

Lukas was built different.

In just two days, he had gathered:

A Fuckton of scrap metal.

A couple of old tools.

Some weird mechanical parts that might be worth something.

A dented can of beans.

"We eatin' good tonight, boiiis."

Step one, complete.

Step two: Turning this junk into cash.

Half of it was going to the system, the other half?

Straight to Benzo's shop.

The man ran the biggest Pawn Shop in Zaun, and more importantly—Ekko lived there.

If Lukas wanted connections, he needed to get in good with the old man.

And yeah, maybe that made him an opportunistic bastard.

But come on.

The future of Rapture depended on this.

Before heading to Benzo's, Lukas opened the system to finally cash in his hard-earned loot.

He navigated to the store, tapped on the revolver, and selected the material exchange option.

A progress bar appeared.

[PROCESSING SCRAP METAL…]

A few seconds later—

[EXCHANGE COMPLETE! DISCOUNT APPLIED.]

Lukas grinned.

Then he saw the new price.

And his soul left his body.

---

[REVOLVER (10 BULLETS) – 400 POINTS]

[40 KG OF SCRAP METAL DEDUCTED]

---

"…That's it?"

40 kilograms of metal.

For a 100-point discount.

"BRO, WHAT THE FUCK?!"

He stared at the screen in betrayal.

"40 KILOS, FOR 100 FUCKING POINTS?!"

This was highway robbery.

This was a scam.

This was Piltovan capitalism at its finest.

"Ah, whatever," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "Fucking system tax. Just take the goddamn points."

He tapped the purchase button.

---

[PURCHASE CONFIRMED.]

---

A sleek revolver materialized in front of him, floating in midair.

Lukas grabbed it, rolling the weight in his palm.

It wasn't fancy. No engravings, no hextech bullshit.

Just pure, reliable firepower.

He spun the cylinder. Six loaded rounds.

The system even gave him four extra bullets in a small pouch.

"Nice."

Pocketing the extra ammo, he holstered the gun inside his hoodie.

Because let's be real.

As fun as it was to scream "UNLIMITED POWEEEEEER" and zap people with lightning, relying on one power source was a stupid idea.

He wasn't about to get caught in a fight and suddenly go limp because he ran out of EVE.

That would be the most embarrassing death imaginable.

---

Lukas trudged through Zaun's grimy, stinking streets, dragging behind him a ridiculously oversized cart of scrap metal like some kind of cursed medieval peasant.

His back hurt. His arms hurt. His soul hurt.

And to make things worse, every few minutes, some random asshole on the street would glance at him like he had just grown a second head—then immediately go back to minding their own damn business.

Classic Zaun.

"Not my problem? Not my fucking problem."

Lukas exhaled sharply, yanking the cart over a particularly nasty pothole.

The sheer weight of the thing was ruining his spine.

He could practically feel his vertebrae collapsing with every step.

By the time he finally reached Benzo's pawn shop, he was 90% sure he had developed a hernia.

He stopped, resting his hands on his knees, gasping for air like an asthmatic fish.

"Fucking… hell…"

He looked up at the small, worn-down shop in front of him.

This was it.

This was where he'd finally make some real money.

Step one of the Grand Plan to Not Be a Homeless Little Bitch.

He took a deep breath, straightened his spine (painfully), and walked inside.

---

The door creaked as he stepped in, the little bell above the entrance jingling weakly.

Benzo didn't even look up.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be right there, hold your damn horses."

Lukas ignored him.

Instead, he walked straight to the counter, an entire pile of scrap in his arms—

—and slammed that shit down like a Yu-Gi-Oh! card on a playground duel.

BAM.

The impact was so loud it nearly knocked Benzo off his goddamn ladder.

"WHAT IN THE FU—?!"

The old man barely caught himself, glaring down at Lukas like he had personally offended his ancestors.

"The hell was that?!"

Lukas just stood there, grinning like an idiot.

Arms crossed. Head held high. Looking very smug about the literal mountain of scrap metal he had just dumped onto Benzo's workspace.

He was clearly waiting to be praised.

Benzo sighed so hard it nearly aged him another decade.

"I am too old for this shit."

---

The old man climbed down, rubbing his temples as he eyed the monstrosity of junk piled on his counter.

Lukas, still smiling like a dumbass, spoke up.

"Spent the whole damn day gathering this. You buying?"

Benzo let out a slow, exhausted sigh, rubbing his face.

This kid.

Skinny as hell. Clearly malnourished.

But at least he was trying to make a living instead of just turning to gang work or stealing like most orphans down here.

Benzo respected that.

Even if he wanted to throw this entire pile of junk at the kid's head.

He picked up a random hunk of metal, inspecting it.

"Half of this shit's useless," he muttered. "But… maybe my grandson can find something to do with it."

He glanced back at Lukas.

"Eight silver gears for the lot."

Lukas blinked.

"Eight?"

Benzo grunted. "Take it or leave it, kid."

Lukas's brain went full accountant mode.

Quick math.

One silver gear = 100 bronze washers.

A street meal in Zaun? 80 to 90 washers.

And 100 silver gears = 1 gold gear.

Lukas's eye twitched.

Holy fuck, I'm broke.

Like, actually, critically, depressingly broke.

But hey—

He still had more scrap outside.

If he hauled the rest in, he might be able to push his earnings higher.

He nodded at Benzo.

"Cool, cool. I'll be right back with the rest."

And with that, he turned and sprinted out the door.

Straight toward his cart.

Except when he got outside—

It was gone.

---

Lukas froze.

His cart.

His precious cart.

The fruits of his hard labor.

GONE.

Nowhere to be seen.

Vanished.

Like his father when he went to buy cigarettes.

"…Wait."

Lukas's brain crashed.

Like, completely blue-screened.

He stood there, staring at the empty street like a man who had just lost all faith in humanity.

Someone stole it.

SOMEONE STOLE HIS SHIT.

His eye twitched.

And then—

"YOU FILTHY FUCKING BASTARDS!"

Several passersby flinched. A few side-eyes were thrown his way.

But, true to Zaun's golden rule, no one said a damn thing.

Not my problem? Not my fucking problem.

Lukas grabbed his hair, seething.

"WHO THE FUCK STEALS A WHOLE CART?!"

"WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU GONNA HIDE THAT SHIT?!"

"WHAT ARE YOU EVEN GONNA DO WITH IT?!?"

From the doorway behind him, Benzo chuckled.

Lukas whipped around.

The old man leaned against the frame, arms crossed, looking very amused.

"Welcome to the Lanes, kid."

Lukas's eye twitched.

Benzo shook his head, stepping forward.

"The Lanes may be safer than they used to be, but you still shouldn't leave your shit out in the open like that."

He tossed Lukas his payment.

The coins jingled as Lukas barely managed to catch them midair.

Benzo turned back toward his shop.

"Consider this a cheap lesson. Next time, don't be stupid."

Lukas stood there.

Fuming.

Seething.

Internally screaming.

He wasn't even mad at Benzo.

He was mad at himself.

Those faceless, nameless motherfuckers had stolen his loot.

He clenched his fists, grinding his teeth.

Oh, they thought they were funny, huh?

They thought they could just take from him and get away with it?

Fine.

Fine.

They just made the biggest mistake of their lives.

Because Lukas?

Lukas was a petty motherfucker.

And one day?

One day, they would pay.

Dearly.

With his back still aching, his wallet still depressingly light, and his spirit filled with nothing but vengeance, he turned and walked away.

This wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.

"You fuckers better sleep with one eye open."