It was raining. Rain was nothing new in Zaun. What fell from above wasn't just water. It was sticky rain, mixed with ash, oil, and whatever Piltover had spat out. It made the air in this city heavier than usual. An abandoned factory just off Clockwork Alley. They used to make some kind of parts here, a long time ago. Nobody used it now. The roof was the only thing still putting in the effort, keeping the rain out, so it had become a gathering spot for people like Silas and his crew. "Listen up. This is the last one." Silas laid out small metal parts on top of a wooden crate. They were polished clean. But these weren't legitimate goods. They were rejects the people up in Piltover had thrown away as defective — Silas just repaired them and sold them. He shook out his dirty leather jacket with a rustle, his fingers clicking against the chemtech gauntlet on his arm. The red streaks mixed into his short black hair flickered in the factory's dim light. The small burn scar on his left cheek stung a little in the damp air. "This'll put food on a family's table. Be grateful to the nobles up top." [whispers]He muttered the sarcasm under his breath. Three brokers stood before him. All of them were the kind of people just scraping by in Zaun. At Silas's words, one of them let out a dry, wheezing laugh. Silas looked away from him and glanced upward. A huge hole gaped in the factory ceiling. What he could see through it wasn't just the dark sky. Far, far above, there was a membrane of white, glittering light. Blurred by the rain, it floated there like another world entirely. Piltover. He clicked his tongue quietly. Not another world. That place was the main body of this city, and this place was its shadow. That was how it had been decided. It was a long time ago now. Twelve years back, there was something called the Ash Wednesday. A factory in Zaun exploded, and thousands died in a single night. Silas's old man was among them. Since that day, the air had grown thicker, and Silas's lungs creaked sometimes. His mother died of Graylung two years later. The people up top never apologized. "Hey, Silas. You listening?" The broker scowled. "[sarcastic]Yeah, yeah, my bad. Just thought I'd breathe in some high-class air for a second." Silas grinned. But his eyes weren't smiling. "So. The deal's done. Your name's—" CLANG!! Suddenly, the sound of a drum can being kicked echoed from the back of the factory. The three brokers froze. Their hands shot to the weapons at their hips in an instant. Silas dropped low, fingers reaching for his chemtech gauntlet. Footsteps. Clank. Clank. Something was approaching. From the darkness, silver fangs glinted. Two red eyes glowed. "...Huh?" What emerged was a stray augmented hound. A chem-hound, half its body replaced with machinery. But instead of growling, it came wagging its patchy tail, scratching and pawing playfully at Silas's legs. Its metal fangs clinked against his leather boots. "The hell is this... Get— get off." Silas hastily pulled his leg back. One of the brokers snorted. "What, a dog? Real scary!" "Boss Silas, it's got no respect for you." "Shut up!" [angry]Silas barked, but the augmented hound paid him no mind. "Don't laugh. This thing could be one of Kozlov's lookouts." When Silas muttered that with a straight face, the brokers only laughed louder. One of them wiped tears from his eyes as he spoke. "You're the one making the scariest face here!" Silas clicked his tongue and gently pushed the dog away with his foot. Then he turned back to the deal. That was when it happened. "—Don't move." A voice. Not the dog this time. A human voice. And not one that fit this air, made of rain and oil and sweat — a clear, direct voice. A figure stood at the factory entrance. Silhouetted against the rain, long hair soaked and plastered to her face. Even so, the color of that hair was unmistakable. A blazing reddish-copper. It was a color that didn't exist anywhere in Zaun. The woman stepped forward. Something at her hip clinked. A custom hex-rifle. A weapon exclusive to the upper levels, firing magic-infused rounds using a hex-crystal catalyst. Golden eyes cut through the darkness, sharper than neon. She was tall, her frame lean and streamlined. There was no wasted movement in her stride, and it was clear from the way she carried herself that her body was well-trained beneath her clothes. A Piltover Enforcer. Silas knew it in an instant. The gear, the way she stood, even the color of her eyes looking down from above. Everything about her was proof of someone from the upper city. "—Scatter." Silas said it low. The brokers fled like startled spiders. The woman — Kaitlin Fails — tracked the escaping brokers with her eyes, then immediately locked onto Silas as her target. "Investigating a smuggling route. Are you the ringleader?" [serious]Kaitlin's voice was cold. She fixed her gaze on Silas without even wiping the rain from her wet cheeks. "[sarcastic]Yeah, that's me. So, what do you want, princess?" Silas said it on purpose. Kaitlin's eyebrow twitched. "...I see no reason to be called 'princess' by someone like you." "Oh yeah? Then what should I call you? Must be rough, coming all the way down here from up top." "Enforcing the law is my job. You do know that diverting discarded parts is a serious crime?" "Didn't know. This is that kind of place. Don't think your topside rules apply down here." The distance between them was less than five paces. The sound of rain hammered on the roof. A wind thick with the smell of iron blew through, swaying Kaitlin's wet hair. [angry]"...Stuck-up little princess." [angry]"Lowborn scum." It was instantaneous. Words collided and scattered. Kaitlin's face was etched sharply into Silas's vision. Hair plastered by rain, and within it, those burning golden eyes. A raw anger that shouldn't exist in the upper city. Eyes that looked like they'd been furious at someone for a long, long time — and yet, utterly exhausted. —Huh? Silas closed his mouth without thinking. Kaitlin did the same. The words that had been about to fly out just moments ago caught in her throat. What lay beneath Silas's shout. It wasn't anger. It was sorrow. An old pain that wouldn't fade. It resonated, sharp and electric, as if she were looking right into her own chest. Silence fell. The distance of five paces suddenly felt both impossibly far and achingly close. The air grew taut. But with something different from the hatred of moments before. Kaitlin's wet eyelashes trembled, just barely. A raindrop fell with a soft plink, and Silas's eyes followed it against his will. [whispers]"...What's with those eyes?" Silas murmured it without realizing. Kaitlin's head jerked up. "...I'm not arresting you." [serious]Kaitlin said it suddenly. "I'm on a solo investigation. I can't call for backup. Next time we meet, I will absolutely arrest you." But that was a pretext. Right now, something she herself didn't understand was staying her hand. Kaitlin turned on her heel and walked out into the rain. "[angry]Don't come back. Ever." But. Silas couldn't take his eyes off her back. He stood there, rooted to the spot, watching her wet red hair dissolve into the darkness. Why? He had plenty of words he could have spat at her. Something stirred deep in his chest. Late that night, Silas was at a cheap bar on Clockwork Alley called The Last Drop. He leaned his elbows on the counter, downing cheap liquor alone. "...Strange woman." [whispers]He muttered quietly, even though no one was next to him. Not anger, not contempt — eyes that looked wounded, somehow. Even though she was supposed to be from the upper city. "No way." He set his glass down with a thunk. But he couldn't get those golden eyes out of his head. Silas clicked his tongue and ordered another drink. At that same time, in Piltover. In a white, quiet room, Kaitlin was writing her report. "...One suspected trafficker. Unable to identify. Fled." Her pen stopped. She gripped it too hard, making the letters slightly messy. Why didn't I arrest him? She didn't understand it herself. She had never done anything like this before. She had never shown leniency to a criminal from Zaun. Outside the window lay Piltover's glittering sea of light. But that light never reached the deep chasm at its feet. Kaitlin set down her pen and looked softly at her own hand. Her hand, still cold from the rain, felt like it still remembered his shout. The sorrow that had been beneath that voice. "...Next time we meet." She started to say it, then stopped. Would they meet? A next time? Kaitlin shook her head and closed the unfinished report. But the face of that man from Zaun wouldn't fade from the back of her eyelids.