Victim of the Badge

It was supposed to be a quiet walk.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long golden shadows across Piltover's upper lanes. After days of hiding in her apartment, haunted by memories and the weight of it all, Y/N had finally stepped out-just to breathe. Just to feel normal. A grocery bag swung from her hand, filled with bread, soap, canned soup. Mundane. Safe.

Until it wasn't.

"Wait... are you-?"

A hesitant voice pierced the stillness like a dagger.

Y/N turned, heart lurching. A woman stood frozen across the street, eyes blown wide, her comm device trembling in her grasp.

Click.

The flash came before the panic.

"She's the one-!"

"Did Sheriff Kiramman really did it?!"

"What did she say to you?"

"Did you seduce her?!"

The voices crashed in, one on top of another, questions sharper than fists. Y/N stumbled, shielding her face, trying to back away-but they surged closer. Reporters. Civilians. Curious onlookers. Angry ones. Everyone had something to say. Everyone wanted a piece.

She wasn't a person anymore. Just a headline.

"Slut!"

"Liar!"

"Hero!"

"Homewrecker!"

The words blurred together, overwhelming her senses. Someone reached for her arm. Another shoved a mic toward her lips.

Make it stop. Please, make it stop.

Her chest tightened. Her vision tunneled. A thousand faces, too close, too loud. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. She needed to run.

The grocery bag hit the pavement, contents spilling across the cobblestones. Y/N turned and bolted.

She didn't know where she was going. She just knew she had to go somewhere else. Down crowded streets, through narrow alleys, between shuttered shops. She didn't stop until the light turned greenish, the air got thicker, and the polished shine of Piltover gave way to something darker.

Zaun.

She leaned against a rusted wall, chest heaving, sweat dripping down her temple. Her fingers trembled like wires. Her ears still rang from the chaos. But the silence here was different. Comforting. Gritty. Honest.

No flashes. No questions.

Just steam. Metal. The soft whirr of machinery far below.

She exhaled.

The breath shook coming out of her, but it came out. That alone felt like a small miracle.

A sharp click echoed above her.

"Yeesh," came a voice from the shadows, "you really know how to make an entrance."

Y/N jerked upright, startled.

Perched upside-down on a pipe was Jinx, lazily swinging like she hadn't a care in the world. Her two-toned eyes sparkled with chaos and curiosity, and a half-eaten screwdriver dangled from her lips.

"How many reporters did you knock over?" she teased, flipping gracefully to land on her feet with a metallic clank. "Or was it just your sparkling presence that caused a riot?"

Y/N blinked, chest still rising and falling.

She hadn't even heard her approach.

Jinx's grin tilted slightly when she didn't get a reply. Her tone dropped a notch-not serious, but... softer.

"...Hey," she said, stepping closer. "You okay?"

Y/N didn't answer right away. Her throat was too tight. Her knees still wobbled. The panic hadn't fully left-but in its place was a different kind of shock. One that blinked in confusion at the strange girl offering her a hand.

Without thinking, she took it.

Jinx pulled her gently forward. "C'mon. Let's get off the street before someone mistakes you for a celeb again. I've got a new couch that doesn't explode."

That earned a small, tired smile.

And she let Jinx guide her deeper into the undercity-into her chaos-colored hideaway.

Where, for once, Y/N wasn't the one being chased.

As they weaved through the winding pipes and flickering neon of Zaun, Y/N kept close behind Jinx, her heart still thrumming like a war drum, but dulled now-muted by the absurdity of her guide skipping ahead like a circus act.

"You know," Jinx said over her shoulder, "for someone with a face that could start a war, you're really bad at crowd control."

Y/N groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "Please don't remind me."

"No really!" Jinx twirled around, walking backwards now. "I think three people fainted. One guy dropped his hot dog. A lady tried to touch your hair like you were a holy relic. It was awesome."

Y/N gave her a flat look. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"Guilty!" Jinx grinned and threw her hands up. "You should've seen your face! Like-'oh no! Consequences!'"

She mimicked Y/N's panicked expression with exaggerated flailing, and despite herself, Y/N laughed. It came out small and broken, but real.

"...You're insane," Y/N muttered.

"Aw, don't sweet-talk me."

They turned a corner, passing a cluttered wall plastered with peeling posters and graffiti. Jinx suddenly stopped, pointing at one of the newer prints.

"Wait-hold up, look at this!"

Y/N squinted.

It was an ad-probably dragged down from the surface, all shiny and out of place. The bold letters read:

"Support Local Creators! Buy Me a Coffee Today!"

A smiling cartoon mug gave a thumbs up.

Jinx leaned in, mock-serious. "Wow. I didn't know bribery had a cute mascot now."

She tapped the paper thoughtfully. "Think I could get people to fund my chaos? 'Buy Me a Bazooka'? 'Tip Me or Tripwire'?"

Y/N snorted. "Only if it comes with a free concussion."

Jinx lit up. "Yes! Now you're getting it!"

She struck a pose beside the ad like it was her personal brand, then looked at Y/N, eyes bright beneath messy bangs. "Honestly though, who needs coffee? You're already high-octane scandal fuel. I should start charging admission just to walk next to you."

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the weight on her chest had lifted slightly.

With Jinx, even the world's worst week somehow became... survivable.

And as they kept walking, Zaun's shadows swallowed the noise behind them.

The hideout was chaos, but it was Jinx's chaos-scattered blueprints, piles of gears and scraps, tangled wires like metal vines creeping along the floor. A half-finished painting sat propped against the wall, bright streaks of pink and red across the canvas like an unspoken emotion left out to dry.

Y/N let herself sink into the beaten couch with a sigh that deflated her whole body.

Jinx flopped beside her, legs hanging over the armrest like she owned gravity. "Told ya. Best anti-crowd therapy in Zaun."

Y/N let her head fall back. "I think I lost hearing in one ear."

"A small price to pay for fame," Jinx said, lazily tossing a screw into a rusted coffee tin. It clinked as it landed. "Betcha Piltover's already turned you into a meme."

Y/N groaned. "Why would you say that?"

"Because I love watching you suffer," Jinx grinned, then turned slightly to look at her. "But also... because I know you'll laugh about it someday."

Y/N blinked at the ceiling, the thrum of Zaun's machines humming beneath her like a heartbeat. It felt distant now. Detached. Like she was floating.

"I didn't ask for this," she said softly.

"I know."

"I just wanted to do the right thing."

Jinx was quiet for a moment. Then: "Funny thing about the right thing-it never comes with applause. Usually just headaches and people shouting in your face."

Y/N turned to look at her. "You're oddly wise for someone who names their bombs."

Jinx smirked. "Excuse you, Pow-Pow is a beautiful name."

They both laughed-light and easy this time.

Then silence again. But a good one. Comfortable. The kind where no one needed to fill the space.

Y/N exhaled slowly. "Thanks for letting me stay here."

Jinx waved a hand. "Please. You're like... the one person who doesn't run screaming when I talk about my dreams."

Y/N gave her a look. "Your dreams usually involve explosions."

"And yet you're still here."

The faintest smile tugged at Y/N's lips.

Outside, Zaun pulsed softly-less like a threat now and more like a strange lullaby. And in that industrial stillness, Jinx's chaotic warmth became something grounding.

A few hours passed in a haze of casual banter and quiet tinkering. Jinx had gotten distracted by a new gadget, and Y/N found herself curled up with an old Zaunite blanket that smelled faintly of oil and lavender-somehow weirdly comforting.

But eventually, the world outside called again.

"I should go," Y/N said, reluctantly standing.

Jinx raised an eyebrow, her wrench still in hand. "Back to Piltover? Brave."

Y/N gave a tired smirk. "Someone's gotta pick up groceries."

"Take the sewers. Fewer reporters, more rats. You'll blend right in."

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the smile stayed on her lips. "Thanks for the safe zone, Jinx."

Jinx waved her off. "Anytime, sweetheart. You're more fun than my bombs, and they explode beautifully."

With a last glance at the chaotic comfort of the hideout, Y/N slipped back out into Zaun's winding underlayers, emerging eventually into the fading light of the city above. The walk was quiet-mercifully so. Just the dull buzz of hovercars above and the occasional clink of metal underfoot. The tension in her chest began to loosen again.

Then she crossed the bridge.

The lights of Piltover returned, pristine and golden. The streets were still busy, but no one paid her much mind now. The mob had moved on. Probably obsessing over the next headline.

She adjusted the bag in her hand, heading toward home.

Then a voice sliced through the quiet.

"Back from the underworld already?"

Y/N froze.

That voice.

Smooth. Confident.

She turned slowly.

And there she was-Caitlyn Kiramman. In full uniform. Immaculate as always.

Smirking like nothing had ever happened.

Her hands were behind her back, posture relaxed, like she was just out for an evening stroll.

Y/N's heart dropped to her stomach.

Caitlyn tilted her head slightly, gaze sharp and amused. "Miss me?"